Conceptual art: why a bag of rubbish is not just a load of garbage

Keith Arnatt Self-Burial (Television Interference Project) 1969
Keith Arnatt Self-Burial (Television Interference Project) 1969. Photograph: © Keith Arnatt Estate / DACS, London

In August 1966, a part-time tutor at St Martin’s School of Art withdrew a book from the college library. His name was John Latham and the book in question was Art and Culture, an essay collection by the doyen of modernism, Clement Greenberg. But Latham didn’t read the book. Instead, he invited friends, students and fellow artists to his house for what he called a “Still and Chew” event. Participants were asked to select a page, chew it to a pulp, and then spit the resultant “distillation” into a flask. Latham added acid, sodium bicarbonate and yeast (“an Alien Culture”), and left the fertile brew to bubble gently.

There it remained until the following May, when the library requested the book’s return, because, as Latham put it, a student of painting was “in urgent need of Art and Culture”. What he delivered instead was a small, stoppered phial, neatly labelled “Art and Culture/Clement Greenberg/Distillation 1966”.

The library was not amused. Latham was informed that his temporary contract would not be renewed. The vice-principal suggested that he smooth things over by apologising for his “bad joke”, but Latham cheerfully refused, observing that he considered such “eventstructures” a crucial part of his teaching practice, and more useful to his students than mere theory.

Latham’s distillation was one of the first acts of British conceptual art, and it serves to encapsulate its early mood, the way it turned deconstruction, even destructiveness, into a creative force. But what was Latham actually doing? Was he being prankish, playfully pricking establishment balloons, or was he making a serious point? What does “eventstructures” even mean? Why Clement Greenberg, and why St Martin’s?

The British conceptual movement of the 60s and 70s changed the face of modern art so fundamentally that it’s hard to reimagine the conditions that precipitated its appearance. Conceptual art was rebellious to its core, a banger in the face of what it saw as stuffy, elitist modernism. This is why Greenberg was a target, though it might also be observed that he had recently described Latham’s book reliefs as “patly cubist”.

John Latham’s Time Base Roller, 1972.
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John Latham’s Time Base Roller, 1972. Photograph: John Latham estate, courtesy of the Lisson Gallery, London

What the early conceptual artists wanted to do was expand the definition of art, to blow the bloody doors off the venerable white cube of the gallery. Impure and fluid, worldly and engaged, in many ways conceptual art was a philosophical quest: a search for a vanishing point, for the outer limits of what might constitute a work of art.

In the old days, art had meant things; objects to which the viewer pays solemn homage. But what if art could also be ideas, expressed by way of acts that happened, events in time that left minimal traces in the world? Maybe a person could be a work of art, or a bag of rubbish could. Maybe you didn’t need a gallery at all. Maybe art could take place in the street, or in a field. Maybe it only came into being with the viewer’s presence, and didn’t require witnesses at all.

Conceptual art didn’t come from nowhere. It had an ancestor in the phlegmatic form of the surrealist Marcel Duchamp, whose readymades radically shattered conventional notions of art as a result of skill. But it was also a product of philosophy, the restless questioning of Wittgenstein brought to bear on the arena of the visual.

It sprang up spontaneously in the febrile atmosphere of the 60s, sending up tendrils in London and Coventry, in New York, Berlin, Milan and Rome. In America, minimalists like Ad Reinhardt and Donald Judd were exploding traditional categories of painting and sculpture. In Italy, artists associated with Arte Povera were experimenting with materials, rejecting bronze and oil in favour of dirt and ash.

An interest in ordinary and unclassifiable things also engaged the British contingent, who brought to conceptual art an anti-establishment edge and a deprecating wit. It was never a unified movement, but instead took place in pockets and seams across the country, from the Art and Language movement in Coventry to the defiant experimentation that came out of St Martin’s in the late 60s.

Roelof Louw’s Soul City (Pyramid of Oranges), 1967.
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Roelof Louw’s Soul City (Pyramid of Oranges), 1967. Photograph: Image courtesy of Aspen Art Museum, 2015
 © Roelof Louw

The work the British artists made was at once intellectual and playful, risking charges of pretentiousness in order to challenge received notions of value and meaning. In 1967’s Soul City (Pyramid of Oranges), Roelof Louw stacked 5,800 oranges in a pyramid in the London Arts Lab, a hotbed for countercultural hijinks. Over a fortnight, the work gradually shrank as visitors were encouraged to consume the fruit. As Louw put it: “By taking an orange each person changes the molecular form of the stack of oranges, and participates in ‘consuming’ its presence. (The full implications of this action are left to the imagination.)” What he’d done was pass control from artist to viewer; a radical step.

As for the immaculately besuited duo of Gilbert and George, they decided to destroy the gulf between artist and creation altogether, by converting themselves into a lifelong, evolving work of art. In A Message from The Sculptors they declared themselves living sculpture, who could perform in a variety of ways, including “interview sculpture, dancing sculpture, meal sculpture, walking sculpture”. Like Midas, everything they touched was transmogrified, including samples of their hair, their shirts and their breakfast. As they put it firmly: “Nothing can touch us or take us out of ourselves.”

Gilbert and George
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Living sculpture … Gilbert and George. Photograph: Museum of Old and New Art

This interest in dissolving or dismantling barriers was a common impulse. For the then British-based Braco Dimitrijević, it meant hanging huge photographs and banners of random passersby in museums, while for Bruce McLean it involved rejecting the gallery in favour of the street, satirising the pretensions of the art world by displaying rubbish on plinths, and using his own body to mock the poses of serious sculpture.

When he was given a retrospective at the Tate in 1972, at the youthful age of 27, McLean held a one-day show, King for a Day, notable for not including any work whatsoever. Instead, he exhibited a neat grid of 1,000 exhibition catalogues, typed in one sitting and comprising a satirical list of 1,000 ideas for imaginary artworks, among them: “403 Earthworks piece, mixed media” and “978 Henry Moore revisited for the 10th time piece”.

Not everyone was so gentle in their approach. One of Latham’s more disturbing works were his Skoob Towers, in which he assembled vast piles of dictionaries, encyclopaedias and textbooks in the streets of London, before setting them alight. They were designed to challenge received ideas about what the sculptural object meant, but they were also disquieting occurrences, with unpleasant historical echoes. Their malevolent energy clearly unsettled the writer AS Byatt. Smoke from burning Skoob Towers drifts through her 1996 novel Babel Tower, conveying the destructive energy of the 60s.

At the decade’s turn, the mood began to change. Conceptual art became increasingly political, and far less easily co-opted by galleries and institutions. This was the era of the Women’s Liberation Workshop and the Artists’ Union; the age of social engagement and collective action, a period in which the Royal College of Art organised a conference for artists, activists and trade unionists, asking among other burning questions whether the artist could ever be a member of the proletariat.

If the language was sometimes humourless or rotely Marxist, the effort to make art matter in the world could produce incandescent results. It was in the 70s that women began to engage more powerfully with conceptual art, wrestling it from the hands of art school boys and using it as a force to convey urgent concerns. As Susan Hiller remarked, “You have no subject matter other than what’s already in language – and what was already in language, for my generation of women, was not what we wanted to say. We wanted to say other things, not necessarily feminist political things, but other kinds of things, and you couldn’t do that without inventing other ways of going about the whole procedure of making art.”

Bruce McLean’s Pose Work for Plinths 3, 1971.
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Bruce McLean’s Pose Work for Plinths 3, 1971. Illustration: Leighton Gallery, Berlin

One of the most striking of these works is Mary Kelly’s monumental Post-Partum Document 1973-9, a six-part series in which she formally investigated the mother-child dyad by way of her own relationship with her infant son. Inflected by feminism and psychoanalysis, the work caused tabloid outrage when it was first exhibited at the ICA, because it included stained nappies (you couldn’t have Tracey Emin without Mary Kelly). At once tender and intellectually provocative, a sustained investigation into caregiving and women’s labour, it is among the most significant political artworks of the decade.

As a movement, conceptual art was peculiarly preoccupied with nonexistence, haunted by disappearances and vanishing acts of all kinds. This is particularly true of the artist and photographer Keith Arnatt, one of the greatest British conceptual artists. Arnatt’s wry, witty, curious art was deeply invested in retraction and omission. He liked to make works that left no trace of themselves, burying boxes in the earth and filling pits with turf and mirrors, so that they were wholly invisible until revealed by the passage of his own shadow.

One of his most memorable pieces is Self-Burial (Television Interference Project), which exists as a grid of nine sequential photographs made in 1969. They show a bearded man in jeans standing on a hillside, being slowly swallowed by the earth. In the third photograph, he is buried to his knees; in the eighth, to his eyes. In the ninth, he has disappeared altogether, replaced by a circle of freshly turned soil.

Margaret Harrison’s Homeworkers, 1977, part of the Tate exhibition.
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Margaret Harrison’s Homeworkers, 1977, part of the Tate exhibition. Illustration: Margaret F Harrison

Arnatt was unusual in that he regarded the photographic evidence of his strange acts as crucial, the point itself rather than a necessary but tedious byproduct. By the 70s, he’d moved away from conceptual art altogether, turning his attention to pure photography (he possessed an extraordinary facility for finding art historical echoes in the most unprepossessing of circumstances, including photographs of rotting rubbish that look like Turner sunsets).

For others, the event structure was what counted. Take the land artists Hamish Fulton and Richard Long, who turned walking into an art form, travelling across the country and engaging in subtle, often undocumented interventions with the landscape. The excursions were the real act, though both brought small, humble items back to the gallery: diary entries, stones – compressed aide-memoires of their voyages.

Conceptual art is often misunderstood as trying to claim a sack of rubbish has the same status as a Vermeer. There’s no doubt that it spawned all manner of vacuity, and yet much of the early work retains its questing power, its unsettling occupation of the boundary between object and idea. At its best, it is improbably generous and inclusive, resistant to the capitalist wiles of the art world. An art of vanishing, an art that exists nowhere save in the afterlife of the mind. Want to participate? Then think of Richard Long, setting off from Waterloo in 1967, on a blazing June day. He travelled southwest by train until he reached open countryside, and then he got off at a random station and walked until he found a field. There he paced back and forth in a straight line until the grass was worn flat beneath his feet.

The black and white photograph he took that afternoon is beautiful in its own right: a transient shining line. But that is simply a document. The work of art itself was made out of nothing more than effort and intent, and it returned to nothing, vanishing within hours of its creation. It isn’t possessable. You can’t buy it; it doesn’t exist. All the same, it’s free if you want it. You simply have to conceive of it, to let the idea occupy your imagination.

Conceptual Art in Britain, 1964-1979, is at Tate Britain, London SW1, 12 April – 29 August. Olivia Laing’s The Lonely City: Adventures in the Art of Being Alone is published by Canongate.

“The Visionary Hatter” by Alejandro Jodorowsky

http://electricliterature.com/the-visionary-hatter-by-alejandro-jodorowsky-recommended-by-restless-books/

Crabby and Albina the albino giantess leave town on a bicycle built for two after drugging the corrupt and lecherous policeman Drumfoot, who is now dangerously transformed by a bite from Albina. While disturbed by the violence they’ve witnessed, the new companion they rescue might change their cynical idea of men.

Crabby pedaled in the forward seat. Albina, behind, moving her enormous legs automatically without holding onto the handlebars, was writing in her notebook: “I don’t know where I’m going, but I do know with whom I’m going. I don’t know where I am, but I do know that I’m here. I don’t know what I am, but I do know how I feel. I don’t know what I’m worth, but I do know not to compare myself to anyone else. I don’t know how to dodge punches, but I do know how to withstand them. I don’t know how to win, but I do know how to escape. I don’t know what the world is, but I do know that it’s mine. I don’t know what I want, but I do know that what I want wants me.”

In that manner, they reached the outskirts of Iquique. The fishmeal factories appeared, covered by a thick layer of café-con-leche colored dust and vomiting thick smoke that slithered up through the chimneys and down to the ground, where they threw down roots and stuck. Rotten meat, acrid excrement, fermented guts—the stench passed through their pores, infected their blood, and tried to infect their souls. Crabby made Albina sit up front and pedaled behind her, sinking her nose into Albina’s wide back. The pestilence was like the mass of demons born from Crabby’s intestines, and the fragrance that emanated from Albina’s white skin, the redemption of the world. Barely breathing, they covered twelve more miles.

After a steep hill, the ocean appeared, sending its salty aroma toward the flank of the mountain, which, under that extended caress, responded with a thousand perfumes from its ochre earth. “Let’s stop to enjoy the pure air and to eat a bit. Just look, Albina, all I have to do is stroll among the rocks on the shore for the crabs to come to me.” Which was exactly the case; hundreds of crustaceans came out of the cracks and began to follow Crabby. It was easy to catch a couple, open them up, roast them on a red-hot stone, and devour them. All the while crabs never stopped rubbing against the legs of the woman they considered their Universal Mother.

A ray of lunar light passed through the keyhole and hit Drumfoot’s forehead. He awakened without realizing he was naked, and lifted the leg with his normal foot to scratch himself behind the ear. Then he went into the kitchen and lapped up the water in the washbasin. Since the door resisted his shoves, he pulled up some of the floorboards and used his hands to dig into the clayish soil and make a hole to get out. He howled at the waning moon and set out, bent over, sniffing the road. “Mmm… they stopped here and placed their feet right on this spot… mmm!… they peed here and… mmm!” He rolled around in Albina’s excrement, panting with pleasure.

Some soldiers on coastal patrol found him that way, naked and carrying out that fetid act. After giving him a good thrashing, paying no attention to his heartrending barks, they dragged him off to the police station. After two days, he got his mind back. The bite on his shoulder had healed, leaving a violet, half-moon shaped scar. “Those witches will get what they deserve!” Drumfoot spent hours sharpening his knife.

The narrow road built by the Incas along the ridge seemed to float over the abyss. Far below, the waves, transformed into gigantic foamy lips, called to them, insidiously sucking. Luckily, the landscape flattened out little by little, and the path was swallowed up by the dunes on a beach. Albina stripped, ran over the hot sand, and plunged into the glacial water. Crabby followed her, fully dressed. They swam, frolicked, ate clams, and drank the little water they had left, knowing that if they didn’t find a town soon, thirst would swell their tongues.

Twelve bowlers floated out of a creek followed by top hats, pith helmets, military caps, pork pie hats, Panama hats, and a huge variety of hats with upturned brims. The tide was carrying them to the shore like an armada of fragile little boats. The intrigued women climbed the rocky wall. On a narrow beach, a small man—he had no visible deformity, so he couldn’t be called a dwarf—surrounded by empty hatboxes was staring out to sea. As they watched he burst into high-pitched laughter, ran toward the high waves, and let himself be carried away, beginning to drown in those convulsing waters.

Albina dove in. Swimming vigorously, she reached the desperate man, knocked him cold with a punch to the jaw, and floated him to the beach. Crabby shouted in a rage, “Why did you bother to risk your life? You should have let him carry out his destiny! He may be small, but he is a man, and one less man in the world is a good thing!” The drowned man opened his eyes, and with an amiable smile said to Crabby, “Madam, perhaps my destiny was to be saved by your friend here, or, even better, perhaps I’m here so that your destiny can be carried out. The plans of mystery contain multiple paths. But I see you have eaten clams! Allow me to translate what these scattered shells mean.” And the little man examined the remains.

“The white lady, who has fled from a temple—I don’t know if she transmits a blessing or a curse. She’s something less or something more than human. With regard to you, Madam Anger, it seems you hate men because you see them as identical to your father, a thin, tall, dead man who was a callous remover by profession. Since I am the opposite of him, a pudgy, living, short man, a hat maker by profession, you may accept me as a partner without a second thought.”

“As a partner? You’re raving mad!”

“Wait a second, let me go on interrogating my clams. A dangerous enemy is chasing you. One of you dances, and the other manages her. You’re looking for a tranquil place to set yourselves up. Now I appear. About a mile from here, in a ravine near the Camarones River—not much of a river, true, but more than welcome in these sandy territories—is my town, Camiña. A little-known place because the highway is far away from it and you can only get there on foot or by mule. About forty years ago, miners loaded with silver from the Chanabaya mine came to town. My father sold them all kinds of hats, because they wanted to look elegant for the prostitutes working in the saloons. But the silver veins gave out, the miners went off to other regions, and the whores followed them. I inherited an enormous shop filled with bowlers, wide-brimmed, narrow-brimmed, and pork-pie hats opening their felt jaws hungry for heads. Those mute complaints drove me to despair. With no other profession than this useless hat-making business and forced by my stature to have no wife, sick with boredom, I decided to bury myself in the sea along with my little felt brothers. But as you two may see, I have a different destiny. Come with me, I’ll give you everything I have, a magnificent shop in the center of town! There you can set up, as the clam shells tell me, the café-temple you want!”

Hiding a smile under her severe face, Crabby looked over at Albina, certain she’d burst into a crystalline laugh of approval. The little man was offering them exactly what they had been seeking but had no hope of ever finding, convinced they could only locate it in an unreachable future. But perhaps because the day ended so brusquely, devoured in one bite by the full moon, Albina tensed her muscles to the point that her white skin turned garnet red, showed her teeth, as if all of them were canines, and stuck out a hard, black tongue. Leaping like a wild beast, she snatched the hat maker, wrapped him in a rib-smashing embrace, pulled off his clothes, rubbed her body with his as if the poor man were a sponge, and bit him on the left shoulder, pulling off a piece of flesh she swallowed with delight. Squealing with a sensual pleasure that filled her stomach with waves, she sat down, foaming at the mouth, and recited for hours incomprehensible words: “Bhavan abhavan iti yah prajanate… sa sarvabhavesu na jatu sañjate…” Crabby, always wearing her severe mask, swallowing her astonishment (she considered that with regard to Albina’s unsoundable mysteries it was just better to let them pass, perhaps like divine serpents), picked up the hat maker’s torn clothing, took needle and thread out of her pocket, and with the precision of a sailor sewed everything back together. The hat maker, almost stiff, sometimes emitted small barks or wiggled his backside as if wagging an invisible tail. Soon the sun came up. No sooner did the first ray of light caress her face than Albina, even though she hadn’t slept, seemed to awaken from a deep sleep. Pale once again, she made a small cry of sympathy and went to the hat maker, who was still in a faint, and licked his shoulder. The wound closed in a few seconds and became a violet half moon.

While Albina recovered from her attack by breathing in the sea air and waving her arms like a giant albatross, Crabby dressed their new friend. When she put on his trousers, she surprised herself examining with pleasure that short, large-headed pink penis arising humbly from a clenched scrotum grooved with wrinkles ordered like an ancient labyrinth. It enraged her to admire that sublime and grotesque appendage. She smacked him on the back, and barely had he blinked when she said incisively, “Seeing is believing, John Doe. If your worship says we three are knotted into the same destiny, let’s not make a habit of rejection, and let’s accept that Camiña awaits us. But before we take the first step along that fatal path, please be so kind as to tell us your name—that is, if you have one. I for one don’t go beyond my nickname. Crabby, at your service. My friend, in accord with her pigmentation, is named Albina.”

“Madam Crabby, Miss Albina, for many years now I’ve been called Hat Maker. Even so, I must confess—overwhelmed by shame, since it is a ridiculous injustice—that I was baptized Amado, because my last name, perhaps of Italian origin, is Dellarosa. So I am ‘beloved by the woman who is a rose!’ How’s that for a lie?” And the little man began to weep. Crabby spit violently toward the parched hills so that she wouldn’t feel the knot in her throat.

 

*
In that dried out valley, where the earth was a hard shell covered by a pattern of angular cracks, Amado Dellarosa guided them for hours along a steep path that went forward, backward, twisted left, then after a very long curve, went right, straightened out and again went forward, repeating the same movements again and again, hundreds of times. Crabby shook her head trying to banish an impertinent thought: this capricious path was a labyrinth that resembled in every detail the wrinkles on the little man’s scrotum. Albina, perhaps affected by rays of the sun drilling into her skull, began to repeat obsessively a single sentence: “Seek in the root the future flower.” Finally they entered a grand plateau surrounded by mountains: Camiña.

The town consisted of an extensive circle of wooden houses built around a plaza where grew four enormous cypresses whose trunks were studded with woody eyes, making them look like a nest of ghosts. No living person or animal was visible. No breeze shook the spiny branches, no curtain waved, no fly buzzed. Everything looked clean, dry, immobile, and silent.

“Dear friends, don’t think my town is a cemetery. After twelve o’clock noon it’s so hot that all inhabitants, along with their pets, retreat to the penumbra of home and take a seven-hour siesta. For their part, the wild animals dig tunnels under the desert plain so they can let the heat pass while in narrow but cool grottoes. Believe me, King Sol hits so hard in these parts that the mosquitoes die in midair. Later in the afternoon, when the temperature becomes agreeable, the businesses still functioning—barbershop, billiard hall, grocery store, herb shop—open their doors while the townspeople stroll the ring-street, men in one direction and women in the other, doing nothing else but staring at one another and saying hello. Nothing extraordinary ever happens here. When the Chanabaya mine closed down and the miners left, the Lady, along with her whores, went off after them. By some miracle, she forgot us. For a long time now, no one has died in Camiña. Old folks, when they’re informed they have to give up and yield their spot to someone new, go to live in the abandoned mine tunnels, a charnel house that goes on for miles toward the very entrails of the earth. We know they’re still alive because from time to time they form a chorus and sing old love songs. It seems—though no one has proven it, as we’re all scared to death of even going near the mine—that they eat the red clay that covers the walls. As for us, we’ve learned to survive by keeping bees from the pampa. It’s a rare species, peaceful up to a point. If you approach them on tiptoe, fine, but if someone approaches planting his entire foot on the ground, they sting him without pity and he falls into a coma, transformed into a mass of rashes. For lack of flowers, these worker bees suck the juice of sea algae and make a delicious, salty honey. As you can see, the roofs of all the houses are covered with hives. Pinco, the deaf mute, transports our product to Arica on burros. The tourists just love it, and the money we get from sales allows us to survive. We are bored, yes, but in a certain way we secretly enjoy the fact that we have at our disposal an apparently infinite amount of time. You must understand that lacking any end changes your mentality. The urgency to do things disappears; idleness, once a sin, has become a virtue. The present moment stops causing trouble and offers us its unconcerned calm. Hope, because it’s unnecessary, is expelled from our souls along with fear. Since we all have the security of living, the only thing we long for is to sleep and find the opium that is pleasant dreams. Solitary pleasure is preferred rather than bothersome coitus. Seduction, lacking a mortal anguish to exacerbate it, becomes an obstacle. A long robe, wide and black, accompanied by a handkerchief worn on the head makes all women identical. It makes no difference whether you marry this one or that one, and that’s only done when a pregnancy is needed to fill the vacancy left by an old person. Do you see why I tossed my hats into the sea and wanted to make the waves my grave? Living without death is not living. But here I am going on and on, while the hat shop awaits us.”

No one peered out to see them arrive, despite the fact that their footsteps, no matter how hard they worked to make them weightless, resounded on the whitish asphalt, turning it into a drum. Suddenly, a voluminous bee, its body a brilliant scarlet, flew over to trace a halo around Crabby’s head. The hat maker whispered, “Make not the slightest gesture. It’s a warrior-spy. It can sting without losing its stinger, and its poison is deadly.” Crabby, stiff despite the heat, thought she would sweat ten thousand gallons of cold water. And her terror increased when the animal slowly flew toward Albina. Smiling, Albina shook her hips, opened her mouth, and stuck out her tongue. The bee landed on that moist appendage and began to drink her saliva. Gorged, it used its stinger to draw a tiny cross on Albina’s white throat and then drew another on Crabby’s forehead. Then it flew off like a flame to its hive. From all the roofs arose a general buzzing, rather like rain falling from the earth to the sky. “Well,” said the little man, “both of you were accepted! Hallelujah! I don’t have to tell you how many smugglers and bandits have been killed by those guardians! Without their permission, no outsider enters our town.”

Crabby swallowed her rage. Without warning her, this squirt had dared—a second time—to place the life of her friend at risk. Her own mattered nothing to her, but Albina’s? Shit! To say man is to say calamity! Nevertheless, the bitter saliva in her mouth became sweet syrup when the miserable pygmy raised the metal gate and, with the face of an angel, the eyes of a dove, and the gestures of a gift-giver, showed them the spacious place, where more than two hundred idiots could be packed in. “Thank you, Don Amado!” The now likeable little man stood before her on tiptoe and offered her his forehead. Crabby wrinkled her nose in disgust for an instant, and then, suddenly, as if a stretched elastic band had broken within her heart, she smiled for the first time at a man. Enveloped in a cloud of tenderness, she bent over, and planted a kiss between his eyebrows. Bursting into diaphanous laughter, Albina took off her clothes, and with her marmoreal skin shining like a star in the half-light, began to dance in order to bless the new café-temple.

On a khaki motorcycle, Drumfoot traced the road that rose toward the north. A blood infused with hatred accumulated in his erect penis. In his right fist vibrated a knife, also infused with hatred. The two extremes were guiding him, one wanted pleasure, the other death. While the mountain wind had swept away all tracks from that dirt path, a third extreme, his nose, with its abnormally developed sense of smell, picked up traces of the effluvia emanating from the white woman. It was a vaginal scent, unctuous, biting, bittersweet, greenish, as fragrant as the ivy flowers that open at dawn. Mmm! Suddenly an intolerable stench expelled him from his olfactory paradise. Blood poured from his nostrils. Barking his complaints, he passed by the fishmeal factories. He began to cough, lost control, and, making a leap, twisting like a beast, he fell on all fours, clinging to the edge of the pavement while his motorcycle smashed to pieces on the rocks a hundred yards below.

He left behind the sticky smoke infecting those territories and reached the beach. Vomiting, he ran to dive into the frigid ocean. When the salt water had extirpated even the tiniest particle of stench, he shook his body vigorously, surrounding it for a few seconds with a cloud of golden drops. He growled with satisfaction; there, abandoned at the outset of a narrow path, stood the bicycle built for two! He sniffed it over from end to end, from the handlebars to the tires. He licked the seat that had sunk itself between Albina’s buttocks, and then, overwhelmed by an enraptured hatred, his lower jaw tremulously revealing his canines, he ran along the path, his knees bent, using his hands as feet by leaning on his fists. Soon, so many curves, advances, twists, and switchbacks exasperated him. He located a point in the north, his goal, and left the path to get to it in a straight line. When it was already nightfall, after many hours of trotting, he realized with angry shock that he’d reached his starting point. There was the bicycle, now covered by a sheet of crabs.

End


About the Author

Alejandro Jodorowsky was born to Ukrainian Jewish immigrants in Tocopilla, Chile. From an early age, he became interested in mime and theater; at the age of twenty-three, he left for Paris to pursue the arts, and has lived there ever since. A friend and companion of Fernando Arrabal and Roland Topor, he founded the Panic movement and has directed several classic films of this style, including The Holy Mountain, El Topo, and Santa Sangre. A mime artist, specialist in the art of tarot, and prolific author, he has written novels, poetry, short stories, essays, and over thirty successful comic books, working with such highly regarded comic book artists as Moebius and Bess. Restless Books will be publishing three of Jodorowsky’s best-known books for the first time in English: Donde mejor canta un pájaro (Where the Bird Sings Best), El niño del jueves negro (The Son of Black Thursday), and Albina y los hombres perro (Albina and the Dog-Men).


About the Translator

Alfred MacAdam is professor of Latin American literature at Barnard College-Columbia University. He has translated works by Carlos Fuentes, Mario Vargas Llosa, Juan Carlos Onetti, José Donoso, and Jorge Volpi among others. He recently published an essay on the Portuguese poet Fernando Pessoa included in The Cambridge Companion to Autobiography.


About the Guest Editor

Restless Books is an independent publisher for readers and writers in search of new destinations, experiences, and perspectives. From Asia to the Americas, from Tehran to Tel Aviv, we deliver stories of discovery, adventure, dislocation, and transformation. Our readers are passionate about other cultures and other languages. Restless is committed to bringing out the best of international literature—fiction, journalism, memoirs, travel writing, illustrated books, and more—that reflects the restlessness of our multiform lives.


About Recommended Reading

Recommended Reading is the weekly fiction magazine of Electric Literature, publishing here and on Tumblr every Wednesday morning. In addition to featuring our own recommendations of original, previously unpublished fiction, we invite established authors, indie presses, and literary magazines to recommended great work from their pages, past and present. To receive a weekly email with the latest Recommended Reading as well as other links from Electric Literature, sign up for our eNewsletter.


Excerpted from ALBINA AND THE DOG-MEN (Restless Books, May 2016) by permission of the publisher. Copyright © 2016 by Alejandro Jodorowsky. All rights reserved.

3-D Printer With Raspberry Pi

3-D Printer With Raspberry Pi

Click to Open Overlay Gallery

Algorithms and 3D Printers ‘Paint’ Convincing Rembrandt Simulation

by David Meyer

April 6, 2016, 10:35 AM EDT

 

rembrandt

Algorithms are the new masters.

A new Rembrandt painting has been unveiled, which is no mean feat given that he’s been dead since 1669.

This painting, however, was not created by the old master himself. Rather, it is the result of a project called The Next Rembrandt, sponsored by ING ING 1.30% and Microsoft MSFT 1.04% . It was “painted” by a 3D printer and essentially designed by algorithms.

Researchers from the Delft University of Technology, together with the curators of the Dutch museums Mauritshuis and Rembrandthuis, started by using 3D scanners and deep-learning algorithms to study Rembrandt van Rijn’s real paintings. This allowed them to compile a detailed database of his paintings’ typical features.

 

They then chose to paint a typical Rembrandt subject: a 30- to 40-year-old Caucasian male with facial hair, in dark clothing, with a collar and a hat, facing right. With those specifications, they were able to generate features—eyes, nose, and so on—as Rembrandt might have done.

After that, an algorithm used data from Rembrandt’s paintings to determine the most appropriate proportions of and distances between the features, and the 3D printer produced the finished product using a paint-based ink in many layers to create an authentic texture.

The Next Rembrandt doesn’t copy any parts of real Rembrandt artwork, but it still does not represent true creativity. The painting may be an original work, but every element of it is based upon Rembrandt’s earlier, authentic pieces. The whole point is to simulate his work.

Indeed, creativity is a notable “Achilles’ heel” of artificial intelligence, which still lacks the ability to be truly novel in a deliberate way.

For more on artificial intelligence, watch:

Video

Google’s Deep Dream algorithms arguably come closer to actual creativity, spinning wild, psychedelic interpretations out of random parts of pictures. However, while Deep Dream’s results can be interesting and sometimes hilarious, there is still no purpose behind them.

But while true artificial creativity still lies somewhere over the horizon, it’s certainly impressive to see how well algorithms can fake it these days.

Here’s a video (that’s rather heavy on the sponsorship messages) about The Next Rembrandt:

 

 

http://fortune.com/2016/04/06/next-rembrandt-algorithms/

Semantic Associations between Signs and Numerical Categories in the Prefrontal Cortex

Semantic Associations between Signs and Numerical Categories in the Prefrontal Cortex

PLOS

Abstract

The utilization of symbols such as words and numbers as mental tools endows humans with unrivalled cognitive flexibility. In the number domain, a fundamental first step for the acquisition of numerical symbols is the semantic association of signs with cardinalities. We explored the primitives of such a semantic mapping process by recording single-cell activity in the monkey prefrontal and parietal cortices, brain structures critically involved in numerical cognition. Monkeys were trained to associate visual shapes with varying numbers of items in a matching task. After this long-term learning process, we found that the responses of many prefrontal neurons to the visual shapes reflected the associated numerical value in a behaviorally relevant way. In contrast, such association neurons were rarely found in the parietal lobe. These findings suggest a cardinal role of the prefrontal cortex in establishing semantic associations between signs and abstract categories, a cognitive precursor that may ultimately give rise to symbolic thinking in linguistic humans.

Author Summary

We use symbols, such as numbers, as mental tools for abstract and precise representations. Humans share with animals a language-independent system for representing numerical quantity, but number symbols are learned during childhood. A first step in the acquisition of number symbols constitutes an association of signs with specific numerical values of sets. To investigate the single-neuron mechanisms of semantic association, we simulated such a mapping process in rhesus monkeys by training them to associate the visual shapes of Arabic numerals with the numerosity of multiple-dot displays. We found that many individual neurons in the prefrontal cortex, but only a few in the posterior parietal cortex, responded in a tuned fashion to the same numerical values of dot sets and associated shapes. We called these neurons association neurons since they establish an associational link between shapes and numerical categories. The distribution of these association neurons across prefrontal and parietal areas resembles activation patterns in children and suggests a precursor of our symbol system in monkeys.

Introduction

Humans and animals share an evolutionarily old quantity representation system that allows the estimation of set size or number of events [1]. The assessment of numerical information is advantageous for the individual’s fitness. This is particularly evident in social interactions (fight or flight decisions in contests) [2], foraging (exploiting the richer food source) [3], and parenting (discrimination of offspring) [4]. Quantity representations arise spontaneously without training as has been shown numerous times in monkeys [3] and human infants [5,6], supporting the idea that numerical competence is an ontogenetically and phylogenetically early faculty. Nonverbal numerical cognition, however, is limited to approximate quantity representations [1,7] and rudimentary arithmetic operations [5,6,8,9]; precise number representations and exact calculation are beyond its reach.

In contrast, humans familiar with number symbols are able to grasp exact cardinalities and to execute even the most abstract calculations. Humans learn to use number symbols as mental tools during childhood. Prior to the utilization of signs as numerical symbols [10], long-term associations between initially meaningless shapes (that become numerals) and inherently semantic numerical categories must inevitably be established [11,12]. Associations between shapes and quantities, a necessary first step towards the utilization of number symbols in linguistic humans, can even be mastered by animals [1316].

Several studies in humans point to the prefrontal cortex (PFC) and the intraparietal sulcus (IPS) as key structures for both non-symbolic [17,18] and symbolic quantity information [1820]. In monkeys, it has been shown that potentially homolog brain areas are involved in processing non-symbolic numerosity [2126]. These studies support the hypothesis of a phylogenetic precursor system in monkeys on which higher, verbal-based numerical abilities in adult humans build up [27]. If the precursor hypothesis holds true, the same network that is involved in quantity estimation in nonhuman primates should also be engaged in the association of visual shapes with numerical categories. Here, we test this prediction by investigating whether single cells associate approximate numerosity representations with symbolic-like representations, and if so, what the respective contributions of the prefrontal and parietal cortices in this mapping process could be.

To that aim, we trained monkeys to assign visual shapes to numerical categories and recorded from single cells in both candidate regions. We report that many neurons in the PFC encoded the learned numerical value of a visual shape. In contrast, such association neurons were rarely found in the parietal lobe. Overall, the results suggest that the PFC is the prime source for the linking of signs to numerical categories in monkeys and may serve as a neuronal precursor for number symbol encoding.

Results

Behavior

We trained two rhesus monkeys in a delayed match-to-sample protocol to discriminate small numerosities (one to four) in multiple-dot patterns (Figure 1A; dot protocol). The monkeys had to judge whether two successive task periods (first sample, then test) separated by a 1-s delay showed the same numerosity. If so, the animals had to release a lever. In a second step, the monkeys learned over months to associate visual shapes (Arabic numerals) with the numerosity in multiple-dot displays, i.e., Arabic numeral 1 was associated with one dot, numeral 2 was associated with two dots, and so on (Figure 1B; shape protocol). Finally, both protocols were presented in a randomly alternating fashion within a given session.

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Figure 1. Task Protocols

(A) Dot protocol designed as delayed match-to-sample task. The monkeys were required to release a lever if sample and test displays contained the same number of items, or to keep holding it otherwise (probability = 0.5). The dots’ position and size were varied between sample and test display and changed in each trial.

(B) Shape protocol designed as delayed association task. Task conditions were identical to those of the dot protocol, but during the sample period the numerical information was cued by an Arabic numeral. The numerals’ size and position changed in each trial.

(C and D) Standard (first row) and control (second to fourth row) stimuli. (C) In the dot protocol, we controlled for non-numerical cues (dot circumference, area, configuration, and density). (D) Four different fonts (“Arial” in the standard protocol; “Times New Roman,” “Souvenir BT,” and “Lithograph Light” in the controls) were presented in the shape protocol.

http://dx.doi.org/10.1371/journal.pbio.0050294.g001

We ensured that non-numerical parameters in the dot protocol could not be used by the monkeys to solve the task by varying and controlling low-level visual features. For each session, 100 different images per numerosity were generated with pseudo-randomly varied visual properties. Sample and test stimuli were never identical. All four quantities were presented in each session with one standard and one control condition. Different control conditions were applied day by day. Controls in the dot protocol included dot displays with constant circumference, linear configuration, and constant density across all presented quantities (see Figure 1C). To force the monkeys to generalize to the overall sign characteristics in the shape protocol, the numeral shapes were varied in size, position, and font. The font “Arial” was used for the standard condition; fonts “Times New Roman,” “Souvenir BT,” and “Lithograph Light,” were used in control conditions (see Figure 1D). The test stimulus for the shape protocol consisted of sets of black dots, equivalent to the dot protocol. Trials of the standard and control conditions as well as the dot and shape protocols were pseudo-randomly intermingled and appeared with equal probabilities in each session.

Both monkeys learned reliably to associate numerical values with the visual shape of numerals. Average performance in the dot protocol (Figure 2A and 2B) and the shape protocol (Figure 2C and 2D) was comparable (87% and 88%, respectively) and significantly better than chance for all tested quantities (p < 0.0001, binomial test). The numerical size and distance effect [22] could be observed in both protocols, irrespective of whether the standard or control condition was applied (see Figure S1). This suggests that the monkeys were indeed judging the direct and associated numerical values.

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Figure 2. Behavioral Performance

(A and B) Dot protocol.

(C and D) Shape protocol.

The curves show how often the monkeys judged the first test and sample numerosity to be equal. The numerical value in the first test display is shown on the x-axis. Each color stands for a certain numerosity shown during the sample period. Average performance for each numerosity is shown in gray as percentage correct (chance level = 50%).

http://dx.doi.org/10.1371/journal.pbio.0050294.g002

Neuronal Responses in PFC

We recorded 692 randomly selected neurons from the lateral PFC of the monkeys while they performed the tasks. Intermingled presentation of both protocols during each session allowed us to investigate individual neurons’ responses to both dot and shape protocols. Many neurons were selective to numerical category and discharged strongest to specific (direct or associated) numerical values, irrespective of the protocol. Neuron 1, in Figure 3A–3E, for example, showed a maximum response to numerosity two (the neuron’s preferred numerosity) in the early sample phase, and a progressive drop-off with increasing numerical distance from the preferred numerosity in the dot protocol (Figure 3A). The same neuron preferred the same (associated) numerical value (i.e., two) in the shape protocol (Figure 3B) and had an equivalent tuning function (Figure 3C). Neuron 2, in Figure 3F–3J, preferred numerosity four in both the sample and delay phase in the dot protocol (Figure 3F). The same neuron exhibited a remarkably similar temporal discharge pattern to the signs associated to specific numerical values in the shape protocol (Figure 3G). For both protocols, the neuron showed monotonically increasing tuning functions (Figure 3H). Neuron 3, in Figure 3K–3O, showed strikingly similar responses during the memory period in both the dot (Figure 3K) and shape protocol (Figure 3L), with a preferred numerical value two; the tuning functions obtained with the dot and the shape protocols were almost identical (Figure 3M).

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Figure 3. Neural PFC Responses

(A–E) Neuron 1 showed highest firing rates for numerical value two in the dot (A) and shape (B) protocols in the early sample phase. Top panels in (A) and (B) show dot raster histograms (each dot represents an action potential); bottom panels are the corresponding color-coded spike density histograms (averaged and smoothed with a 100-ms Gaussian kernel for illustrative purposes only). The first 500 ms indicates the fixation period. Black vertical lines mark sample onset (500 ms) and offset (1,300 ms). (C) Tuning functions in the sample period for the dot and shape protocols, calculated from the raw firing rates in a 400-ms latency shifted window. (D) Time course of original CCs (red) and chance CCs (SPs, blue). (E) Time course of discriminability between CCs and SP quantified as the AUROC. The horizontal bar above the x-axis indicates the time interval of significant cross-correlation between tuning to the dot and shape protocols; in this period, the neuron associated numerical values in the two protocols. The black dashed line depicts the threshold (mean of ROC values derived during fixation period ± three standard deviations). The gray dashed line represents chance level (0.5).

(F–J) Neuron 2 exhibiting four as preferred numerical value in the sample and delay period. Same layout as in (A–E); tuning functions were derived from the second ANOVA window of the sample period. (I and J) Neuron 2 associated numerical values in both protocols throughout the entire sample and delay period.

(K–O) Neuron 3 exhibited two as preferred numerical value in the delay period. Same layout as in (A–E); tuning functions were derived from the second ANOVA window of the delay period.

http://dx.doi.org/10.1371/journal.pbio.0050294.g003

For a quantitative analysis of the neurons’ selectivity to numerical values, we first calculated a two-way analysis of variance (ANOVA) (with factors numerical value [i.e., 1, 2, 3, 4] × stimulus condition [i.e., standard versus control], p < 0.05) separately for the dot and shape protocols. During the sample period, 263 (263/692, or 38%) neurons were selective for shapes and 229 (229/692, or 33%) for the number of dots irrespective of whether standard or control conditions were used (significance only for factor “numerical value”; no other significant effects). During the delay period, 297 (297/692, or 43%) and 300 (300/692, or 43%) neurons were significantly tuned to shapes and the number of dots, respectively. We found 210 neurons during the sample and/or delay phase that were selective only to factor “numerical value” in both protocols, irrespective of the displays’ visuospatial properties. For all quantities from one to four, we found neurons with the same preferred numerosities and associated numerical values. The observed frequency of those neurons was significantly higher compared to chance occurrence (p < 0.001, binomial test; Figure S5; see Materials and Methods for a description of chance level calculation). More precisely, more neurons exhibited the same preferred numerical value in the dot and shape protocols than expected assuming independence between the encoding of the two stimulus protocols.

Neuronal Association of Visual Shapes and Numerical Values in PFC

Neurons that were ANOVA-selective in both protocols (especially those with the identical preferred numerical value in both protocols) constitute a potential neural substrate for long-term numerical associations. In addition to mere selectivity in the dot and shape protocols, however, neurons should have similar tuning functions for the (direct and associated) numerical values in both protocols. To test this hypothesis, and to investigate the time course of association, we performed a sliding cross-correlation analysis between each neuron’s tuning functions in the shape and dot protocols for all 210 ANOVA-selective cells and derived the cross-correlation coefficients (CCs; see Figures S2S4 for details). The significance of the CCs was evaluated by using a sliding receiver operating characteristic (ROC) analysis. For each neuron, we derived the ROC values of the difference between CCs and the shuffle predictors (SPs, which constitute chance CCs) in 25-ms time steps [28] (see Materials and Methods). Based on this analysis, 157 cells (157/692, or 23%) were significantly correlated and classified as “association neurons.” For instance, neuron 1 associated between visual shapes and numerical values during the sample onset phase, i.e., 175 ms after stimulus onset and, taking its response latency of 120 ms into account, 55 ms after its earliest visual response (Figure 3D and 3E). The associative neuronal responses of neuron 2 (Figure 3I and 3J) ranged from 250 ms (latency-corrected: 11 ms) after stimulus onset to 50 ms before the end of the delay period. As an example of a late-associating cell, neuron 3 associated throughout the entire memory phase (see Figure 3N and 3O). The time course of association shown in Figure 4A for the entire sample of association neurons revealed many neurons that associated the numerical values of shapes and dots early after sample onset. While individual cells coded the (direct and associated) numerical values during specific time phases in the trial (represented by the black bars in Figure 4A), the neuronal population represented the numerical association throughout the entire trial. When corrected for response latency, about half of the association neurons started to associate numerical values within the first 200 ms after neuronal response onset. One hundred and thirteen neurons began to associate during the sample phase, and 44 neurons during the delay phase (Figure 4B).

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Figure 4. Association Neurons in the PFC

(A) Diagram showing the temporal evolution of significant (as determined by a sliding ROC analysis; see Materials and Methods) cross-correlations between the tuning functions of 157 individual neurons to the dot and shape protocols. Top panel: Number of association neurons as a function of time. Bottom panel: Time course of association of each individual neuron. Each horizontal line corresponds to one single neuron. Periods of significant correlation are marked in black. Data are sorted by the first time of significant cross-correlation. Time is aligned to the midpoint of the 100-ms sliding windows. Data from example neurons 1–3 in Figure 3 are indicated by gray triangles.

(B) Distribution of response-latency-corrected time points at which neurons started to associate numerical values.

(C) Population tuning curves. Normalized discharges and averaged tuning curves of all association neurons to the dot (gray) and shape (black) protocols. Data are plotted as a function of numerical distance from the preferred numerical value.

http://dx.doi.org/10.1371/journal.pbio.0050294.g004

Interestingly, the tuning functions of association neurons showed a distance effect [22] for both protocols, i.e., a drop-off of activation with increasing numerical distance from the preferred numerical value (numerical distance 1 versus 3, dot protocol, p < 0.001, n = 104; shape protocol, p < 0.01, n = 91; Wilcoxon signed-rank test, two-tailed; see single-cell examples in Figure 3C, 3H, and 3M, and population analysis in Figures 4C and S6 ). The distance effect found in the shape protocol indicates that association neurons responded as a function of numerical value rather than visual shape per se. However, the neuronal response drop-off between the preferred and second-preferred numerical values was larger in the shape protocol (50%) than in the dot protocol (39.8%) (p = 0.016, n = 157, Wilcoxon signed-rank test, two-tailed). This might indicate a more precise encoding of numerical values represented by signs than by sets of dots.

Error Trial Analysis of PFC Neurons

Is the association of numerical values by single PFC neurons really relevant for the monkeys’ behavior? If association neurons constitute a neuronal correlate for the monkeys’ ability to link signs with numerosities, the tuning correlations for both protocols should be weakened whenever the monkeys failed to associate visual shapes with their corresponding numerosities in error trials. To address this issue, we calculated the CCs of association neurons between correct trials in the dot protocol and error trials in the shape protocol. Because of the monkeys’ low overall error rates, error trials were only available for a subset of numerical values (e.g., 2, 3, and 4) for many neurons. Only neurons recorded during errors to two or more numerical values were included into the error trial analysis. This criterion was fulfilled by 153 out of the 157 association neurons. As shown in Figure 5A and 5B, the correlation patterns for individual neurons were disturbed in error trials, and the mean population CCs were significantly decreased in error trials during and after cue presentation (p < 0.001, n = 153, Wilcoxon signed-rank test, two-tailed). As expected, baseline correlation during the fixation period was unaffected (p = 0.44). These findings strongly argue for association neurons as a neuronal substrate of the semantic mapping processes between signs and categories.

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Figure 5. Error Trial Analysis for PFC Neurons

(A) Temporal profile of CCs during correct trials (upper panel) and error trials (bottom panel) for the same association neurons (running average rectangular filter, window size five data points). Neurons are sorted by time of maximal correlation.

(B) Time course of mean CCs across cells for correct and error trials (running average rectangular filter, window size five data points; shaded areas ± standard error of the mean).

http://dx.doi.org/10.1371/journal.pbio.0050294.g005

Comparison of PFC and IPS

During PFC recordings, we simultaneously recorded from 437 neurons in the fundus of the IPS (see Figure 6) and analyzed the neurons’ responses in the same manner (i.e., two-factor ANOVA and cross-correlation analysis). In the IPS, we found many neurons encoding either the visual shapes or the numbers of dots separately (67/437, or 15%, and 62/437, or 14%, respectively, during the sample period and 58/437, or 13%, and 83/437, or 19%, respectively, during the delay period; see Figure 6B for a summary of sample and delay). The proportion of neurons showing stimulus condition and/or interaction effects in the dot and shape protocols was significantly higher in the IPS (118/437, or 27%, and 107/437, or 24%) than in the PFC (119/692, or 17%, and 133/692, or 19%) (p < 0.001 and p < 0.05, respectively; Chi-square test). This argues for a more abstract encoding of numerical values in the PFC and a more sensory-driven activity in the IPS.

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Figure 6. Quantitative Summary and Comparison of Neuronal Response Classes in PFC and IPS

(A and B) Venn diagrams summarizing the results from the two-factor ANOVA and cross-correlation analysis in the PFC (A) and IPS (B). Data from the sample and delay period are combined. Numbers correspond to the numbers of neurons selective for each class.

(C) Lateral view of a monkey brain. Circles represent schematic locations of recording sites in the frontal and parietal lobe. AS, arcuate sulcus; CS, central sulcus; PS, principal sulcus; STS, superior temporal sulcus; LS, lateral sulcus.

(D) Frequency of association neurons. Proportions correspond to the added numbers of neuron classes (i.e., association neurons, ANOVA-selective neurons for both protocols, and ANOVA-selective neurons for shape or dot protocol; ***, p < 0.001).

http://dx.doi.org/10.1371/journal.pbio.0050294.g006

In contrast to the abundance of significantly tuned IPS neurons for the shape and dot protocols, only very few IPS neurons were selectively tuned to both protocols (n = 19); even fewer turned out to have significant correlations (8/437; Figure 6B). Compared to the PFC, for the IPS, the proportion of association cells from the pool of all selective cells was significantly lower (p < 0.001, Chi-square test; Figure 6D). Nevertheless, the proportion of neurons with identical preferred numerical values in both protocols was slightly higher than expected by chance (p < 0.001, binomial test) (see Figure S5 and Materials and Methods for calculation of chance level and the distribution of preferred numerical values).

Correlation time course and correlation strength (as measured by the ROC values) were fundamentally different between PFC and IPS neurons (Figure 7). In the PFC, ROC values showed a sharp increase right after sample onset and remained elevated throughout the entire trial (Figure 7A). In the IPS, however, neuronal association was weak and occurred much later during the trial (Figure 7B); ROC values showed an increase around the end of the sample and delay period, but in contrast to values for the PFC, the IPS values were low during both periods. In summary, only PFC neurons seemed to be crucially involved in associating shapes with numerical magnitudes.

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Figure 7. Time Course of Association Strength

The association strength (measured as the AUROC) of 157 association PFC (A) and eight association IPS (B) neurons. AUROC values were sorted independently for each time bin. Higher AUROC values indicate stronger association, i.e., more similar tuning functions to the dot and shape protocols. Black lines correspond (from right to left) to sample onset and offset. Time is aligned to the midpoint of the sliding windows.

http://dx.doi.org/10.1371/journal.pbio.0050294.g007

Discussion

We trained monkeys to associate quantitative categories with inherent meaning (i.e., numerosities) with a priori meaningless visual shapes. After this long-term learning process was completed, a large proportion of PFC neurons (23%) encoded plain numerical values, irrespective of whether they had been presented as a specific number of dots or as a visual shape. The activity of association neurons predicted the monkeys’ judgment performance; if the monkeys failed to match the correct number of dots to the learned shapes, discharge patterns were drastically de-correlated. The population of these PFC cells represented the numerical association throughout the entire trial, providing crucial information to bridge the association over time. In contrast, only 2% of all recorded IPS neurons associated signs with numerosities. These findings suggest the PFC as the prime source in the mapping process of visual shapes to cardinalities.

Semantic Associations in the PFC

Previous studies showed that neurons in the PFC encode learned associations between two purely sensory stimuli without intrinsic meaning (e.g., the association of a certain color with a specific sound, or pairs of pictures) [2931]. In the anterior inferotemporal cortex, Miyashita and co-workers found “pair-coding neurons” that responded to arbitrary pairs of images monkeys learned to match in a pair-association task [32], and evidence that the PFC is important for active retrieval of these associative representations [33]. Here we show, to our knowledge for the first time, that neurons in the PFC represent semantic long-term associations not only between pairs of pictures, but between arbitrary shapes and systematically arranged categories with inherent meaning (i.e., the ordered cardinalities of sets). Our results suggest that the PFC may not only control the retrieval of long-term associations, but may in fact constitute a cardinal processing stage for abstract semantic associations. The prefrontal region is strategically situated for such associations [34]; it receives input from both the anterior inferotemporal cortex, which encodes shape information [35], and the posterior parietal cortex, which contains numerosity-selective neurons [23,24].

The described association neurons and their response characteristics suggest such cells as neuronal correlates of semantic association. We observed that many neurons associated visual shapes with numerical values transiently, and not until the end of the delay period (Figure 4A), whereas prospective activity typically dominates near the end of the delay [29]. More importantly, a high proportion of neurons associated numerical values in the shape and dot displays right after sample onset (see Figure 4A and 4B). This argues for a direct involvement of these neurons in linking numerical values to shapes, rather than encoding upcoming match stimuli in a prospective manner. Finally, an analysis of error trials (see Figure 5) revealed that tuning correlation between both protocols was weakened whenever the monkeys failed to associate visual shapes with their corresponding numerosities. This again provides evidence that association neurons constitute a neuronal correlate for the monkeys’ ability to link signs with numerosities.

Hypothetical Formation of Association Neurons

While quantity representations are spontaneously developed [3,6], associations between visual shapes and numerical categories clearly have to be learned by mapping shape representations onto numerical categories. This neuronal learning could start with two classes of PFC cells: one class encoding visual characteristics of shapes (input possibly via inferotemporal cortex [35]), the other class representing numerical information most likely received from the IPS [23,24]. According to the Hebbian learning rule [36], the connections may be strengthened between these two classes of neurons so that cells encoding matching pairs (e.g., Arabic numeral 3 and three dots) are interconnected and become associative. This learning behavior could potentially be modeled via a recurrent neuronal network as has been done for pair-association encoding in inferotemporal neurons [37] or for somatosensory parametric working memory in PFC [38].

Comparison of Human and Monkey Data

Even though numerosity-selective neurons in IPS are relatively abundant and encode numerical information earlier than PFC neurons [23], association neurons were surprisingly rare in the parietal lobe. Moreover, IPS neurons differentiated to a larger extent between the sensory features of the visual displays; they responded less abstractly than PFC neurons, which generalized across visual properties. At first glance, the sparseness of association IPS neurons in the nonhuman primate seems to be at odds with the well-known role of the posterior parietal cortex in adult humans for both non-symbolic [17,18] and symbolic numerical cognition [1820]. Beyond possible species-specific differences between humans and monkeys, this difference might also be the consequence of training duration; our monkeys were trained for few months to match numerosities with visual shapes, whereas humans acquire symbols over years. Because of the monkeys’ inferior proficiency, it is likely that the shape–numerosity association was not automatically executed in the monkey brain, but required a strong involvement of the PFC in order to manage the high cognitive demands [34].

Support for this assumption comes from recent functional magnetic resonance imaging studies with human children. In contrast to adults, preschoolers lacking proficiency with number symbols show elevated PFC activity when dealing with symbolic cardinalities [3941]. Only with age and proficiency does the activation seem to shift to parietal areas. This frontal-to-parietal shift has been interpreted as being a result of increasing automaticity in number tasks. This shift of symbolic associations to the parietal lobe could release the limited cognitive resources of PFC for new demanding tasks [34]. The PFC could, thus, be ontogenetically and phylogenetically the first cortical area establishing semantic associations, which might be relocated to the parietal cortex in human adolescents [27,42] in parallel with the maturing language capabilities [43] that endow our species with a sophisticated symbolic system [42].

A Putative Precursor for Symbolic Number Representations

During cultural evolution, humans invented number symbols as mental tools. Number symbols endow our species with an exact understanding of cardinality and the ability to execute the most complicated calculations. Given that the first ancient number symbols have been dated back to only a couple of thousand years ago [44], it is impossible that the human brain has developed areas with distinct, culturally dependent number symbol functions [27]. It is more parsimonious to assume that existing brain structures, originally evolved for other purposes, are reused and built upon in the course of continuing evolutionary development (by a process called “exaptation” [45]), an idea captured by the “redeployment hypothesis” [46] (also termed “recycling hypothesis” [27]). According to this hypothesis, already existing simpler networks are largely preserved, extended, and combined as networks become more complex, instead of there being a de novo creation of intricate structures [47]. In the number domain, evidence suggests that existing neuronal components (located in PFC and IPS)—originally developed to serve nonverbal quantity representations—are used for the new purpose of number symbol encoding, without disrupting their participation in existing cognitive processes [18]. While monkeys use the PFC and IPS for non-symbolic quantity representations [23], only the prefrontal part of this network is engaged in semantic shape–number associations. Interestingly, this pattern of brain area use seems to be preserved in human children [3941]. Moreover, we found that numerical values represented by signs were encoded more selectively as than analog set sizes. This sharpening of the tuning functions for signs was predicted by a recent network model [48] and might indicate the advent of a digital representation via symbol-like signs in the primate brain. We speculate that our data in the monkey provide a first glimpse of redeployment of the PFC for symbolic-like learning, thus paving the way for the neuronal quantity network to encode real number symbols in language-endowed humans.

Materials and Methods

Behavioral protocol.

We trained two monkeys to match either a set of dots with another set of dots (delayed match-to-sample task, or dot protocol; see Figure 1A) or a visual shape with a set of dots (delayed association task, or shape protocol; see Figure 1B). Stimuli were sets of black dots or black Arabic numerals pseudo-randomly varying in size and position and displayed on a gray background. A trial started when the monkey grasped a lever and fixated (± 1.75° of visual angle, monitored with an infrared eye tracking system) on a central target. After a monkey fixated for 500 ms, the sample appeared for 800 ms (multiple-dot display in the dot protocol; Arabic numeral in the shape protocol). The monkey then had to maintain fixation until the end of a 1,000-ms delay period, after which the test stimulus was presented (always a multiple-dot pattern). In 50% of cases the test stimulus was a match, i.e., it showed the same number of dots as cued during the sample period by a multiple-dot pattern or a shape. In the other 50% of cases the first test stimulus was a nonmatch, which showed—with equal probabilities—either a higher or lower numerosity than the sample display. After a nonmatch test stimulus, a second test stimulus appeared that was always a match. To receive a fluid reward, monkeys were required to release the lever as soon as a match appeared. Trials were pseudo-randomized and balanced across all relevant features (e.g., match versus nonmatch, dot versus shape protocol, standard versus control, etc.).

Stimuli.

The stimuli for the dot protocol were randomly arranged black dots displayed on a gray background (diameter 6° of visual angle). For each session, 100 different images per numerosity were generated with pseudo-randomly varied visual features: the diameter of the dots ranged from 0.5 to 0.9° of visual angle, and their positions were restricted only by the border of the gray background circle and the fact that they were not allowed to overlap each other. Sample and test stimuli were never identical. All four quantities were presented in each session with one standard and one control condition. Controls in the dot protocol included dot displays with constant circumference (the summed circumference of the dots was constant, such that dot size decreased as dot number increased, as opposed to in the standard condition), linear configuration (i.e., all dots were linearly arranged), and constant density (i.e., constant mean distance between dots) across all presented quantities (see Figure 1C). These measures prevented the monkeys from memorizing visual patterns instead of using the numerical information to solve the task. For the shape protocol, a sample stimulus consisted of a black Arabic numeral on a gray background circle. Font size (range 26 to 42 points) and position of the shapes were varied pseudo-randomly from trial to trial. The font “Arial” was used for standard trials; “Times New Roman,” “Souvenir BT,” and “Lithograph Light” were control fonts (see Figure 1D). The test stimulus for the shape protocol consisted of sets of black dots in the style of the dot protocol. Standard and control trials as well as trials from the dot and shape protocols were pseudo-randomly intermingled and appeared with equal probabilities in each session. These measures ensured that the monkeys generalized to the overall shape characteristics instead of memorizing local features.

Recording techniques.

Recordings were made from one left and one right hemisphere of the ventral convexity of the lateral PFC and in the fundus of the IPS of two rhesus monkeys (Macaca mulatta) in accordance with the guidelines for animal experimentation approved by the Regierungspräsidium Tübingen, Germany. These areas were chosen because in preceding studies [2126] they were shown to contain visual numerosity-selective cells and, from human studies, are known to be activated during numerosity-related tasks [1720,3941]. Single-cell recordings were made with arrays of tungsten electrodes (1–2 MOhm impedance). Recording sites were localized using stereotaxic reconstructions from magnetic resonance images. Recordings in the IPS were done exclusively at depths from 9 to 13 mm below the cortical surface (Horsley-Clark coordinates, anterior/posterior, −5 mm or 0 mm) [24]. No attempts were made to preselect neurons. Off-line sorting was routinely applied to separate single units. As of the publication of this article, both monkeys are still engaged in discrimination tasks.

Response latency.

To determine the neuronal response latencies, averaged spike density histograms were derived with a 1-ms resolution, smoothed by a sliding window with a kernel bin width of 10 ms for all sample stimuli. A 200-ms time window before stimulus onset was used as baseline. If five consecutive time bins after stimulus onset reached a value higher than the maximum of the baseline period, response latency was defined by the first of these time bins. A default latency of 100 ms was used if no value could be calculated.

ANOVA.

Putative association neurons were preselected based on a two-factor ANOVA. To account for different temporal response phases, spike rates were tested in four adjacent, nonoverlapping time windows. The first window (400 ms) started at the beginning of the sample period and was shifted by the neurons’ response latencies. The second window (400 ms) followed right after the first one and covered the rest of the sample period. The subsequent two windows (450 ms each) covered the first and second part of the delay period. Selectivity for numerical values was calculated based on these discharge rates separately for the dot and shape protocols using a two-way ANOVA with main factors “numerical value” (one to four) and “stimulus condition” (standard and control). Cells were considered to be numerosity-selective only if they showed a significant main effect to “numerosity” in one of the four analysis windows, but no significant “stimulus condition” or interaction effect.

Population tuning functions and normalization.

To derive averaged numerosity-filter functions, the tuning functions of individual neurons were normalized by dividing all spike rates of the tuning functions by the maximum activity, thus setting the activity at the preferred numerical value to 100%. Pooling the resulting normalized tuning curves across the entire population of association cells resulted in averaged numerosity-filter functions (see Figures 4C, S6A, and S6B). The population tuning functions were calculated for the time windows during which association neurons were significantly tuned to numerosity as tested by the two-way ANOVA. If neurons were significantly tuned in more than one window the analysis was restricted to the window with the smallest p-value.

Correlation analysis.

The correlation analysis aimed to extract tuning similarities of individual neurons to numerical values in the shape and dot protocols. Figure S2 describes the application flow of the analysis. For each protocol (Figure S2A and S2B), eight trials per numerical value were chosen in a random manner (Figure S2C). Tuning functions were built with the averaged spike rates of these trials (Figure S2D and S2E). Next, the CCs between these tuning functions were calculated. The same subset of trials was shuffled so that the relation between neural activity and numerical value was abolished (Figure S2F); with this shuffled dataset, we calculated dummy tuning curves (Figure S2G and S2H) and computed the CCs (termed SPs) between them. This procedure was repeated 1,000 times, always using a new random subset consisting of eight trials to create two distributions of CCs and SPs. We quantified the discriminability between these distributions by ROC analysis. This analysis was accomplished for each of the sliding windows separately (one exemplary window is shown by the shaded bars in Figure S2A and S2B). Each separate analysis step is described in more detail below.

Bootstrapping.

Out of the set of all trials (Figure S2A and S2B), we randomly drew eight trials per numerosity and protocol (i.e., in total four numerosities × two protocols × eight trials = 64 trials per turn; Figure S2C). This was done 1,000 times with replacement. We took care that no trial combination occurred more than once. The CCs and the SPs were calculated for each turn of the bootstrapping algorithm. This method filters robust effects across trials and provides reliable distributions.

Tuning functions.

The tuning functions tshape and tdot were composed of the spike rates of a given neuron obtained in the shape and dot protocols, respectively. Spike rates were obtained by averaging across the raw spike trains for 100 ms (see shaded windows in Figure S2A and S2B). Each tuning function consisted of four spike rates (corresponding to the neuron’s responses to numerical value n = 1, 2, 3, and 4 during the identical time window). The spike rates were combined into one tuning function by sorting them in ascending numerical order (Figure S2D and S2E).

Cross-correlation coefficients.

The CCs provided a measure to quantify the similarity between tuning to the shape and dot protocols. The rationale behind this was the following. A neuron that was ANOVA-selective in both protocols constituted a potential neuronal association substrate between shapes and numerical values. In addition to the mere selectivity in the dot and shape protocols, however, neurons should have similar tuning functions for the (direct and associated) numerical values in both protocols. Neurons showing different tunings to the numerical values in the two protocols cannot be regarded as association neurons and should be excluded. The normalized cross-correlation is an appropriate method for filtering for these criteria. The cross-correlation takes a neuron’s entire tuning functions tshape(n) and tdot(n) for the numerical values n ∈ [1, 2, 3, 4] for dot and shape protocols, respectively, into account, rather than just comparing the preferred numerosities. We calculated the cross-correlation between these tuning functions for the shape and dot protocols. It is scale-invariant, since the means shape and dot are subtracted from each spike rate, and has the advantage of normalization, which allows comparison across all cells. The normalized CC was calculated as follows:

Shuffle predictor.

The SP is supposed to represent the chance correlation level, irrespective of numerical values. For its calculation we abolished the relationship between neural activity and numerical value by randomly assigning each neural response a numerical value (Figure S2F). Based on the tuning functions of this shuffled dataset (Figure S2G and S2H), we calculated CCs. We termed the distribution of these CCs the SP. Since the SP was calculated within the bootstrapping algorithm (1,000 repetitions), it provides a robust estimate of non-numerical-related fluctuations. In other words, the SP takes accidental correlations into account (e.g., those occurring at phasic “on” responses) and can thus be regarded as baseline correlation irrespective of influences by the presented numerical values.

ROC analysis.

To determine whether a given cell in a given time bin responded more similarly to shape and dot stimuli than expected by chance, we performed a ROC analysis [28] that provided a measure of how well the distributions of CCs and SPs were separated. The SPs were taken as the reference distribution. ROC values greater than 0.5 indicated that the CCs of a given cell were higher for the original dataset, arguing for correlated responses in the two protocols. We determined a significance threshold based on the ROC values obtained during the fixation period, during which only random correlations might occur. A neuron was termed an “association neuron” if it reached an ROC value after stimulus onset that was higher than the mean ROC value during the fixation period plus three standard deviations [49].

It needs to be emphasized that significant correlations are not caused by similar overall response modulations in the dot and shape protocols without being related to numerical value. Figure S4A and S4B shows an example neuron that responded very similarly to both protocols. Nevertheless, the CCs were close to zero (see red line in Figure S4C), because this neuron did not show any tuning to numerical value. The SP was also characterized by values fluctuating around zero (see blue line in Figure S4C). Consequently, the ROC analysis did not reveal any significant deviations from chance level (Figure S4D). In contrast, the neurons in Figure 3 showed strong modulations of firing rates with numerical value. As a consequence, the CCs reached high values up to one (see red lines in Figure 3D, 3I, and 3N). At the same time, however, the SP hovered around zero (see blue line in Figure 3D, 3I, and 3N). Thus, the ROC analysis correctly detected the periods of meaningful correlations (see Figure 3E, 3J, and 3O).

Sliding windows.

We calculated the CCs, the SP, and the area under the ROC curve (AUROC) in sliding windows (100-ms duration, shifted by 25 ms; see shaded area in Figure S2A and S2B). This procedure allows a detailed analysis of correlation development over time (Figure 7A and 7B) and reveals the different temporal correlation patterns of individual neurons (Figure 4A). We obtained almost identical proportions of association neurons when the analysis was based on nonoverlapping windows of 100-ms duration (n = 167; values exceeding threshold in at least one window to reach significance).

Error trial analysis.

We evaluated the link between neuronal responses and behavior by analyzing the influence of erroneous judgments on the neuronal association. To that aim, we calculated CCs between the neuronal tuning functions based on error trials in the shape protocol and neuronal tuning functions obtained from correct trials in the dot protocol. Since the monkeys made very few errors, we often did not collect error trials for all tested numerical values. In these cases we restricted the analysis to the numerical values for which we obtained neuronal data during error trials (at least two numerical values). We compared these error-related CCs with CCs based on correct trials (again restricted to the same numerical values).

Probability calculation.

Was the proportion of neurons tuned to the same numerical value in both the dot and shape protocols higher than expected by chance? Since some neurons were tuned to numerosity in the dot protocol while others were encoding numerical information in the shape protocol, neurons encoding both formats may simply emerge by chance. We therefore compared the actual frequency of neurons with identical preferred numerical values in both protocols to chance occurrence based on probability calculations. To that aim, we considered the following three events: a cell is shape-selective, a cell is dot-selective, and a cell is selective for shapes and dots, formally written as Based on our dataset, we calculated the probabilities that a cell encodes a specific preferred numerical value n in one of the protocols alone, given that the cell was ANOVA-selective to any numerical value in both protocols (P(shape = n|sig in both) for the shape protocol and P(dot = n|sig in both) for the dot protocol). To obtain the probability that a cell is encoding the preferred numerical value n in both protocols, given that the cell is selective to any numerical value in both protocols (P((shape = n ∧ dot = n)|sig in both)), the two obtained probabilities were multiplied. This approach was legitimate, because the two probabilities P(shape = n|sig in both) and P(dot = n|sig in both) are independent because of the pseudo-randomized presentation protocol. Thus, we can phrase the probability that a cell by chance encodes a specific shape and a specific number of dots simultaneously given that the cell is significant in both formats as In total, the overall probability that a cell encodes one of the n shapes and the respective associated number of dots by chance, given that the cell is significant in both protocols, is the sum of the probabilities for all n: The predicted chance probability Ppred was compared to the observed probability calculated as the percentage of cells with the same preferred quantity in both protocols in the pool of cells that were ANOVA-selective in both the dot and shape protocols. We calculated binomial tests with Ppred as test proportion. The observed fractions in the PFC differed significantly from the test proportions during sample and delay period (p < 0.001, n = 93, Ppred = 0.30, and p < 0.001, n = 139, Ppred = 0.31, respectively). The fraction of neurons in the IPS with the same preferred numerical value in both protocols was very small but differed significantly from the predicted frequency during the sample and delay period (p < 0.001, n = 5, Ppred = 0.32, and p < 0.001, n = 16, Ppred = 0.25, respectively). The results are depicted as fractions of the entire sample of recorded neurons (both selective and unselective) in Figure S5E.

This analysis represents a parallel argumentation line to the cross-correlation analysis. It shows on a stochastic basis that associations of visual signs and numerical values is not a coincidence.

Supporting Information

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(A–D) Performance of monkey 1 for standard (A) and control (B) trials in the dot protocol and standard (C) and control (D) trials in the shape protocol. Same layout as in Figure 2.

(E–H) Performance of monkey 2. Layout as in (A–D).

Figure S1. Behavioral Performance for Standard and Control Trials

(A–D) Performance of monkey 1 for standard (A) and control (B) trials in the dot protocol and standard (C) and control (D) trials in the shape protocol. Same layout as in Figure 2.

(E–H) Performance of monkey 2. Layout as in (A–D).

doi:10.1371/journal.pbio.0050294.sg001

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Figure S2. Application Flow of Correlation Analysis

(A and B) Dot raster histograms showing discharges to all trials of the dot (A) and shape (B) protocols. The numerical value is color coded.

(C) Subsets of eight randomly drawn trials per numerical value and protocol (1,000 repetitions with replacement). The numbers correspond to the numerical value shown during the sample period of the respective trial. From these trials, spike rates were calculated over 100-ms windows (indicated by the shaded time windows in [A] and [B]).

(D and E) The spike rates were arranged in a numerically ascending order for the dot (D) and shape (E) protocols, thereby forming tuning curves. With these resulting tuning curves for the dot and shape protocols, the CC was calculated.

(F–H) For the SP, we randomly shuffled discharges to the numerical values (F) and calculated the tuning functions with this shuffled dataset (G and H). With these resulting dummy tuning curves, the SP was calculated. The CCs and the SP were compared by ROC analysis.

doi:10.1371/journal.pbio.0050294.sg002

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Figure S3. Alternative Shuffling Method

(A–H) Application flow of correlation analysis. Layout as in Figure S2. For the SP, we randomly shuffled average activity computed for different numerical values (F) and calculated the tuning functions with these shuffled datasets (G and H).

(I–K) Comparison of results obtained by the two different shuffling methods for the three example neurons shown in Figure 3. Upper panels show the CCs (red) and the SP (blue); lower panels illustrate the area under the ROC curve. Panels on the left represent results from the shuffling method used in this paper; panels on the right represent results from the alternative shuffling method. There are only minor differences in the results between the two shuffling methods.

doi:10.1371/journal.pbio.0050294.sg003

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Figure S4. Mere Similarities in Response Modulation Do Not Cause Significant Correlations

(A and B) Dot raster and spike density histograms (100-ms smoothing Gaussian kernel) for the dot (A) and shape (B) protocols. Neuron showing similar response modulations in the dot and shape protocols, but not as a function of numerical value.

(C) The CC (red line) has values close to zero. The SP (blue line) resembles the CC.

(D) The area under the curve obtained by the ROC analysis fluctuates around 0.5. No significant correlation is detected. The black dashed lines depict the significance criterion (mean ± three standard deviations during fixation period); the gray dashed line represents the chance level.

doi:10.1371/journal.pbio.0050294.sg004

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Figure S5. Preferred Numerical Values of Significantly Tuned PFC and IPS Neurons

(A and B) Distributions of preferred numerical values one to four in PFC neurons during sample (A) and delay (B) period. Gray and black bars correspond to the dot and shape protocols, respectively.

(C and D) Distributions of preferred numerical values in IPS neurons during sample (C) and delay (D) period.

(E) Frequency of neurons with identical preferred numerical values in both protocols. The predicted frequencies were compared with the observed data shown in (A–D) (***, p < 0.001). Percentages refer to the entire sample of recorded neurons (both selective and unselective).

doi:10.1371/journal.pbio.0050294.sg005

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Figure S6. Tuning Properties and Absolute Selectivity of PFC Association Neurons

(A and B) Normalized responses averaged for neurons preferring the same sample quantity for the dot (A) and shape (B) protocols. Error bars represent the standard error of the mean.

(C) Distribution of rate differences between preferred and least preferred numerical value in the dot (gray) and shape (black) protocols for all associative neurons.

doi:10.1371/journal.pbio.0050294.sg006

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Acknowledgments

We thank S. Jacob, O. Tudusciuc, and D. Vallentin for critical reading of the manuscript.

Author Contributions

ID and AN conceived and designed the experiments. ID performed the experiments and analyzed the data. AN contributed reagents/materials/analysis tools. ID and AN wrote the paper.

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The Man Who Recorded, Tamed and Then Sold Nature Sounds to America

The Man Who Recorded, Tamed and Then Sold Nature Sounds to America
A forgotten 1970s-era hippie polymath named Irv Teibel created the “soothing” vibe of the great outdoors.
by Cara Giaimo April 05, 2016
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A 1970s-era advertisement for Environments. (Photo: Courtesy Syntonic Research)

In the 1970s, you could buy a pet rock, or a lava lamp. People had even pawned the Brooklyn Bridge a few times.

But no one sold the ocean until Irv Teibel.

If you flip on a waterfall to fall asleep, if you keep rainymood.com in your bookmarks, if you associate well-being with the sound of streams and crickets or wonder why the beach never quite sounds as tranquil as you imagine, it’s because of Teibel. New York’s least likely media mogul was the mastermind behind Environments, a series of records he swore were “The Future of Music.” From 1969 to 1979, he took the best parts of nature, turned them up to 11, engraved them on 12-inch records, and sold them back to us by the millions. He had a musician’s ear, an artist’s heart, and a salesman’s tongue, and his work lives on in yoga studios, Skymall catalogs, and the sea-blue eyes of Brian Eno. If you haven’t heard of him, it’s only because he designed his own legacy to be invisible.

This is the story of a man who tried to capture the world, and really wanted us to listen.
The Countercultural Sea

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The liner notes and disc for Environments 1: “The Psychologically Ultimate Seashore/Optimum Aviary.” (Photo: Cara Giaimo)

Irving Solomon Teibel was born in Buffalo, New York, in 1938. Though his full name has a cadence any melodist would envy, everyone called him Irv. He took an early interest in preserving sound—his childhood home was lively with classical music, and he’d bring recording equipment to his brother Phil’s violin concerts, to add them to the stacks.

As he got older, he zigzagged between disciplines and cities, picking up new modes of apprehension and expression: applied science at Rochester Institute of Technology, photography at the Art Center School in Los Angeles, public relations for the U.S. Army in Germany, publishing in London. While stationed in Stuttgart in the 1950s, he dug into the local scene, studying electronic music and splicing tape with fellow musique concréte fans at a radio station. Promotion by day, sonic experiments by night—Teibel may not have known it, but he was building the toolkit he’d call on to make Environments.

By 1965, he was 27 years old and a jack-of-all-trades Manhattanite. He wrote and photographed for magazines like Look and Car and Driver, designed record jackets, and, after composer John Watts set up a synthesizer-based curriculum, studied electronic music at the New School for Social Research. In his spare time, he ogled fancy motorcycles, kept a running file of weird restaurants, and gigged around, helping his artist friends with their after-hours endeavors.

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Teibel recording in the British countryside in the late 1970s. (Photo: Courtesy Syntonic Research)

In short, like many young people in New York at the time, he was experimenting with the array of different creative tools available to the growing counterculture. Teibel’s own calling manifested in 1968, as he crewed on a shoot for a feature called Coming Attractions. The film, directed by Tony and Beverly Grant Conrad, was a fantastical, dream-soaked portrait of a drag queen named Francis Francine, facing an uncertain future while haunted by a “Spirit of Seductions Past.” That same year, the Conrads’ friend Walter de Maria released a disc called “Ocean Music,” featuring 20 minutes of crashing surf. Seeking a similar sense of sonic restlessness, the directors sent Teibel to Coney Island to record the waves off Brighton Beach.

Coming Attractions has a perfectly splotched 1960s art house pedigree: Tony Conrad played violin with what would become The Velvet Underground, and Beverly Grant headlined films by notorious performance artist Jack Smith. Francis Francine was a Warhol muse and and early genderqueer superstar, and Walter de Maria, already an up-and-coming sculptor, would soon make an indelible mark by filling a SoHo room with dirt. Even the Conrads’ marriage was somehow transgressive—they got together after working together on a Smith film in which she played a cobra woman and he played a mummy, a decision that caused Smith to disown them both for being too normal.

Thrown into this avant-garde who’s-who, Teibel could have been starstruck. Instead, out angling his microphone at the Brighton Beach surf, he got seastruck. Teibel’s roving mind craved a magnet—he loved his sleepless city, but it was no good for calming down, or corralling his thoughts. Even his hobbies had lost some luster. After years of manipulating noise for fun, he told a friend, he suddenly “found it hard to do anything pleasant” with it.

The sea sounds, though, were easy to love. Taken back to his Manhattan apartment and looped on repeat, they were even better. They quieted his mind. They helped him concentrate. They did something plain old human music couldn’t.
“A Perfect Ocean”

Soon after his Brighton Beach breakthrough, Teibel went for his regular chess game with a friend who worked in psychoacoustics, studying how sound affects the nervous system. As Teibel later related in computer magazine Digital Deli, this friend happened to bring up Hermann Ludwig Ferdinand von Helmholtz, a 19th-century German polymath who was convinced that natural sounds—even those as mundane as the wind, or the sea—might have “great psychological benefits, if only some means of accurate reproduction could be found.”

A century after this speculation, such means were now old hat. Teibel had just used them to bottle the ocean. “This casual mention of Helmholtz’ musings,” he wrote, “triggered a ‘what-if’ that was to have a profound effect on the next decade of my life.” He later told his daughter that it was like “waking up and being on top of an elephant.”

Teibel informed the Conrads that he wanted to start a record label. When they declined to go in on it, he left their project and went back to the beach himself.

But making the sounds he recorded match the sea in his head was no easy feat, and required a then-rare collaborator—a computer.

Compared to music, or spoken conversation, the ocean is “noisy,” full of surprising tones and frequencies your average microphone doesn’t bother to preserve. And though the human ear is used to filling in gaps left by a choppy radio or telephone, Teibel found it to be much less forgiving when taking in natural sounds. “Into this maelstrom of inaccuracy I plunged with my trusty Uher portable stereo reel-to-reel tape recorder and a tangle of microphones and cables,” he wrote. “Nearly a year later I had produced a hundred stereo recordings not one of which actually sounded, to my mind’s eye, like the ocean I wanted to hear.”

Luckily for him, Teibel’s perfectionism was matched by his roster of useful friends. One in particular, Louis Gerstman, was working at Bell Labs, developing computers that could recite Hamlet and sing children’s songs in order to better understand speech. Gerstman had access to an IBM 360, a state-of-the-art machine in 1968. “Bring your ocean to me, and I’ll save you grief,” he told Teibel.

Teibel and Gerstman fed the original Brighton Beach tape into the computer and, after a night of parameter tweaks and range adjustments, came up with something promising—“a beautiful, tranquil ocean sound I had never heard before,” Teibel wrote. The next night, they went at it again, adding delays and overdubs. When they finally had what they wanted, they realized it would take eight hours to record their 30-minute sea to playback tape. “We set everything up, punched the record button, and spent the rest of the night drinking coffee and munching greasy hamburgers at an all-night diner,” Teibel wrote. When they went in at dawn to play it back, they found exactly what he had wanted: “A ‘perfect’ ocean in completely convincing stereo.”

The cover of Environments 1. (Photo: Cara Giaimo)

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“Better than a Tranquilizer”

Pick up a copy of Environments 1, and you don’t see any of its backstory. There’s no sign of the all-nighters, the stacks of failed beach tapes, or the greasy burgers; no credits or place designations. In fact, Teibel’s name doesn’t appear once.

What you do see are promises, and lots of them. The front boasts the track titles, all-caps beneath a long view of a foamy wave: “Side 1: THE PSYCHOLOGICALLY ULTIMATE SEASHORE. Side 2: OPTIMUM AVIARY.” Open the fold, and you get four columns of instructional text, alternately self-assured (“you will probably want to leave the record playing all the time”) and overbearing (if such constant use grimes things up, “use tepid water and mild dishwashing detergent to rinse the record.”). The back fairly shouts with anonymous user reviews in bright colors: “HAVEN’T FELT SO GOOD SINCE MY VACATION”; “cured my insomnia!”; “BETTER THAN A TRANQUILIZER.” At the bottom, in a curlicue font, is the only mark of authorship: “Produced by Syntonic Research, Inc.”

After hammering out the kinks in the seashore, Teibel took his reel-to-reel to the Bronx Zoo and set it up near the birdcage. Voila: “Optimum Aviary.” But even with a set of perfect recordings, Teibel was only halfway done. He wanted to bring this discovery to the people; to share with his fellow stressed-out masses the natural cure he’d found within their city’s limits. And an hour of souped-up surf and enhanced chirps wasn’t going to sell itself.

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The back of Environments 1, featuring breathless testimonials and many, many fonts. (Photo: Cara Giaimo)

So Teibel reached back into his experience as an ad man, with the Army press office and the London publishing house. Inspired by the word “Xerox,” he brainstormed a long list of intimidating, inscrutable names before settling on one: “Syntonic Research.” He holed up again and wrote sheet after sheet of copy, laying out the lab’s supposed findings: “If used while reading, comprehension and reading speed improve noticeably. If used at mealtime, appetites improve. Insomniacs fall asleep without the aid of drugs. Hypertension vanishes. Student’s marks improve. It’s [sic] effect on the esthetics of lovemaking is truly remarkable.”

As far as anyone can tell, save for the continued services of Gertsman and a Columbia University biologist named Lewis Katz, Syntonic Research employed a distinct lack of researchers. There were no white-coated acousticians decanting different sounds, or stressed-out volunteers drinking them up. Odds are good that the unattributed testimonials could all have rightly been signed “Teibel.”

This is not to say such labs didn’t exist. The mid-20th century saw a revolution in indoor noise design; improvements in HVAC systems had helped with climate control, but had also eliminated the ever-present hum that, it turned out, had been keeping an increasingly corporate America sane. Acousticians all over the country were frantically developing new types of super-specific white noise, trying to keep open-plan office workers from invading each other’s privacy with every phone call.

Meanwhile, the 1970s brought us Earth Day, a celebration of environmentalism concentrated chiefly in urban centers. Techhead hippies were reading the Whole Earth Catalogue, flipping from essays about cybernetics to treatises on how to best hand-plow a field. Though plenty of other people had recorded rainforests and jungles, for folk collections or for posterity, no one had thought to smooth them down for general indoor use.

 

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The back of Environments 5: “Ultimate Heartbeat/Wind in the Trees,” featuring more rave reviews. (Photo: Cara Giaimo)

When he did, Teibel was rewarded by the choosiest of trendsetters: college kids. As Teibel later told the New York Times, early test pressings displayed at the Harvard Coop outsold the Beatles at exam time, as students used recorded surf to drown out noisy neighbors. Bolstered by this early success, in the summer of 1970, Atlantic Records & Tapes bought the rights, expanded distribution, and embarked on a small marketing campaign. “This album contains no music, no singing, no spoken words,” one ad begins, before this surprise kicker: “…And it’s one of the Hottest-sellers in the Underground!”

In this way, Teibel gained not only a larger audience, but a posse of test subjects, and life began to imitate art—or at least to copy copy. He sent test pressings to a select audience and solicited their feedback, and seeded record sleeves with mail-in questionnaires to gauge his audience’s wants and needs. He heard back from subjects as varied as overworked helicopter pilots and clergy seeking background sounds for sermons, and read their responses in his new penthouse office in the Flatiron Building. Software designers used the records as mind-detanglers, and psychiatrists played them in waiting rooms. Inevitably, his records began to replace nature itself: Retirees soaked their Florida condos in his fake ocean, to avoid opening windows and letting in the real damp.

In the subsequent decade, Teibel followed his fans’ requests far and near. After noticing the importance of proper sound sequencing—frogs, for instance, will always call-and-respond from alternate sides of a lake—he stopped looping. He’d record in his chosen spot for hours, whittle the tape down, and pump it up. Environments 4: “Ultimate Thunderstorm” sounds like a tree-shaking deluge, but was captured from the bathroom of his Manhattan apartment. For environments 6: “Dawn and Dusk at Okefenokee Swamp,” he took an airboat to the Georgia-Florida border, accompanied only by a microphone and his Scottish terrier, Farfel, who was so well-trained he kept silent even when menaced by an alligator.

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An image from an advertisement for Environments, c. 1970s. (Photo Courtesy Syntonic Research)

Occasionally, Teibel ventured into more human territory. He recorded chanting singers, and a Central Park Be-In. Some records were made to solve a special challenge—according to its jacket, environments 5: “Ultimate Heartbeat” aimed to “slow down and synchronize the act of lovemaking” (though, as the New York Times reported, “there is scarcely an environments record side that someone hasn’t reported using to make love to”). Others found niche audiences: played in an Arizona barracks, number 11, “Alpine Blizzard” supposedly cooled off soldiers, and the thunderstorm was used to train skittish dogs. “Today, we sell to everybody from precociously intelligent 13-year-olds to grandmothers who use our records for knitting,” Teibel told the Times in 1975, just after the release of environments 8: “Wood-Masted Sailboat”/“A Country Stream.”

Journalists, coaxed into participation as part of their coverage, provide firsthand accounts of the listening experience. “There is an over-all peaceful, detached effect,” the New York Times reporter writes in 1975. “While my eyes are focused on a sheet of typing paper, I seem to be off somewhere else.” A New York magazine writer tasked with finding urban sleep solutions compares it favorably with clinics and water beds. LIFE’s reviewer takes things one step further: “Cheaper than booze, safer than pot, less monotonous than the hum of an air conditioner.” Indeed, the only non-fan may have been Lester Bangs, who included environments on a list of “Most Ridiculous Records of the 70s,” ranked slightly higher than a rock opera called “California 99” and slightly lower than “The Best of Marcel Marceau”—though even he allows that “playing the surf noises on the first record absorbs the traffic noises and crime-of-violence shrieks penetrating apartment walls in New York City.”

Between 1969 and 1979, Teibel released 11 environments LPs. Most sold well, though none approached the success of “The Psychologically Ultimate Seashore,” which moved enough units that he never had to work again. His records couldn’t go out of style, Teibel figured, because they were never in style in the first place. They were functional items—“like a bar of soap,” he said.

Throughout all this success, Teibel himself stayed in the background. In the early 1980s, he got married, moved to Austin, Texas and dove back into photography, retouching photos on his very own Apple II and sharing them with friends and neighbors. He had daughters, and then granddaughters. environments was a fixture in their bedtimes—“he would use Ultimate Thunderstorm, and Slow Ocean, even the crickets,” his daughter Jennifer told the BBC in 2012. He played them for himself, too.

When Teibel died in 2010, at age 72, his family made him an online tribute page. Thus far, it has gathered five quiet testimonials from acquaintances and strangers. “I never realized it was ONE man that did this,” wrote a fan named Roberta, who then told of tricking her mother with “Ultimate Thunderstorm:” “She was completely convinced that it was going to downpour and ran around the apartment closing windows… when she went to the back door to wait for the rain to begin she was puzzled by the sunshine.”
“Humans Don’t Like Silence Very Much”

Nearly half a century after its first release, “The Psychologically Ultimate Seashore” seems a little washed up. The environments series has been out of print for years, its spot at the Harvard Coop filled by neck pillows and disposable earplugs. Teibel’s Syntonic Records homepage, only accessible through the Internet Archive, is a fossil of the early web, with its grainy waterfall image and acid-pink background. Dog-eared copies in used record stores look like what they are: 70s relics, bubbling over with dead slang and trippy fonts.

Some of the series’ most dedicated fans, though, maintain that there’s more to the story. Hidden in the seashore’s hiss, they say, run several of the currents shaping contemporary life.

First of all, as Teibel sinks into something like obscurity, science is finally catching up. Over the past couple of decades, researchers have been trying to pin down whether and how well a good dose of outdoor audio actually works for the mind—and so far, evidence suggests there’s something to it. “There’s a lot of discussion about different types of music, and what is calming for one person may not be for for another person,” says Jonas Braasch, an acoustician at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute. “But nature sounds—people seem to agree that they all like it.”

Last year, Braasch put some study subjects through a rigorous cognitive task involving number identification. Then he gave them a break, during which he treated them to one of three auditory experiences: nature sounds, a loud industrial woodshop, or nothing at all. When he made them repeat the same task, those who had spent time in sonic nature improved the most.

Other studies have uncovered measurable physiological effects. Upcoming research from the University of North Florida suggests that listening to ocean waves can unclench muscles and slow down heart rates after just seven minutes, while Mozart and silence do nothing. In a 2003 study, patients undergoing bronchoscopies reported less pain and anxiety when the procedure had a woodsy soundtrack. Some scientists have even suggested piping birdsong into urban environments, in order to boost general morale and overpower less pleasant sounds, like traffic.

Data like this can back up hunches, but much of the “why” is still left to speculation. According to environmental psychologist Eleanor Ratcliffe, nature sounds may have certain inherently pleasant qualities, like repetition and slow rhythm, that help us tune out other distractions without demanding our attention themselves. Music, even when it strives to replicate these qualities, is too culturally specific to achieve this across the board.

Others think natural sounds evoke a sense of safety rooted in our prehistoric days, when burbling brooks and talkative birds were a sign that all was well at home. “Humans don’t like silence very much,” Braasch says. “Usually if it becomes very quiet, that’s a good indicator that a predator is around. But if animals and birds are making noise, you have a safe environment.” Even in contemporary cities, where lions and wolves are far less menacing than things like stress and sleeplessness, this old message still comes through—and, as Teibel so quickly realized, sound can help us fight those new threats, too.
The Forgotten Godfather

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A selection of Environments albums, plus one other Teibel venture, “The Erickson Tapes.” (Photo: Courtesy Jonathan Een Newton)

Teibel’s cultural reputation is quietly growing alongside his scientific one, thanks to historians and music buffs like Jonathan Een Newton. Een Newton, like most new fans, first encountered environments by accident: While nurturing an interest in environmental folk recordings, he happened upon a brief mention of Teibel in a magazine sidebar. This inspired an info-seeking blog post, which led to a phone call from Teibel’s daughter Jennifer. Barely a year later, he has found himself on the inside, one of a small group in charge of the Syntonic Research legacy.

It is, in his eyes, a major one. Teibel is a kind of auditory missing link. “Before, there’s Muzak, there’s mood music, and there’s sound effects records. Afterwards, there’s new age music, ambient music, Brian Eno… and he’s right in between,” Een Newton says. “He’s a forgotten godfather.”

Other devotees place him at the top of different tradition. Mack Hagood, an assistant professor of media studies at Miami University, is writing a history of what he calls “orphic media”—”sound technologies that people use to create a comfortable sense of space for themselves.” In graduate school, he began collecting examples of what would become his study subject: white noise machines, noise-cancelling headphones, televisions left on to comfort a person alone in the house. “And then I thought, ‘oh my gosh, Environments, right!'” he recalls. “These old friendly records completely fit the bill.”

These days, a large swath of Teibel’s legacy survives in the form of waterfall machines from Sharper Image, or dozens of rainforest-themed chill-out apps. But, Hagood points out, some of it has been lost, too, cut off by our current age’s narrow bandwidth of values. Now, he says, “it’s all about sleep and concentration”—the kind of attention-control that helps you work harder, or relax better so as to work harder later. Scientific studies of nature sounds bear this out in their very construction, by focusing on increasing productivity or decreasing workplace stress.

With Environments, Teibel certainly offers up better sleep and peak efficiency. But he also swears you’ll trip with your friends, have better sex, and tap into some kind of blissed-out sky-high plane. His process, with its dual focus on realness and improvement, represents the kind of achievable idealism he hoped his records could engender in others. Tune in, and you could turn on, drop out, or shape up. “These records, they look super corny and silly,” Hagood says. “But I think we need to take them more seriously.”

Een Newton agrees. He’s shining Environments up for the spotlight, working on a website, a series of reissues, a documentary, and a lot of other “little projects,” he says. Part of this is revealing the man behind Syntonic Research, an endeavor Teibel kept purposefully faceless. “He kind of did such a good job with that that he wrote himself out of the story,” Een Newton says. Big names call Teibel a spiritual forebear, he promises—though he’s taken a leaf out of his subject’s book, dancing around specifics to keep the mystery fresh.

Piecing it together hasn’t been easy, but Een Newton has a good soundtrack to search by. For Christmas this past year, Jennifer sent him a complete set of Environments. Een Newton likes working with background music, and says it’s like having the real thing after years of making do with imitations. “Now, you go to Spotify or you go to Youtube and there’s just a billion versions of rain sounds in a pine forest—they’re all copying his concept,” he says. “He’s like patient zero for all of that stuff.”
“The Music of the Future”

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Irv Teibel in his office in the Flatiron Building, c. 1975 (Photo: Courtesy Syntonic Research)

How do Teibel’s records sound now, fifty years past their commercial prime? Environments 1: “The Psychologically Ultimate Seashore” is available on Discogs for a few bucks. In our maximally efficient times, it’s very easy to order one and follow the near-medicinal playback instructions. At regular speed and volume, the disc is crisp enough to drown out car horns, roommates, and home screen notifications. It seems to unroll forever. An occasional foghorn punctuates, far off. There’s nothing particularly utopian about it, but nothing particularly retro, either.

Eventually, all the music of the future becomes the music of the past, even if it was never music to begin with. A phrase like “Totally New Concepts” starts reading as parody. We begin using tranquilizers again after all. What was novel goes in the novelty bin.

This aging just heightens a perpetual truth: There’s no such thing as a platonic ocean, in 2016 or 1969. The Seashore wasn’t ultimate at all—it was one man’s inner landscape, spliced and looped into submission and prescribed to the whole world.

Update, 4/5: The original version of this article said that Arbor Day started in 1970; it was actually Earth Day. Thanks to Michael Pepper for the correction, and we regret the error.

Linear and nonlinear waves

Better registration of source –

The study of waves can be traced back to antiquity where philosophers, such as Pythagoras (c. 560-480 BC), studied the relation of pitch and length of string in musical instruments. However, it was not until the work of Giovani Benedetti (1530-90), Isaac Beeckman (1588-1637) and Galileo (1564-1642) that the relationship between pitch and frequency was discovered. This started the science of acoustics, a term coined by Joseph Sauveur (1653-1716) who showed that strings can vibrate simultaneously at a fundamental frequency and at integral multiples that he called harmonics. Isaac Newton (1642-1727) was the first to calculate the speed of sound in his Principia. However, he assumed isothermal conditions so his value was too low compared with measured values. This discrepancy was resolved by Laplace (1749-1827) when he included adiabatic heating and cooling effects. The first analytical solution for a vibrating string was given by Brook Taylor (1685-1731). After this, advances were made by Daniel Bernoulli (1700-82), Leonard Euler (1707-83) and Jean d’Alembert (1717-83) who found the first solution to the linear wave equation, see section (The linear wave equation). Whilst others had shown that a wave can be represented as a sum of simple harmonic oscillations, it was Joseph Fourier (1768-1830) who conjectured that arbitrary functions can be represented by the superposition of an infinite sum of sines and cosines – now known as the Fourier series. However, whilst his conjecture was controversial and not widely accepted at the time, Dirichlet subsequently provided a proof, in 1828, that all functions satisfying Dirichlet’s conditions (i.e. non-pathological piecewise continuous) could be represented by a convergent Fourier series. Finally, the subject of classical acoustics was laid down and presented as a coherent whole by John William Strutt (Lord Rayleigh, 1832-1901) in his treatise Theory of Sound. The science of modern acoustics has now moved into such diverse areas as sonar, auditoria, electronic amplifiers, etc.

The study of hydrostatics and hydrodynamics was being pursued in parallel with the study of acoustics. Everyone is familiar with Archimedes (c. 287-212 BC) eureka moment; however he also discovered many principles of hydrostatics and can be considered to be the father of this subject. The theory of fluids in motion began in the 17th century with the help of practical experiments of flow from reservoirs and aqueducts, most notably by Galileo’s student Benedetto Castelli. Newton also made contributions in the Principia with regard to resistance to motion, also that the minimum cross-section of a stream issuing from a hole in a reservoir is reached just outside the wall (the vena contracta). Rapid developments using advanced calculus methods by Siméon-Denis Poisson (1781-1840), Claude Louis Marie Henri Navier (1785-1836), Augustin Louis Cauchy (1789-1857), Sir George Gabriel Stokes (1819-1903), Sir George Biddell Airy (1801-92), and others established a rigorous basis for hydrodynamics, including vortices and water waves, see section (Physical wave types). This subject now goes under the name of fluid dynamics and has many branches such as multi-phase flow, turbulent flow, inviscid flow, aerodynamics, meteorology, etc.

The study of electromagnetism was again started in antiquity, but very few advances were made until a proper scientific basis was finally initiated by William Gilbert (1544-1603) in his De Magnete. However, it was only late in the 18th century that real progress was achieved when Franz Ulrich Theodor Aepinus (1724-1802), Henry Cavendish (1731-1810), Charles-Augustin de Coulomb (1736-1806) and Alessandro Volta (1745-1827) introduced the concepts of charge, capacity and potential. Additional discoveries by Hans Christian Ørsted (1777-1851), André-Marie Ampère (1775-1836) and Michael Faraday (1791-1867) found the connection between electricity and magnetism and a full unified theory in rigorous mathematical terms was finally set out by James Clerk Maxwell (1831-79) in his Treatise on Electricity and Magnetism. It was in this work that all electromagnetic phenomena and all optical phenomena were first accounted for, including waves, see section (Electromagnetic wave). It also included the first theoretical prediction for the speed of light.

At the end of the 19th century, when some erroneously considered physics to be very nearly complete, new physical phenomena began to be observed that could not be explained. These demanded a whole new set of theories that ultimately led to the discovery of general relativity and quantum mechanics; which, even now in the 21st century are still yielding exciting new discoveries. However, as this article is primarily concerned with classical wave phenomena, we will not pursue these topics further.

Historic data source: ‘Dictionary of The History of Science [Byn-84].

Contents

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Introduction

A wave is a time evolution phenomenon that we generally model mathematically using partial differential equations (PDEs) which have a dependent variable u(x,t) (representing the wave value), an independent variable time t and one or more independent spatial variables xn , where n is generally equal to 1,2or3 . The actual form that the wave takes is strongly dependent upon the system initial conditions, the boundary conditions on the solution domain and any system disturbances.

Waves occur in most scientific and engineering disciplines, for example: fluid mechanics, optics, electromagnetism, solid mechanics, structural mechanics, quantum mechanics, etc. The waves for all these applications are described by solutions to either linear or nonlinear PDEs. We do not focus here on methods of solution for each type of wave equation, but rather we concentrate on a small selection of relevant topics. However, first, it is legitimate to ask: what actually is a wave? This is not a straight forward question to answer.

Now, whilst most people have a general notion of what a wave is, based on their everyday experience, it is not easy to formulate a definition that will satisfy everyone engaged in or interested in this wide ranging subject. In fact, many technical works related to waves eschew a formal definition altogether and introduce the concept by a series of examples; for example, Physics of waves [Elm-69] and Hydrodynamics [Lam-93]. Nevertheless, it is useful to at least make an attempt and a selection of various definitions from normally authoritative sources is given below:

  • “A time-varying quantity which is also a function of position” – Chambers Dictionary of Science and technology [Col-71].
  • “… a wave is any recognizable signal that is transferred from one part of the medium to another with a recognizable velocity of propagation” – Linear and non-linear Waves [Whi-99].
  • “Speaking generally, we may say that it denotes a process in which a particular state is continually handed on without change, or with only gradual change, from one part of a medium to another” – 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica.
  • “a periodic motion or disturbance consisting of a series of many oscillations that propagate through a medium or space, as in the propagation of sound or light: the medium does not travel outward from the source with the wave but only vibrates as it passes” – Webster’s New World College Dictionary, 4th Ed.
  • “… an oscillation that travels through a medium by transferring energy from one particle or point to another without causing any permanent displacement of the medium” – Encarta® World English Dictionary [Mic-07].

The variety of definitions given above, and their clearly differing degrees of clarity, confirm that ‘wave’ is indeed not an easy concept to define!

Because this is an introductory article and the subject of linear and non-linear waves is so wide ranging, we can only include sufficient material here to provide an overview of the phenomena and related issues. Relativistic issues will not be addressed. To this end we will discuss, as proxies for the wide range of known wave phenomena, the linear wave equation and the nonlinear Korteweg-de Vries equation in some detail by way of examples. To supplement this discussion we provide brief details of other types of wave equation and their application; and, finally, we introduce a number of PDE wave solution methods and discuss some general properties of waves. Where appropriate, references are included to works that provide further detailed discussion.

Physical wave types

A non-exhaustive list is given below of physical wave types with examples of occurrence and references where more details may be found.

  • Acoustic waves – audible sound, medical applications of ultrasound, underwater sonar applications [Elm-69].
  • Chemical waves – concentration variations of chemical species propagating in a system [Ros-88].
  • Electromagnetic waves – electricity in various forms, radio waves, light waves in optic fibers, etc [Sha-75].
  • Gravitational waves – The transmission of variations in a gravitational field in the form of waves, as predicted by Einstein’s theory of general relativity. Undisputed verification of their existence is still awaited [Oha-94, chapter 5].
  • Seismic Waves – resulting from earthquakes in the form of P-waves and S-waves, large explosions, high velocity impacts [Elm-69].
  • Traffic flow waves – small local changes in velocity occurring in high density situations can result in the propagation of waves and even shocks [Lev-07].
  • Water waves – some examples
    • Capillary waves (Ripples) – When ripples occur in water they are manifested as waves of short length, λ=2π/k<0.1m , (k=wavenumber) and in which surface tension has a significant effect. We will not consider them further, but a full explanation can be found in Lightfoot [Lig-78, p221]. See also Whitham [Whi-99, p404].
    • Rossby (or planetary) waves – Long period waves formed as polar air moves toward the equator whilst tropical air moves to the poles – due to variation in the Coriolis effect. As a result of differences in solar radiation received at the equator and poles, heat tends to flow from low to high latitudes, and this is assisted by these air movements [Gil-82].
    • Shallow water waves – For waves where the wavelength λ  (distance between two corresponding points on the wave, e.g. peaks), is very much greater than water depth h , they can be modelled by the following simplified set of coupled fluid dynamics equations, known as the shallow water equations
⎡⎣⎢⎢⎢⎢htut⎤⎦⎥⎥⎥⎥+⎡⎣⎢⎢⎢⎢⎢(hu)x(12u2+gh)x⎤⎦⎥⎥⎥⎥⎥=⎡⎣⎢⎢⎢0gbx⎤⎦⎥⎥⎥. (1)
Where,
  b(x) = fluid bed topography
  h(x,t) = fluid surface height above bed
  u(x,t) = fluid velocity – horizontal
  g = acceleration due to gravity.
For this situation, the celerity or speed of wave propagation can be approximated by c=gh‾‾‾√ . For detailed discussion refer to [Joh-97].
  • Ship waves – These are surface waves that are formed by a ship travelling in deep water, relative to the wavelength, and where surface tension can be ignored. The dispersion relation is given by ω=gk‾‾√ ; so for phase velocity and group velocity see section (Group and phase velocity), we have respectively:
cp=ωk=gk‾‾√,(2)
cg=dω(k)dk=12cp. (3)
The result is that the ship’s wake is a wedge-shaped envelope of waves having a semi-angle of 19.5 degrees and a feathered pattern with the ship at the vertex. The shape is a characteristic of such waves, regardless of the size of disturbance – from a small duckling paddling on a pond to large ocean liner cruising across an ocean. These patterns are referred to as Kelvin Ship Waves after Lord Kelvin (William Thomson) [Joh-97].
  • Tsunami waves – See section (Tsunami).

Linear waves

General

Linear waves are described by linear equations, i.e. those where in each term of the equation the dependent variable and its derivatives are at most first degree (raised to the first power).

This means that the superposition principle applies, and linear combinations of simple solutions can be used to form more complex solutions. Thus, all the linear system analysis tools are available to the analyst, with Fourier analysis: expressing general solutions in terms of sums or integrals of well known basic solutions, being one of the most useful. The classic linear wave is discussed in section (The linear wave equation) with some further examples given in section (Linear wave equation examples). Linear waves are modelled by PDEs that are linear in the dependent variable, u , and its first and higher derivatives, if they exist.

The linear wave equation

The following represents the classical wave equation in one dimension and describes undamped linear waves in an isotropic medium

1c22ut2=2ux2.(4)

It is second order in t and x , and therefore requires two initial condition functions (ICs) and two boundary condition functions (BCs). For example, we could specify

ICs:u(x,t=0)=f(x),ut(x,t=0)=g(x),(5)
BCs:u(x=a,t)=ua,u(x=b,t)=ub.(6)

Consequently, equations (4), (5) and (6) constitute a complete description of the PDE problem.

We assume f to have a continuous second derivative (written fC2) and g to have a continuous first derivative (gC1). If this is the case, then u will have continuous second derivatives in x and t , i.e. (uC2), and will be a correct solution to equation (4) with any consistent set of appropriate ICs and BCs [Stra-92].

Extending equation (4) to three dimensions, the classical wave equation becomes,

1c22ut2=2u,(7)

where 2= represents the Laplacian operator. Because the Laplacian is co-ordinate free, it can be applied within any co-ordinate system and for any number of dimensions. Given below are examples of wave equations in 3 dimensions for Cartesian, cylindrical and spherical co-ordinate systems

Cartesian co-ordinates:Cylindrical co-ordinates:Spherical co-ordinates:1c22ut21c22ut21c22ut2===2ux2+2uy2+2uz2,1rr(rur)+1r22uθ2+2uz2,1r2r(r2ur)+1r2sinθθ(sinθuθ)+1r2sin2θ2uϕ2.

These equations occur in one form or another, in numerous applications in all areas of the physical sciences; see for example section (Linear wave equation examples ).

The d’Alembert solution

The solution to equations (4), (5) and (6) was first reported by the French mathematician Jean-le-Rond d’Alembert (1717-1783) in 1747 in a treatise on Vibrating Strings [Caj-61] [Far-93]. D’Alembert’s remarkable solution, which used a method specific to the wave equation (based on the chain rule for differentiation), is given below

u(x,t)=12[f(xct)+f(x+ct)]+12cx+ctxctg(ξ)dξ.(8)

It can also be obtained by the Fourier Transform method or by the separation of variables (SOV) method, which are more general than the the method used by d’Alembert [Krey-93].

The d’Alembertian =21c22t2 , also known as the d’Alembert operator or wave operator, allows a succinct notation for the wave equation, i.e. u=0 . It first arose in d’Alembert’s work on vibrating strings and plays a useful role in modern theoretical physics.

Linear wave equation examples

Acoustic (sound) wave

We will consider the acoustic or sound wave as a small amplitude disturbance of ambient conditions where second order effects can be ignored. We start with the Euler continuity and momentum equations

ρt+(ρv)=0,(9)
(ρv)t+(ρvv)ρg+p+T=0,(10)

where

  T = stress tensor (Pa)
  g = gravitational acceleration (m/s2)
  p = pressure (Pa)
  t = time (s)
  v = fluid velocity (m/s)
  ρ = fluid density (kg/m3)

We assume an inviscid dry gas situation where gravitational effects are negligible. This means that the third and fifth terms of equation (10) can be ignored. If we also assume that we can represent velocity by v=u0+u , where uo is ambient velocity which we set to zero and u represents a small velocity disturbance, the second term in equation (10) can be ignored (because it becomes a second order effect). Thus, equations (9) and (10) reduce to

ρt+(ρu)=0,(11)
(ρu)t+p=0.(12)

Now, taking the divergence of equation (12) and the time derivative of equation (11), we obtain

2ρt22p=0.

To complete the analysis we need to apply an equation-of-state relating p and ρ when we obtain the linear acoustic wave equation

1c22pt2=2p,(13)

where

c2=pρ .(14)

We now consider three cases:

  • The isothermal gas case
    p=ρRT0/MW

    (ideal gas law) (pρ)T=RT0/MW and c=RT0/MW‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾√ , where T0 is the ambient temperature of the fluid, R is the ideal gas constant, MW is molecular weight and subscript T denotes constant temperature conditions.

  • The isentropic gas case
    p/ργ=K(pρ)s=γKργ1=γRT0/MW

    and c=γRT0/MW‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾√ , where γ is the isentropic or adiabatic exponent for the fluid (equal to the ratio of specific heats) and subscript s denotes constant entropy conditions.

  • The isothermal liquid case
    (pρ)T=β/ρ

    and c=β/ρ‾‾‾√, where β is bulk modulus.

For atmospheric air at standard conditions we have p=101325Pa, T0=293.15K, R=8.3145J/mol/K, γ=1.4 and MW=0.028965kg/mol, which gives

isothermal:c=290m/s,(15)
isentropic:c=343m/s.(16)

For liquid distilled water at 20C we have β=2.18×109Pa and ρ=1,000kg/m3, which gives

liquid:c=1476m/s.(17)

Waves in solids

Waves in solids are more complex than acoustic waves in fluids. Here we are dealing with displacement ϱ , and the resulting waves can be either longitudinal, P-waves, or shear (transverse), S-waves. Starting with Newton’s second Law we arrive at the vector wave equation [Elm-69, chapter 7]

(λ+μ)(ϱ)+μ2ϱ=ρ2ϱt2,(18)

from which, using the fundamental identity from vector calculus, ×(×ϱ)=(ϱ)2ϱ , we obtain

(λ+2μ)(ϱ)+μ×(×ϱ)=ρ2ϱt2.(19)

Now, for irrotational waves, which vibrate only in the direction of propagation x , ×ϱ=0(ϱ)=2ϱ and equation (19) reduces to the familiar linear wave equation

1c22ϱt2=2ϱ,(20)

where c=(λ+2μ)/ρ‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾√=(K+43μ)/ρ‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾√ is the wave speed, λ=Eυ/(1+υ)(12υ) is the Lamé modulus, μ=E2(1+υ) is the shear modulus and K=E/3(12υ) is the bulk modulus of the solid material. Here, E and υ are Young’s modulus and Poisson’s ratio for the solid respectively. Irrotational waves are of the longitudinal type, or P-waves.

For solenoidal waves, which can vibrate independently in the y and z directions but not in the direction of propagation x , we have ϱ=0 and equation (18) reduces to the linear wave equation

1c22ϱt2=2ϱ,(21)

where the wave speed is given by c=μ/ρ‾‾‾√ . Solenoidal waves are of the transverse type, or S-waves.

For a typical mild-steel at 20C with ρ=7,860kg/m3 , E=210×109N/m2 and υ=0.29 we find that the P-wave speed is 5917m/s and the S-wave speed is 3,218m/s. For further discussion refer to [Cia-88].

Electromagnetic waves

The fundamental equations of electromagnetism are the Maxwell Equations, which in differential form and SI units, are usually written as:

E=1ϵ0ρ,(22)
B=0,(23)
×E=Bt,(24)
×B=μ0J+μ0ϵ0Et,(25)

where

  B= magnetic field (T)
  E= electric field (V/m)
  J= current density (A/m2)
  t= time (s)
  ϵ0= permittivity of free space (8.8541878×1012109/36π F/m)
  μ0= permeability of free space (4π×107 H/m)
  ρ= charge density (C/m3)

If we assume that J=0 and ρ=0 , then on taking the curl of equation (24) and again using the fundamental identity from vector calculus, ×(×E)=(E)2E , we obtain

1c202Et2=2E.(26)

Similarly, taking the curl of equation (25) we obtain

1c202Bt2=2B.(27)

Equations (26) and (27) are the linear electric and magnetic wave equations respectively, where c0=1/μ0ϵ0‾‾‾‾√3×108 m/s, the speed of light in a vacuum. They take the familiar form of linear wave equation (4). For further discussion refer to [Sha-75].

Nonlinear waves

General

Nonlinear waves are described by nonlinear equations, and therefore the superposition principle does not generally apply. This means that nonlinear wave equations are more difficult to analyze mathematically and that no general analytical method for their solution exists. Thus, unfortunately, each particular wave equation has to be treated individually. An example of solving the Korteweg-de Vries equation by direct integration is given below.

Some advanced methods that have been used successfully to obtain closed-form solutions are listed in section (Closed form PDE solution methods), and example solutions to well known evolution equations are given in section (Nonlinear wave equation solutions).

Closed form PDE solution methods

There are no general methods guaranteed to find closed form solutions to non-linear PDEs. Nevertheless, some problems can yield to a trial-and-error approach. This hit-and-miss method seeks to deduce candidate solutions by looking for clues from the equation form, and then systematically investigating whether or not they satisfy the particular PDE. If the form is close to one with an already known solution, this approach may yield useful results. However, success is problematical and relies on the analyst having a keen insight into the problem.

We list below, in alphabetical order, a non-exhaustive selection of advanced solution methods that can assist in determining closed form solutions to nonlinear wave equations. We will not discuss further these methods and refer the reader to the references given for details. All these methods are greatly enhanced by use of a symbolic computer program such as: Maple V, Mathematica, Macysma, etc.

  • Bäcklund transformation – A method used to find solutions to a non-linear partial differential equation from either a known solution to the same equation or from a solution to another equation. This can facilitate finding more complex solutions from a simple solution, e.g. a multi-soliton solutions from a single soliton solution [Abl-91],[Inf-00],[Dra-89].
  • Generalized separation of variables method – For simple cases this method involves searching for exact solutions of the multiplicative separable form u(x,t)=φ(x)ψ(t) or, of the additive separable form u(x,t)=φ(x)+ψ(t) , where φ(x) and ψ(t) are functions to be found. The chosen form is substituted into the original equation and, after performing some algebraic operations, two expressions are obtained that are each deemed equal to a constant K , the separation constant. Each expression is then solved independently and then combined additively or multiplicatively as appropriate. Initial conditions and boundary conditions are then applied to give a particular solution to the original equation. For more complex cases, special solution forms such as u(x,t)=φ(x)ψ(t)+χ(x) can be sought – refer to [Pol-04, pp. 698-712], [Gal-06], and [Pol-07, pp. 681-696] for a detailed discussion.
  • Differential constraints method – This method seeks particular solutions of equations of the form F(x,y,u,ux,uy,2ux2,2uxy,2uy2,)=0 by supplementing them with an additional differential constraint(s) of the form G(x,y,u,ux,uy,2ux2,2uxy,2uy2,)=0 . The exact form of the differential constraint is determined from auxiliary problem conditions, usually based on physical insight. Compatibility analysis is then performed, for example by differentiating F and G (possibly several times), which enables an ordinary differential equation(s) to be constructed that can be solved. The resulting ODE is the compatibility condition for F and G and its solution can be used to obtain a solution to the original equation – refer to [Pol-04, pp. 747-758] for a detailed discussion.
  • Group analysis methods (Lie group methods) – These methods seeks to identify symmetries of an equation which permit us to discover: (i) transformations under which the equation is invariant, (ii) new variables in which the structure of the equation is simplified. For an (n+1)-dimensional Euclidean space, the set of transformations Tϵ={xi¯=φi(x,u,ϵ),u¯=ψ(x,u,ϵ),xi¯∣∣ϵ=0=xiu¯∣∣ϵ=0=u , where φi and ψ are smooth functions of their arguments and ϵ is a real parameter, is called a one-parameter continuous point Lie group of transformations, G , if for all ϵ1 and ϵ2 we have Tϵ1Tϵ2=Tϵ1+ϵ2 – refer to [Ibr-94] and [Pol-04, pp. 735-743] for a detailed discussion.
  • Hirota’s bilinear method – This method can be used to construct periodic and soliton wave solutions to nonlinear PDEs. It seeks a solution of the form u=2(logf)xx by introducing the bilinear operator DmtDnx(ab)=(tt)m(xx)na(x,t)b(x,t)∣∣∣x=xt=t for non-negative integers m and n [Joh-97],[Dai-06].
  • Hodograph transformation method – This method belongs to the class of point transformations and involves the interchange of dependent and independent variables, i.e. τ=t , ξ=u(x,t) , η(ξ,τ)=x . This transformation can, for certain applications, result in a simpler (possibly an exact linearization) problem for which solutions can be found [Cla-89], [Pol-04, pp. 686-687].
  • Inverse scattering transform (IST) method – The phenomenon of scattering refers to the evolution of a wave subject to certain conditions, such as boundary and/or initial conditions. If data relating to the scattered wave are known, then it may be possible to determine from these data the underlying scattering potential. The problem of reconstructing the potential from the scattering data is referred to as the so-called inverse scattering transform. The IST is a nonlinear analog of the Fourier transform used for solving linear problems. This useful property allows certain nonlinear problems to be treated by what are essentially linear methods. The IST method has been used for solving many types of evolution equation [Abl-91], [Inf-00], [Kar-98], [Whi-99].
  • Lax pairs – A Lax pair consists of the Lax operator L (which is self-adjoint and may depend upon x,ux,uxx, , but not explicitly upon t) and the operator A that together represent a given partial differential equation such that Lt=[A,L]=(ALLA) . Note
    (ALLA)

    represents the commutator of the operators L and A . Operator A is required to have enough freedom in any unknown parameters or functions to enable the operator Lt=[L,A] to be chosen so that it is of degree zero, i.e. a multiplicative operator. L and A can be either scalar or matrix operators. If a suitable Lax pair can be found, the analysis of the nonlinear equation can be reduced to that of two simpler equations. However, the process of finding L and A corresponding to a given equation can be quite difficult. Therefore, if a clue(s) is available, inverting the process by first postulating a given L and A and then determining which partial differential equation they correspond to, can sometimes lead to good results. However, this may require the determination of many trial pairs and, ultimately, may not lead to the required solution [Abl-91],[Inf-00],[Joh-97],[Pol-07].

  • Painlevé test – The Painlevé test is used as a means of predicting whether or not an equation is likely to be integrable. The test involves checking of self-similar reduced equations against a set of the six Panlevé equations (or, Panlevé transcendents) and, if there is a match, the system is integrable. A nonlinear evolution equation which is solvable by the IST is a Panelevé type, which means that it has no movable singularities other than poles [Abl-91],[Joh-97].
  • Self-similar and similarity solutions – An example of a self-similar solution to a nonlinear PDE is a solution where knowledge of u(x,t=t0) is sufficient to obtain u(x,t) for all t>0 , by suitable rescaling [Bar-03]. In addition, by choosing a suitable similarity transformation(s) it is sometimes possible to find a similarity solution whereby a combination of variables is invariant under the similarity transformation [Fow-05].

Some techniques for obtaining traveling wave solutions

The following are examples of techniques that transform PDEs into ODEs which are subsequently solved to obtain traveling wave solutions to the original equations.

  • Exp-function method – This is a straight forward method that assumes a traveling wave solution of the form u(x,t)=u(η) where η=kx+ωt , ω= frequency and k= wavenumber. This transforms the PDE into an ODE. The method then attempts to find solutions of the form u(η)=dn=canexp(nη)qm=pbmexp(mη) , where c , d , p and q are positive integers to be determined, and an and bm are unknown constants [He-06].
  • Factorization – This method seeks solutions PDEs with a polynomial non-linearity by rescaling to eliminate coefficients and assuming a travelling wave solution of the form u(x,t)=U(ξ) , where ξ=k(xvt) , v= velocity and k= wavenumber. The resulting ODE is then factorized and each factor solved independently [Cor-05].
  • Tanh method – This is a very useful method that is conceptually easy to use and has produced some very good results. Basically, it assumes a travelling wave solution of the form u(x,t)=U(ξ) where ξ=k(xvt) , v= velocity and k= wavenumber. This has the effect of transforming the PDE into a set of ODEs which are subsequently solved using the transformation Y=tanh(ξ) [Mal-92],[Mal-96a],[Mal-96b].

Some example applications of these and other methods can be found in [Gri-11].

Nonlinear wave equation solutions

A non-exhaustive selection of well known 1D nonlinear wave equations and their closed-form solutions is given below. The closed form solutions are given by way of example only, as nonlinear wave equations often have many possible solutions.

  • Hopf equation (inviscid Burgers equation): ut+uux=0 [Pol-02]
– Applications: gas dynamics and traffic flow.
– Solution

u=φ(ξ),ξ=xφ(ξ)t.
where

  u(x,t=0)=φ(x), arbitrary initial condition.
  • Burgers equation: ut+uuxauxx=0 [Her-05]
– Applications: acoustic and hydrodynamic waves.
– Solution

u(x,t)=2ak[1tanhk(xVt)].
where
  k= wavenumber,
  V=velocity,
  a= arbitrary constant.
  • Fisher: utuxxu(1u)=0 [Her-05]
– Applications: heat and mass transfer, population dynamics, ecology.
– Solution

u(x,t)=14{1tanhk[xVt]}2.
where
  k=126‾√ (wavenumber),
  V=56‾√ (velocity).
Note: wavenumber and velocity are fixed values.
  • Sine Gordon equation: utt=auxx+bsin(λu) [Pol-07]
– Applications: various areas of physics
– Solution

u(x,t)=⎧⎩⎨⎪⎪⎪⎪⎪⎪⎪⎪4λarctan⎡⎣⎢⎢⎢exp⎛⎝⎜⎜⎜±bλ(kx+μt+θ0)bλ(μ2ak2)‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾√⎞⎠⎟⎟⎟⎤⎦⎥⎥⎥,bλ(μ2ak2)>0,4λarctan⎡⎣⎢⎢⎢exp⎛⎝⎜⎜⎜±bλ(kx+μt+θ0)bλ(ak2μ2)‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾√⎞⎠⎟⎟⎟⎤⎦⎥⎥⎥πλ,bλ(μ2ak2)<0.
where
  k= wavenumber,
  μ,θ0= arbitrary constants.
  • Cubic Schrödinger equation: iut+uxx+q∣∣u∣∣2u=0 [Whi-99]
– Applications: various areas of physics, non-linear optics, superconductivity, plasma models.
– Solution

u(x,t)=αq‾‾√sech(α‾‾√(xVt)),α>0,q>0.
where
  V=velocity,
  α,q= arbitrary constants.
  • Korteweg-de Vries (a variant)
    ut+uux+buxxx=0

    [Her-05]

– Applications: various areas of physics, nonlinear mechanics, water waves.
– Solution

u(x,t)=12bk2sech2k(xVt)
where
  k=wavenumber,
  V=velocity,
  b= arbitrary constant.
  • Boussinesq equation: uttuxx+3uuxx+αuxxxx=0 [Abl-91]
– Applications: surface water waves
– Solution

16{1+8k2V2}2k2tanh2k(x+Vt)
where
  k=wavenumber,
  V=velocity.
  • Nonlinear wave equation of general form: utt=[f(u)ux]x
This equation can be linearized in the general case. Some exact solutions are given in [Pol-04, pp252-255] and, by way of an example consider the following special case where f(u)=αeλu :
Wave equation with exponential non-linearity: utt=(αeλuux)x,α>0. [Pol-04, p223]
– Applications: traveling waves
– Solution

u(x,t)=1λln(αax2+bx+c)2λln(αat+d) :
where
  α,λ,a,b,c,d= arbitrary constants.

Additional wide-ranging examples of traveling wave equations, with solutions, from the fields of mathematics, physics and engineering are given in Polyanin & Manzhirov [Pol-07] and Polyanin & Zaitsev [Pol-04]. Examples from the biological and medical fields can be found in Murray [Mur-02] and Murray [Mur-03]. A useful on-line resource is the DispersiveWiki [Dis-08].

The Korteweg-de Vries equation

The canonical form of the Korteweg-de Vries (KdV) equation is

ut6uux+3ux3=0,(28)

and is a non-dimensional version of the following equation originally derived by Korteweg and de Vries for a moving (Lagrangian) frame of reference [Jag-06], [Kor-95],

ητ=32gho‾‾‾√χ[12η2+23αη+13σ2ηχ2].(29)

It is, historically, the most famous solitary wave equation and describes small amplitude, shallow water waves in a channel, where symbols have the following meaning:

  g= gravitational acceleration (m/s2)
  ho= nominal water depth (m)
  T= capillary surface tension of fluid (N/m)
  α= small arbitrary constant related to the uniform motion of the liquid (dimensionless)
  η= wave height (m)
  ρ= fluid density (kg/m3)
  τ= time (s)
  χ= distance (m)

After re-scaling and translating the dependent and independent variables to eliminate the physical constants using the transformations [Abl-91],

u=12η13α;x=χσ‾‾√;t=12ghoσ‾‾‾‾‾√τ(30)

where σ=h3o/3Tho/(ρg) , and Tho/(ρg) is called the Bond number (a measure of the relative strengths of surface tension and gravitational force), we arrive at the Korteweg-de Vries equation, i.e. equation (28).

The basic assumptions for the derivation of KdV waves in liquid, having wavelength λ , are [Abl-91]:

  • the waves are long waves in comparison with total depth, hoλ1 ;
  • the amplitude of the waves is small, ε=ηho1 ;
  • the first two effects approximately balance, i.e. hoλ=(ε) ;
  • viscous effects can be neglected.

The KdV equation was found to have solitary wave solutions [Lam-93], which confirmed John Scott-Russell’s account of the solitary wave phenomena [Sco-44] discovered during his experimental investigations into water flow in channels to determine the most efficient design for canal boats [Jag-06]. Subsequently, the KdV equation has been shown to model various other nonlinear wave phenomena found in the physical sciences. John Scott-Russell, a Scottish engineer and naval architect, also described in poetic terms his first encounter with the solitary wave phenomena, thus:

“I was observing the motion of a boat which was rapidly drawn along a narrow channel by a pair of horses, when the boat suddenly stopped – not so the mass of water in the channel which it had put in motion; it accumulated round the prow of the vessel in a state of violent agitation, then suddenly leaving it behind, rolled forward with great velocity, assuming the form of a large solitary elevation, a rounded, smooth and well-defined heap of water, which continued its course along the channel apparently without change of form or diminution of speed. I followed it on horseback, and overtook it still rolling on at a rate of some eight or nine miles an hour, preserving its original figure some thirty feet long and a foot to a foot and a half in height. Its height gradually diminished, and after a chase of one or two miles I lost it in the windings of the channel. Such, in the month of August 1834, was my first chance interview with that singular and beautiful phenomenon which I have called the Wave of Translation” [Sco-44].

An experimental apparatus for re-creating the phenomena observed by Scott-Russell have been built at Herriot-Watt University. Scott-Russell also coined the term solitary wave and conducted some of the first experiments to investigate another nonlinear wave phenomena, the Doppler effect, publishing an independent explanation of the theory in 1848 [Sco-48].

It is interesting to note that, a KdV solitary wave in water that experiences a change in depth will retain its general shape. However, on encountering shallower water its velocity and height will increase and its width decrease; whereas, on encountering deeper water its velocity and height will decrease and its width increase [Joh-97, pp 268-277].

A closed form single soliton solution to the KdV equation (28) can be found using direct integration as follows.

Assume a travelling wave solution of the form

u(x,t)=f(xvt)=f(ξ).(31)

Then on substituting into the canonical equation the PDE is transformed into the following ODE

vdf(ξ)dξ6fdf(ξ)dξ+d3f(ξ)dξ3=0.(32)

Now integrate with respect to ξ and multiply by df(ξ)dξ to obtain

vf(ξ)df(ξ)dξ3f(ξ)2df(ξ)dξ+df(ξ)dξ(d2f(ξ)dξ2)=Adf(ξ)dξ.(33)

Now integrate with respect to ξ once more, to obtain

12vf(ξ)2f(ξ)3+12(df(ξ)dξ)2=Af(ξ)+B.(34)

Where A and B are arbitrary constants of integration which we set to zero. We justify this by assuming that we are modeling a physical system with properties such that f,f and f0 as ξ± . After rearranging and evaluating the resulting integral, we find

f(ξ)=v2sech2(v2ξ).(35)

The solution is therefore

u(x,t)=f(xvt),(36)
=2k2sech2(k[xvtx0]),(37)

where k=v2 represents wavenumber and the constant x0 has been included to locate the wave peak at t=0 . Thus, we observe that the wave travels to the right with a speed that is equal to twice the peak amplitude. Hence, the taller a wave the faster it travels.

The KdV equation also admits many other solutions including multiple soliton solutions, see figure (15), and cnoidal (periodic) solutions.

Solutions of KdV equation can be systematically obtained from solutions ψi of of the free particle Schrödinger equation

(2x2ψi)=Eiψi,i=1,,n(38)

using the the relationship

u(x,t)=2(2x2ln(Wn)),(39)

where we use the the Wronskian function

Wn=Wn[ψ1,ψ2,,ψn].(40)

The Wronskian is the determinant of a n×n matrix [Dra-89] composed from the functions ψi(ξi) , where ξi for our purposes is given by

ξi=ki(xvit),Ei<0,(41)
ξi=ki(x+vit),Ei>0.(42)

For example, a two-soliton solution is given by

u(x,t)=(k21k22){2k22cschk2(xv2t)+2k21sechk1(xv1t)}[k1tanhk1(xv1t)+k2cothk2(xv2t)]2(43)

and a cnoidal wave solution is given by

u(x,t)=16k(4k2(2m1)vk)2k2cn2(kxvkt+x0;m).(44)

where ‘cn’ represents the Jacobi elliptic cosine function with modulus m,(0<m<1). Note: as m1 the periodic solution tends to a single soliton solution.

Interestingly, the KdV equation is invariant under a Galilean transformation, i.e. its properties remain unchanged, see section (Galilean invariance).

Numerical solution methods

Linear and nonlinear evolutionary wave problems can very often be solved by application of general numerical techniques such as: finite difference, finite volume, finite element, spectral, least squares, weighted residual (e.g. collocation and Galerkin) methods, etc. These methods, which can all handle various boundary conditions, stiff problems and may involve explicit or implicit calculations, are well documented in the literature and will not be discussed further here. For general texts refer to [Bur-93],[Sch-94],[Sch-09], and for more detailed discussion refer to [Lev-02],[Mor-94],[Zie-77].

Some wave problems do, however, present significant problems when attempting to find a numerical solution. In particular we highlight problems that include shocks, sharp fronts or large gradients in their solutions. Because these problems often involve inviscid conditions (zero or vanishingly small viscosity), it is often only practical to obtain weak solutions. Some PDE problems do not have a mathematically rigorous solution, for example where discontinuities or jump conditions are present in the solution and/or characteristics intersect. Such problems are likely to occur when there is a hyperbolic (strongly convective) component present. In these situations weak solutions provide useful information. Detailed discussion of this approach is beyond the scope of this article and readers are referred to [Wes-01, chapters 9 and 10] for further discussion.

General methods are often not adequate for accurate resolution of steep gradient phenomena; they usually introduce non-physical effects such as smearing of the solution or spurious oscillations. Since publication of Godunov’s order barrier theorem, which proved that linear methods cannot provide non-oscillatory solutions higher than first order [God-54],[God-59], these difficulties have attracted a lot of attention and a number of techniques have been developed that largely overcome these problems. To avoid spurious or non-physical oscillations where shocks are present, schemes that exhibit a total variation diminishing (TVD) characteristic are especially attractive. Two techniques that are proving to be particularly effective are MUSCL (Monotone Upstream-Centred Schemes for Conservation Laws) a flux/slope limiter method [van-79],[Hir-90],[Tan-97],[Lan-98],[Tor-99] and the WENO (Weighted Essentially Non-Oscillatory) method [Shu-98],[Shu-09]. MUSCL methods are usually referred to as high resolution schemes and are generally second-order accurate in smooth regions (although they can be formulated for higher orders) and provide good resolution, monotonic solutions around discontinuities. They are straight-forward to implement and are computationally efficient. For problems comprising both shocks and complex smooth solution structure, WENO schemes can provide higher accuracy than second-order schemes along with good resolution around discontinuities. Most applications tend to use a fifth order accurate WENO scheme, whilst higher order schemes can be used where the problem demands improved accuracy in smooth regions.

Initial conditions and boundary conditions

Consider the classic 1D linear wave equation

2ut2=1c22ux2.(45)

In order to obtain a solution we must first specify some auxiliary conditions to complete the statement of the PDE problem. The number of required auxiliary conditions is determined by the highest order derivative in each independent variable. Since equation (45) is second order in t and second order in x , it requires two auxiliary conditions in t and two auxiliary conditions in x . To have a complete well posed problem, some additional conditions may have to be included – refer to section (Wellposedness).

The variable t is termed an initial value variable and therefore requires two initial conditions (ICs). It is an initial value variable since it starts at an initial value, t0 , and moves forward over a finite interval t0ttf or a semi-infinite interval t0t without any additional conditions being imposed. Typically in a PDE application, the initial value variable is time, as in the case of equation (45).

The variable x is termed a boundary value variable and therefore requires two boundary conditions (BCs). It is a boundary value variable since it varies over a finite interval x0xxf , a semi-infinite interval x0x or a fully infinite interval x , and at two different values of x, conditions are imposed on u in equation (45). Typically, the two values of x correspond to boundaries of a physical system, and hence the name boundary conditions.

BCs can be of three types:

  • Dirichlet or first type – the boundary has a value u(x=x0,t)=ub(t) .
  • Neumann or second type – the spatial gradient at the boundary has a value u(x=xf,t)x=ubx(t) , and for multi-dimensions it is normal to the boundary.
  • Robin or third type – both the dependent variable and its spatial derivative appear in the BC, i.e. a combination of Dirichlet and Neumann.

An important consideration is the possibility of discontinuities at the boundaries, produced for example by differences in initial and boundary conditions at the boundaries, which can cause computational difficulties, such as shocks – see section (Shock waves), particularly for hyperbolic PDEs such as equation (45) above.

Numerical dissipation and dispersion

General

Some dissipation and dispersion occur naturally in most physical systems described by PDEs. Errors in magnitude are termed dissipation and errors in phase are called dispersion. These terms are defined below. The term amplification factor is used to represent the change in the magnitude of a solution over time. It can be calculated in either the time domain, by considering solution harmonics, or in the complex frequency domain by taking Fourier transforms.

Dissipation and dispersion can also be introduced when PDEs are discretized in the process of seeking a numerical solution. This introduces numerical errors. The accuracy of a discretization scheme can be determined by comparing the numeric amplification factor Gnumeric, with the analytical or exact amplification factor Gexact , over one time step.

For further reading refer to [Hir-88, chap. 8], [Lig-78, chap. 3], [Tan-97, chap. 4], [Wes-01, chap 8 and 9].

Dispersion relation

Physical waves that propagate in a particular medium will, in general, exhibit a specific group velocity as well as a specific phase velocity – see section (Group and phase velocity). This is because within a particular medium there is a fixed relationship between the wavenumber k , and the frequency ω , of waves. Thus, frequency and wavenumber are not independent quantities and are related by a functional relationship, known as the dispersion relation , ω(k).

We will demonstrate the process of obtaining the dispersion relation by example, using the advection equation

ut+aux=0.(46)

Generally, each wavenumber k , corresponds to s frequencies where s is the order of the PDE with respect to t . Now any linear PDE with constant coefficients admits a solution of the form

u(x,t)=u0ei(kxωt).(47)

Because we are considering a linear system, the principal of superposition applies and equation (47) can be considered to be a frequency component or harmonic of the Fourier series representation of a specific solution to the advection equation. On inserting this solution into a PDE we obtain the so called dispersion relation between ω and k i.e.,

ω=ω(k),(48)

and each PDE will have its own distinct form. For example, we obtain the specific dispersion relation for the advection equation by substituting equation (47) into equation (46) to get

iωu0ei(kxωt)=iaku0ei(kxωt)
ω=ak.(49)

This confirms that ω and k cannot be determined independently for the advection equation, and therefore equation (47) becomes

u(x,t)=u0eik(xat).(50)

Note: If the imaginary part of ω(k) is zero, then the system is non-dissipative.

The physical meaning of equation (50) is that the initial value u(x,0)=u0eikx , is propagated from left to right, unchanged, at velocity a . Thus, there is no dissipation or attenuation and no dispersion.

A similar approach can be used to establish the dispersion relation for systems described by other forms of PDEs.

Amplification factor

As mentioned above, the accuracy of a numerical scheme can be determined by comparing the numeric amplification factor Gnumeric, with the exact amplification factor Gexact , over one time step. The exact amplification factor can be determined by considering the change that takes place in the exact solution over a single time-step. For example, taking the advection equation (46) and assuming a solution of the form u(x,t)=u0eik(xat) , we have

Gexact=u(x,t+Δt)u(x,t)=u0eik(xa(t+Δt))u0eik(xat).
Gexact=eiakΔt.(51)

We can also represent equation (51) in the form

Gexact=∣∣Gexact∣∣eiΦexact,(52)

where

Φexact=G=tan1(Im{G}Re{G}).(53)

Thus, for this case

∣∣Gexact∣∣=1(54)

and

Φexact=tan1(tan(akΔt))=akΔt.(55)

The amplification factor provides an indication of how the the solution will evolve because values of ∣∣Φ∣∣0 are associated with low frequencies and values of ∣∣Φ∣∣π are associated with high frequencies. Also, because phase shift is associated with the imaginary part of Gexact , if {Gexact}=0 , the system does not exhibit any phase shift and is purely dissipative. Conversely, if {Gexact}=1 , the system does not exhibit any amplitude attenuation and is purely dispersive

The numerical amplification factor Gnumeric is calculated in the same way, except that the appropriate numerical approximation is used for u(x,t) . For stability of the numerical solution, ∣∣Gnumeric∣∣1 for all frequencies.

Numerical dissipation

Figure 1: Figure 1: Illustration of pure numeric dissipation effect on a single sinusoid, as it propagates along the spatial domain. Both exact and simulated dissipative waves begin with the same amplitude; however, the amplitude of the dissipative wave decreases over time, but stays in phase.

Figure 2: Figure 2: Effect of numerical dissipation on a step function applied to the advection equation ut+ux=0 .

In a numerical scheme, a situation where waves of different frequencies are damped by different amounts, is called numerical dissipation, see figure (1). Generally, this results in the higher frequency components being damped more than lower frequency components. The effect of dissipation therefore is that sharp gradients, discontinuities or shocks in the solution tend to be smeared out, thus losing resolution, see figure (2). Fortunately, in recent years, various high resolution schemes have been developed to obviate this effect to enable shocks to be captured with a high degree of accuracy, albeit at the expense of complexity. Examples of particularly effective schemes are based upon flux/slope limiters [Wes-01] and WENO methods [Shu-98]. Dissipation can be introduced by numerical discretization of a partial differential equation that models a non-dissipative process. Generally, dissipation improves stability and, in some numerical schemes it is introduced deliberately to aid stability of the resulting solution. Dissipation, whether real or numerically induced, tend to cause waves to lose energy.

The dissipation error as a result of discretization can be determined by comparing the magnitude of the numeric amplification factor ∣∣Gnumeric∣∣, with the magnitude of the exact amplification factor ∣∣Gexact∣∣ , over one time step. The relative numerical diffusion error or relative numerical dissipation error compares real physical dissipation with the anomalous dissipation that results from numerical discretization. It can be defined as

εD=∣∣Gnumeric∣∣∣∣Gexact∣∣,(56)

and the total dissipation error resulting from n steps will be

εDtotal=(∣∣Gnumeric∣∣n∣∣Gexact∣∣n)u0.(57)

If εD>1 for a given value of θ or Co, this discretization scheme will be unstable and a modification to the scheme will be necessary.

As mentioned above, if the imaginary part of ω(k) is zero for a particular discretization, then the scheme is non-dissipative.

Numerical dispersion

Figure 3: Figure 3: Illustration of pure numeric dispersion effect on a single sinusoid, as it propagates along the spatial domain. Both exact and simulated dispersive waves start in phase; however, the phase of the dispersive wave lags the exact wave over time, but its amplitude is unaffected.

Figure 4: Figure 4: Effect of numerical dispersion on a step function applied to the advection equation ut+ux=0 .

In a numerical scheme, a situation where waves of different frequencies move at different speeds without a change in amplitude, is called numerical dispersion – see figure (3). Alternatively, the Fourier components of a wave can be considered to disperse relative to each other. It therefore follows that the effect of a dispersive scheme on a wave composed of different harmonics, will be to deform the wave as it propagates. However the energy contained within the wave is not lost and travels with the group velocity. Generally, this results in higher frequency components traveling at slower speeds than the lower frequency components. The effect of dispersion therefore is that often spurious oscillations or wiggles occur in solutions with sharp gradient, discontinuity or shock effects, usually with high frequency oscillations trailing the particular effect, see figure (4). The degree of dispersion can be determined by comparing the phase of the numeric amplification factor ∣∣Gnumeric∣∣, with the phase of the exact amplification factor ∣∣Gexact∣∣ , over one time step. Dispersion represents phase shift and results from the imaginary part of the amplification factor. The relative numerical dispersion error compares real physical dispersion with the anomalous dispersion that results from numerical discretization. It can be defined as

εP=ΦnumericΦexact,(58)

where Φ=G=tan1(Im{G}Re{G}) . The total phase error resulting from n steps will be

εPtotal=n(ΦnumericΦexact)(59)

If εP>1 , this is termed a leading phase error. This means that the Fourier component of the solution has a wave speed greater than the exact solution. Similarly, if εP<1 , this is termed a lagging phase error. This means that the Fourier component of the solution has a wave speed less than the exact solution.

Again, high resolution schemes can all but eliminate this effect, but at the expense of complexity. Although many physical processes are modeled by PDE’s that are non-dispersive, when numerical discretization is applied to analyze them, some dispersion is usually introduced.

Group and phase velocity

The term group velocity refers to a wave packet consisting of a low frequency signal modulated (or multiplied) by a higher frequency wave. The result is a low frequency wave, consisting of a fundamental plus harmonics, that propagates with group velocity cg along a continuum oscillating at a higher frequency. Wave energy and information signals propagate at this velocity, which is defined as being equal to the derivative of the real part of the frequency ω , with respect to wavenumber k (scalar or vector proportional to the number of wave lengths per unit distance), i.e.

cg=dRe{ω(k)}dk.(60)

If there are a number of spatial dimensions then the group velocity is equal to the gradient of frequency with respect to the wavenumber vector, i.e. cg=Re{ω(k)} .

The complementary term to group velocity is phase velocity, cp , and this refers to the speed of propagation of an individual frequency component of the wave. It is defined as being equal to the real part of the ratio of frequency to wavenumber, i.e.

cp=Re{ωk}.(61)

It can also be viewed as the speed at which a particular phase of a wave propagates; for example, the speed of propagation of a wave crest. In one wave period T the crest advances one wave length λ ; therefore, the phase velocity is also given by cp=λ/T . We see that this second form is equal to equation (61) due to the following relationships: wavenumber k=2πλ and frequency ω=2πf where f=1T .

For a non-dispersive wave the phase error is zero and therefore cg=cp .

To calculate group and phase velocity for linear waves (or small amplitude waves) we assume a solution of the form u(x,t)=Aei(kxωt) , where A is a constant and x can be a scalar or vector, and substitute into the wave equation (or linearized wave equation) under consideration. For example, for ut+ux+uxxx=0 we obtain the dispersion relation ω=kk3 , from which we calculate the group and phase velocities to be cg=13k2 and cp=1k2 respectively. Thus, we observe that cgcp and that therefore, this example is dispersive.

Wellposedness

For most practical situations our interest is primarily in solving partial differential equations numerically; and, before we embark on implementing a numerical procedure, we would usually like to have some idea as to the expected behaviour of the system being modeled, ideally from an analytical solution. However, an analytical solution is not usually available; otherwise we would not need a numerical solution. Nevertheless, we can usually carry out some basic analysis that may give some idea as to steady state, long term trend, bounds on key variables, and reduced order solution for ideal or special conditions, etc. One key estimate that we would like to know is whether the fundamental system is stable or well posed. This is particularly important because if our numerical solution produces seemingly unstable results we need to know if this is fundamental to the problem or whether it has been introduced by the solution method we have selected to implement. For most situations involving simulation this is not a concern as we would be dealing with a well analyzed and documented system. But there are situations where real physical systems can be unstable and we need to know these in advance. For a real system to become unstable there needs to be some form of energy source: kinetic, potential, reaction, etc., so this can provide a clue as to whether or not the system is likely to become unstable. If it is, then we may need to modify our computational approach so that we capture the essential behaviour correctly – although a complete solution may not be possible.

In general, solutions to PDE problems are sought to solve a particular problem or to provide insight into a class of problems. To this end existence, uniqueness and stability of the solution are of vital importance [Zwi-97, chapter 10]. Whilst at this introductory level we must restrict our discussion, it is desirable to emphasize that for a solution of an evolutionary PDE (together with appropriate ICs and BCs) to be useful we require that:

  • A unique solution must exist. The question as to whether or not a solution actually exists can be rather complex, and an answer can be sought for analytic PDEs by application of the Cauchy-Kowalewsky theorem [Cou-62, pp39-56].
  • The solution must be numerically stable if we are to be able to predict its evolution over time. If the physical system is actually unstable, then prediction may not be possible.
  • The solution must depend continuously on data such as boundary/initial conditions, forcing functions, domain geometry, etc.

If these conditions are full-filled, then the problem is said to be well posed, in the sense of Hadamard [Had-23]. Numerical schemes for particular PDE systems can be analyzed mathematically to determine if the solutions remain bounded. By invoking Parseval’s theorem of equality this analysis can be performed in the time domain or in the Fourier domain. A good introduction to this subject is given by LeVeque [Lev-07], and more advanced technical discussions can be found in the monographs by Tao [Tao-05] and Kreiss & Lorenz [Kre-04].

Characteristics

Characteristics are surfaces in the solution space of an evolutionary PDE problem that represent wave-fronts upon which information propagates. For example, consider the 1D advection equation problem

ut=cux,u(x,t=0)=u0,t0(62)

where the characteristics are given by dx/dt=c . For this problem the characteristics are straight lines in the xt-plane with slope 1/c and, along which, the dependent variable u is constant. The consequence of this is that the initial condition propagates from left to right at constant speed c . But, for other situations such as the inviscid Burgers equation problem,

ut=uux,u(x,t=0)=u0,t0,(63)

the propagation speed is not constant and the shape of the characteristics depend upon the initial conditions. If the initial condition is monotonically increasing with x , the characteristics will not overlap and the problem is well behaved. However, if the initial conditions are not monotonically increasing with x , at some time t>0 the characteristics will overlap and the solution will become multi-valued and a shock will develop. In this situation we can only find a weak solution (one where the problem is re-stated in integral form) by appealing to entropy considerations and the Rankine-Hugoniot jump condition. PDEs other than equations (62) and (63), such as those involving conservation laws, introduce additional complexity such as rarefaction or expansion waves. We will not discuss these aspects further here, and for additional discussion readers are referred to [Hir-90, chap. 16].

The method of characteristics

The method of characteristics (MOC) is a numerical method for solving evolutionary PDE problems by transforming them into a set of ODEs. The ODEs are solved along particular characteristics, using standard methods and the initial and boundary conditions of the problem. For more information refer to [Kno-00],[Ost-94],[Pol-07].

MOC is a quite general technique for solving PDE problems and has been particularly popular in the area of fluid dynamics for solving incompressible transient flow in pipelines. For an introduction refer to [Stre-97, chap. 12].

General topics

We conclude with a brief overview of some general aspects relating to linear and nonlinear waves.

Galilean invariance

Certain wave equations are Galilean invariant, i.e. the equation properties remain unchanged under a Galilean transformation. For example:

  • A Galilean transformation for the linear wave equation (4) is
u~=Au(±λx+C1,±λt+C2),(64)
where A , C1 , C2 and λ are arbitrary constants.
  • A Galilean transformation for the nonlinear KdV equation (28) is
u~=u(x6λt,t)λ,(65)
where λ is an arbitrary constant.

Other invariant transformations are possible for many linear and nonlinear wave equations, for example the Lorentz transformation applied to Maxwell’s equations, but these will not be discussed here.

Plane waves

Figure 5: Figure 5: Plane sinusoidal wave where its source is assumed to be at x= , and its fronts are advancing from right to left.

A Plane wave is considered to exist far from its source and any physical boundaries so, effectively, it is located within an infinite domain. Its position vector remains perpendicular to a given plane and satisfies the 1D wave equation

1c22ut2=2ux2(66)

with a solution of the form

u=u0cos(ωtkx+ϕ)(67)

where c=ωk represents propagation velocity and ϕ the phase of the wave. See figure (5).

Refraction and diffraction

Wave crests do not necessarily travel in a straight line as they proceed – this may be caused by refraction or diffraction.

Wave refraction is caused by segments of the wave moving at different speeds resulting from local changes in characteristic speed, usually due to a change in medium properties. Physically, the effect is that the overall direction of the wave changes, its wavelength either increases or decreases but its frequency remains unchanged. For example, in optics refraction is governed by Snell’s law and in shallow water waves by the depth of water.

Wave diffraction is the effect whereby the direction of a wave changes as it interacts with objects in its path. The effect is greatest when the size of the object causing the wave to diffract is similar to the wavelength.

Reflection

Reflection results from a change of wave direction following a collision with a reflective surface or domain boundary. A hard boundary is one that is fixed which causes the wave to be reflected with opposite polarity, e.g. u(xvt)u(x+vt) . A soft boundary is one that changes on contact with the wave, which causes the wave to be reflected with the same polarity, e.g. u(xvt)u(x+vt) . If the propagating medium is not isotropic, i.e. it is not spatially uniform, then a partial reflection can result, with an attenuated original wave continuing to propagate. The polarity of the partial reflection will depend upon the characteristics of the medium.

Consider a travelling wave situation where the domain has a soft boundary with incident wave ϕI=Iexp(jωtk1x) , reflected wave ϕR=Rexp(jωt+k1x) and transmitted wave ϕT=Texp(jωtk2x) . In addition, for simplicity, consider the medium on both sides of the boundary to be isotropic and non-dispersive, which implies that all three waves will have the same frequency. From the conservation of energy law we have ϕI+ϕR=ϕT for all t , which implies I+R=T. Also, on differentiating with respect to x , we obtain ik1I+ik1R=ik2T . Thus, on rearranging we have

TI=2k1k1+k2,(68)
RI=k1k2k1+k2.(69)

Equations (68) and (69) indicate that:

  • the transmitted wave is always in-phase with the incident wave, i.e.synchronized (in-step with) and no phase-shift
  • the reflected wave is only in-phase with the incident wave if k1>k2.

Also, because cg=cp=ωk, if k1>k2, then this implies that cg1<cg2, see section (Group and phase velocity).

We mention two other quantities

τ=∣∣∣TI∣∣∣,(70)
ρ=∣∣∣RI∣∣∣,(71)

the so-called coefficients of transmission and reflection respectively.

Resonance

Resonance describes a situation where a system oscillates at one of its natural frequencies, usually when the amplitude increases as a result of energy being supplied by a perturbing force. A striking example of this phenomena is the failure of the mile-long Tacoma Narrows Suspension Bridge. On 7 November 1940 the structure collapsed due to a nonlinear wave that grew in magnitude as a result of excitation by a 42 mph wind. A video of this disaster is available on line at: archive.org . Another less dramatic example of resonance that most people have experienced is the effect of sound feedback from loudspeaker to microphone.

A more complex form of resonance is autoresonance, a nonlinear phase-locking phenomenon which occurs when a resonantly driven nonlinear system becomes phase-locked (synchronized or in-step) with a driving perturbation or wave.

Doppler effect

The Doppler effect (or Doppler shift) relates to the change in frequency and wavelength of waves emitted from a source as perceived by an observer, where the source and observer are moving at a speed relative to each other. At each moment of time the source will radiate a wave and an observer will experience the following effects:

  • Wave source moving towards the observer – To the observer the moving source has the effect of compressing the emitted waves and the frequency is perceived to be higher than the source frequency. For example, a sound wave will have a higher pitch and the spectrum of a light wave will exhibit a blueshift.
  • Wave source moving away from the observer – To the observer this time, the recessional velocity has the effect of expanding the emitted waves such that a sound wave will have a lower pitch and the spectrum of a light wave will exhibit a redshift.

Perhaps the most famous discovery involving the Doppler effect, is that made in 1929 by Edwin Hubble in connection with the Earth’s distance from receding galaxies: the redshift of light coming from distant galaxies is proportional to their distance. This is known as Hubble’s law.

Transverse and longitudinal waves

Transverse waves oscillate in the plane perpendicular to the direction of wave propagation. They include: seismic S (secondary) waves, and electromagnetic waves, E (electric field) and H (magnetic field), both of which oscillate perpendicularly to each other as well to the direction of propagation of energy. Light, an electromagnetic wave, can be polarized (oriented in a specific direction) by use of a polarizing filter.

Longitudinal waves oscillate along the direction of wave propagation. They include sound waves (pressure, particle displacement, or particle velocity propagated in an elastic medium) and seismic P (earthquake or explosion) waves.

Surface water waves however, are an example of waves that involve a combination of both longitudinal and transverse motion.

Traveling waves

Traveling-wave solutions [Pol-08], [Gri-11], by definition, are of the form

u(x,t)=U(z),z=kxλt ;(72)

where λ/k plays the role of the wave propagation velocity (the value λ=0 corresponds to a stationary solution, and the value k=0 corresponds to a space-homogeneous solution).

Traveling-wave solutions are characterized by the fact that the profiles of these solutions at different time instants are obtained from one another by appropriate shifts (translations) along the x-axis. Consequently, a Cartesian coordinate system moving with a constant speed can be introduced in which the profile of the desired quantity is stationary. For λ>0 and k>0 , the wave described by equation (72) travels along the x-axis to the right (in the direction of increasing x).

The term traveling-wave solution is also used in situations where the variable t plays the role of a spatial coordinate, y .

Standing waves

Figure 6: Figure 6: A standing wave

(ϕ(x,t)) .

Standing waves’ occur when two traveling waves of equal amplitude and speed, but opposite direction, are superposed. The effect is that the wave amplitude varies with time but it does not move spatially. For example, consider two waves ϕ1(x,t)=Φ1expi(ωtkx) and ϕ2(x,t)=Φ2expi(ωt+kx) , where ϕ1 moves to the right and ϕ2 moves to the left. By definition we have Φ2=Φ2 , and by simple algebraic manipulation we obtain

ϕ(x,t)=ϕ1(x,t)+ϕ2(x,t),
=Φ1[expi(ωtkx)+expi(ωt+kx)],
=2Φ1expiωtcoskx.(73)

A standing wave is illustrated in figures (6) and (7) by a plot of the real part of equation (73), i.e. (ϕ(x,t))=2Φ1cosωtcoskx with k=1 , ω=1 and Φ1=12 .

Figure 7: Figure 7: Animated standing wave

(ϕ(x,t)) .

The points at which ϕ=0 are called nodes and the points at which ϕ=2∣∣Φ∣∣ are called antinodes. These points are fixed and occur at kx=(2n+1)π2 and kx=(2n+1)π respectively (n=±1,±2,) .

Clearly, the existence of nonlinear standing waves can be demonstrated by application of Fourier analysis.

Waveguides

The idea of a waveguide is to constrain a wave such that its energy is directed along a specific path. The path may be fixed or capable of being varied to suit a particular application.

The operation of a waveguide is analyzed by solving the appropriate wave equation, subject to the prevailing boundary conditions. There will be multiple solutions, or modes, which are determined by the eigenfunctions associated with the particular wave equations, and the velocity of the wave as it propagates along the waveguide will be determined by the eigenvalues of the solution.

  • An electromagnetic waveguide is a physical structure, such as a hollow metal tube, solid dielectric rod or co-axial cable that guides electromagnetic waves in the sub-optical (non-visible) electromagnetic spectrum
  • An optical waveguide is a physical structure, such as an optical fiber, that guides waves in the optical (visible) part of the electromagnetic spectrum
  • An acoustic waveguide is a physical structure, such as a hollow tube or duct (a speaking tube), that guides acoustic waves in the audible frequency range. Musical wind instruments, such as a flute, can also be thought of as acoustic waveguides.

For detailed analysis and further discussion refer to [Lio-03],[Oka-06].

Wave-front

Figure 8: Figure 8: Circular wave-fronts emanating from a point source.

As a wave propagates through a medium, the wavefront represents the outward normal surface formed by points in space, at a particular instant, as the wave travels outwards from its origin.

One of the simplest form of wavefront to envisage is an expanding circle where its radius r , expands with velocity v , i.e. r=vt. Simple circular sinusoidal wave-fronts propagating from a point source are shown in figure (8). They can be described by

u(r,t)=Re{exp[i(krωt+π/2ψ]},(74)

where k= wavenumber, r=radius , t=time , ω=frequency , ψ=phase angle .

Figure 9: Figure 9: A snapshot from a simulation of the Indian Ocean tsunami that occurred on 26th December 2004 resulting from an earthquake off the west coast of Sumatra. The non-circular wave-fronts are clearly visible, which indicates curved rays. See animation here

.

Depending upon the particular wave equation and medium in which the wave travels, the wavefront may not appear to be an expanding circle. The path upon which any point on the wave front has traveled is called a ray, and this can be a straight line or, more likely, a curve in space. In general, the wavefront is perpendicular to the ray path, and the ray curvature will depend on the circumstances of the particular physical situation. For example, its curvature will be influenced by: an anisotropic medium, refraction, diffraction, etc.

Consider a water wave where wave height is very much smaller than water depth h . Its speed of propagation c , or celerity, is given by c=gh‾‾‾√ ; thus, for an ocean with varying depth the velocity will vary at different locations (refraction). This can result in waves having non-circular wave-fronts and hence curved rays. This situation, which occurs in many different applications, is illustrated in figure (9) where the curved wave-fronts are due to a combination of effects due to refraction, diffraction, reflection and a non-point disturbance.

Huygens’ principle

Figure 10: Figure 10: Advancing envelope of wave-fronts Φq0(t) .

We can consider all points of a wave-front of light in a vacuum or transparent medium to be new sources of wavelets that expand in every direction at a rate depending on their velocities.

This idea was originally proposed by the Dutch mathematician, physicist, and astronomer, Christiaan Huygens, in 1690, and is a powerful method for studying various optical phenomena [Enc-09]. Thus, the points on a wave can be viewed as each emitting a circular wave which combine to propagate the wave-front Φq0(t) . The wave-front can be thought of as an advancing line tangential to these circular waves – see figure (10). The points on a wave-front propagate from the wave source along so-called rays. The Huygens’ principle applies generally to wave-fronts and the laws of reflection and refraction can both be derived from Huygens’ principle. These results can also be obtained from Maxwell’s equations.

For detailed analysis and proof of Huygens’ principle, refer to [Arn-91].

Shock waves

There are an extremely large number of types and forms of shock wave phenomena, and the following are representative of some subject areas where shocks occur:

  • Fluid mechanics: Shocks result when a disturbance is made to move through a fluid faster than the speed of sound (the celerity) of the medium. This can occur when a solid object is forced through a fluid, for example in supersonic flight. The effect is that the states of the fluid (velocity, pressure, density, temperature, entropy) exhibit a sudden transition, according to the appropriate conservation laws, in order to adjust locally to the disturbance. As the cause of the disturbance subsides, the shock wave energy is dissipated within the fluid and it reduces to a normal, subsonic, pressure wave. Note: A shock wave can result in local temperature increases of the fluid. This is a thermodynamic effect and should not be confused with heating due to friction.
  • Mechanics: Bull whips can generate shocks as the oscillating wave progresses from the handle to the tip. This is because the whip is tapered from handle to the tip and, when cracked, conservation of energy dictates that the wave speed increases as it progresses along the flexible cord. As the wave speed increases it reaches a point where its velocity exceeds that of sound, and a sharp crack is heard.
  • Continuum mechanics: Shocks result from a sudden impact, earthquake, or explosion.
  • Detonation: Shocks result from an extremely fast exothermic reaction. The expansion of the fluid, due to temperature and chemical changes force fluid velocities to reach supersonic speed, e.g. detonation of an explosive material such as TNT. But perhaps the most striking example would be the shock wave produced by a thermonuclear explosion.
  • Medical applications: A non-invasive treatment for kidney or gall bladder stones whereby they can be removed by use of a technique called extracorporeal lithotripsy. This procedure uses a focused, high-intensity, acoustic shock wave to shatter the stones to the point where they are reduced in size such that they may be passed through the body in a natural way!

For further discussion relating to shock phenomena see ([Ben-00],[Whi-99]).

We briefly introduce two topics below by way of example.

Blast Wave – Sedov-Taylor Detonation

A blast wave can be analyzed from the following equations,

ρt+vρr+ρ(vr+2vr)=0,(75)
vt+vvr+1ρpr=0,(76)
(p/ργ)t+v(p/ργ)r=0,(77)

where ρ , v , p , r , t and γ represent density of the medium in which the blast takes place (air), velocity of the blast front, blast pressure, blast radius, time and isentropic exponent (ratio of specific heats) of the medium respectively. Now, if we assume that,

Figure 11: Figure 11: Time-lapse photographs with distance scales (100 m) of the first atomic bomb explosion in the New Mexico desert – 5.29 A.M. on 16th July, 1945. Times from instant of detonation are indicated in bottom left corner of each photograph (Top first – left column: 0.006s, 0.016s; right column: 0.025s, 0.09s).

  • the blast can be considered to result from a point source of energy;
  • the process is isentropic and the medium can be represented by the equation-of-state, (γ1)e=p/ρ , where e represents internal energy;
  • there is spherical symmetry;

then, after some analysis, similarity considerations lead to the following equation [Tay-50b]

E=cR5ρt2,(78)

where c is a similarity constant, R is the radius of the wave front and E is the total energy released by the explosion.
Back in 1945 Sir Geoffrey Ingram Taylor was asked by the British MAUD (Military Application of Uranium Detonation) Committee to deduce information regarding the power of the first atomic explosion in New Mexico. He derived this result, which was based on his earlier classified work [Tay-41], and was able to estimate, using only photographs of the blast (released into the public domain in 1947), that the yield of the bomb was equivalent to between 16.8 and 22.9 kilo-tons of TNT for values of γ equal to 1.4 and 1.3 respectively. Each of these photographs, crucially, contained a distance scale and precise time, see figure (11). Taylor used a value for the similarity constant of c=0.856 that he obtained by a step-by-step method. However the correct analytical value for this constant was later shown to be 0.8501 [Sed-59].
This result was classified secret but, five years later he published the details [Tay-50a],[Tay-50b], much to the consternation of the British government. J. von Neumann and L. I. Sedov published similar independently derived results [Bet-47],[Sed-46]. For further discussion relating to the theory refer to [Kam-00],[Deb-58].

Sonic boom

Figure 12: Figure 12: The N-wave sonic boom.

As an aircraft proceeds in smooth flight at a speed greater than the speed of sound – the sound barrier – a shock wave is formed at its nose and finishes at its tail. The speed of sound is given by c=γRT/MW‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾‾√ , where γ , R , T and MW represent ratio of specific heats, universal gas constant, temperature and molecular weight respectively, and c330m/s at sea level for dry air at 0oC . The shock forms a high pressure, cone-shaped surface propagating with the aircraft. The half-angle (between direction of flight and the shock wave) θ is given by sin(θ)=1/M , where M=vaircraft/c is known as the Mach number of the aircraft. Clearly, as vaircraft increases, the cone becomes more pointed (θ becomes smaller).

Figure 13: Figure 13: The U-wave sonic boom.

As the aircraft continues under steady flight conditions at high speed, there will be an abrupt rise in pressure at the aircraft’s nose, which falls towards the tail when it then becomes negative. This is the so-called N-wave [Nak-08] – a pressure wave measured at sufficient distance such that it has lost its fine structure, see figure (12). A sonic boom occurs when the abrupt changes in pressure are of sufficient magnitude. Thus, steady supersonic flight results in two booms: one resulting from the rapid rise in pressure at the nose, and another when the pressure returns to normal as the tail passes the point vacated by the nose. This is the cause of the distinctive double boom from supersonic aircraft. At ground level typically, 10<Pmax<500Pa and τ0.0010.005s. The duration T varies from around 100 ms for a fighter plane to 500 ms for the Space Shuttle or Concorde.

Figure 14: Figure 14:A USAF B1B makes a high speed pass at the Pensacola Beach airshow – Florida, July 12, 2002. Copyright © Gregg Stansbery, Stansbery Photography – reproduced with permission.

Another form of sonic boom is the focused boom. These can result from high speed aircraft flight maneuvering operations. These result in the so-called U-waves which have positive shocks at the front and rear of the boom, see figure (13). Generally, U-waves result in higher peak over-pressures than N-waves – typically between 2 and 5 times. At ground level typically, 20<Pmax<2500Pa (although they can be much higher). The highest overpressure ever recorded was 6800 Pa [144 lbs/sq-ft] (source: USAF Fact Sheet 96-03). For further discussion related to sonic booms refer to [Kao-04].

As an aircraft passes through, or close to the sound barrier, water vapor in the air is compressed by the shock wave and becomes visible as a large cloud of condensation droplets formed as the air cools due to low pressure at the tail. A smaller shock wave can also form on top of the canopy. This phenomena is illustrated in figure (14).

Solitary waves and solitons

The correct term for a wave which is localized and retains its form over a long period of time is: solitary wave. However, a soliton is a solitary wave having the additional property that other solitons can pass through it without changing its shape. But, in the literature it is customary to refer to the solitary wave as a soliton, although this is strictly incorrect [Tao-08].

Figure 15: Figure 15: Evolution of a two-soliton solution of the KdV equation. Image illustrates the collision of two solitons that are both moving from left to right. The faster (taller) soliton overtakes the slower (shorter) soliton.

Solitons are stable, nonlinear pulses which exhibit a fine balance between non-linearity and dispersion. They often result from real physical phenomena that can be described by PDEs that are completely integrable, i.e. they can be solved exactly. Such PDEs describe: shallow water waves, nonlinear optics, electrical network pulses, and many other applications that arise in mathematical physics. Where multiple solitons moving at different velocities occur within the same domain, collisions can take place with the unexpected phenomenon that, first they combine, then the faster soliton emerges to proceed on its way. Both solitons then continue to proceed in the the same direction and eventually reach a situation where their speeds and shapes are unchanged. Thus, we have a situation where a faster soliton can overtake a slower soliton. There are two effects that distinguishes this phenomena from that which occurs in a linear wave system. The first is that the maximum height of the combined solitons is not equal to the sum of the individual soliton heights. The second is that, following the collision, there is a phase shift between the two solitons, i.e. the linear trajectory of each soliton before and after the collision is seen to be shifted horizontally – see figure (15).

Some additional discussion is given in section (The Korteweg-de Vries equation) and detailed technical overviews of the subject can be found in the works by Ablowitz & Clarkson [Abl-91], Drazin & Johnson [Dra-89] and Johnson [Joh-97]. Soliton theory is still an active area of research and a discussion on the various types of soliton solution that are known is given by Gerdjikov & Kaup [Ger-05].

Soliton types

Soliton types generally fall into thee types:

  • Humps (pulses) – These are the classic bell-shaped curves that are typically associated with soliton phenomena.
  • Kinks – These are solitons characterized by either a monotonic positive shift (kink) or a monotonic negative shift (anti-kink) where the change in value occurs gradually in the shape of an s-type curve.
  • Breathers (bions) – These can be either stationary or travelling soliton humps that oscillate: becoming positive, negative, positive and so on.

More details may be found in Drazin and Johnson [Dra-89].

Tsunami

The word tsunami is a Japanese term derived from the characters 津 (tsu) meaning harbor and 波 (nami) meaning wave. It is now generally accepted by the international scientific community to describe a series of traveling waves in water produced by the displacement of the sea floor associated with submarine earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, or landslides. They are also known as tidal waves.

Tsunami are usually preceded by a leading-depression N-wave (LDN), one in which the trough reaches the shoreline first. Eyewitnesses in Banda Aceh who observed the effects of the December 2004 Sumatra Tsunami, see figure (9), resulting from a magnitude 9.3 seabed earthquake, described a series of three waves, beginning with a leading depression N wave [Bor-05]. Recent estimates indicate that this powerful tsunami resulted in excess of 275,000 deaths and extensive damage to property and infrastructure around the entire coast line of the Indian ocean [Kun-07].

Tsunami are long-wave phenomena and, because the wavelengths of tsunami in the ocean are long with respect to water depth, they can be considered shallow water waves. Thus, cp=cg=gh‾‾‾√ and for a depth of 4km we see that the wave velocity is around 200 m/s. Hence, tsunami waves are often modelled using the shallow water equations, the Boussinesq equation, or other suitable equations that bring out in sufficient detail the required wave characteristics. However, one of the major challenges is to model shoreline inundation realistically, i.e. the effect of the wave when it encounters the shore – also known as run-up. As the wave approaches the shoreline, the water depth decreases sharply resulting in a greatly increased surge of water at the point where the wave strikes land. This requires special modeling techniques to be used, such as robust Riemann solvers [Tor-01],[Ran-06] or the level-set method [Set-99],[Osh-03], which can handle situations where dry regions become flooded and vice versa.

Acknowledgements

The authors would like to thank reviewers Prof. Andrei Polyanin and Dr. Alexei Zhurov for their positive and constructive comments.

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If You Don’t Understand Conceptual Art, It’s Not Your Fault – Isaac Kaplan

If You Don’t Understand Conceptual Art, It’s Not Your Fault

 

Maurizio Cattelan, 'View of the exhibition KAPUTT,' 2013, Fondation Beyeler

Conceptual art gets a bad rap. It’s the butt of endless jokes. Works of this genre that were nominated for the high honor of the Turner Prize were called BS by the U.K. culture minister. Shia Labeouf used it as an excuse to put a bag over his head. So why is conceptual art so confounding? How do curators make it palatable? And what are we even talking about when we talk about “conceptual art”?

What Is Conceptual Art?

“It’s not a movement, it’s not a style, it’s a set of strategies,” says Andrew Wilson, curator of the Tate’s upcoming exhibition “Conceptual Art in Britain 1964–1979.” One can see the rub instantly: A “set of strategies” is a spot-on description, but hardly a straightforward one.

Conceptual art—its Western variant anyway—emerged in the 1960s as a reaction to Clement Greenberg’s militant commitment to formalism and art that concerned itself with the flat surface of the picture plane, such as Abstract ExpressionismSol LeWitt laid out the terms for conceptual art in his seminal “Paragraphs on Conceptual Art,” published in the June 1967 issue of Artforum. “In conceptual art the idea or concept is the most important aspect of the work,” LeWitt wrote. “When an artist uses a conceptual form of art, it means that all of the planning and decisions are made beforehand and the execution is a perfunctory affair.” That planning is, essentially, a set of strategies.

But isn’t all art planned with a concept? The nebulous taxonomy of conceptual art isn’t easy, even for the experts. Jens Hoffmann, deputy director of exhibitions and programs at the Jewish Museum, told me he long pondered similar questions himself, though a meeting with John Baldessari offered some clarity. A towering figure at 6 feet 7 inches, known for, among other things, putting dots on faces, Baldessari told him that “conceptual art wasn’t about art that had a concept, but about interrogating the concept of art,” as Hoffmann recalls.This interrogation, not confined to any one medium, has historically been seen as the province primarily of white men (we’ll revisit this glaring issue later). Among the touchstones of early conceptual art are Bruce NaumanJoseph BeuysEva Hesse, and Joseph Kosuth, whose One and Three Chairs (1965) features a physical chair, a photograph of that chair, and the dictionary definition of a chair. It’s what you’ll see in any Art History 101 class and it’s guaranteed to make students’ eyes roll—and not without good reason.

Curating Conceptual Art

The self-reflexive underpinnings of Kosuth’s work run dangerously close to reinforcing art as the domain of an elite few with the requisite knowledge. Indeed, the experience of engaging with conceptual art is often marked by the suspicion that the work’s central, revelatory idea is somewhere in your mind’s peripheral vision, just out of sight. A bad conceptual work makes you feel that the idea isn’t worth finding. A good one spurs you to keep searching. Why did Maurizio Cattelan hang every work of art he’s ever created from the ceiling of the Guggenheim? It’s a funny but cerebral question that’s likely to leave visitors puzzling, and happily so, for some time.

Providing a viewer the information to get to that central thought, or set of strategies, without overwhelming them is a perpetual challenge, but curators confronting how to make conceptual art digestible without inducing a tummyache must tackle it. Hoffmann, who has staged ambitious re-thinks of seminal conceptual art exhibitions like “Other Primary Structures,” recommends a balanced diet of programming, tours, and didactics (aka, words that tell you things). But the strategy isn’t without peril. The wall texts that accompany conceptual shows can grow dense “to the point at which the artwork becomes difficult to see,” as Wilson puts it.

Ideally, wall text is superfluous. In the late 2000s, curator Leslie Jones of LACMA worked in conjunction with the the Tate’s Jessica Morgan to mount “John Baldessari: Pure Beauty,” a major retrospective of the artist’s work that traveled around the globe. “Baldessari’s work is very clear,” Jones told me. (“Clear” is not often a word one hears used to describe conceptual art.) Sometimes pared down to just words scrawled on a canvas, the tongue-in-cheek pieces were effectively their own wall texts. “Humor puts people at ease. They laugh first and then they start thinking,” Jones said.

Conceptual Art in the World

Baldessari’s visual language challenges the perception that conceptual art is either wholly the domain of the over-informed (Kosuth) or of those hungry for vapid spectacle (Koons). “In the ’60s, when [Baldessari] was first leaving painting behind, he wanted to talk to people in a language they understood,” Jones told me. “And for him that meant text and photographic image. That seemed the most democratic.”

Even in the founding document of conceptualism, one finds an impulse towards populism—or at least the recognition that it is people who make meaning. That may seem strange given that conceptual art today is often viewed as hermetic, self-reflexive, and impenetrable except to the mind that divined it. But “once it is out of his hand the artist has no control over the way a viewer will perceive the work,” LeWitt wrote. “Different people will understand the same thing in a different way.”

And that “thing” wasn’t a flat splatter canvas but bits and pieces of the real world. It’s a fact that Wilson wants to impress upon viewers when they see “Conceptual Art Britain,” which opens in April. “One of the things that I would very much hope people might come away from this exhibition with is actually understanding how engaged [conceptual art] is with the stuff of everyday life,” he told me.

Case in point: Roelof Louw’s Soul City (Pyramid of Oranges) (1967). The conceptual work is part of an art-historical dialogue about form (“against the modernist ideas of geometrical syntax,” says Wilson), but it is also a pyramid of 5,800 oranges. As they rot or are taken away by visitors, the geometry shifts and changes, thanks to the organic processes, be they our hands or the passage of time. Go on, eat one—it’s a good idea.

Conceptual Art’s Legacy

For all its navel-gazing, conceptual art also tackles issues of authorship, time, space, identity, and even ownership (how do you buy a concept?)—themes that have very tangible manifestations in the real world. Anyone can employ the instructions that LeWitt used for his art (he often used assistants himself) and create a perfect geometric wall drawing, but trying to hang your DIY conceptualism at the MoMA is not recommended. Still, the question is raised: How is authorship ascribed? Conceptual artists “were putting the condition of the art object in question,” says Wilson, “but in doing that they were taking the strategies that they’d evolved to put the condition of society in question as well.”

Trying to craft entirely self-referential works of art is doomed to fail anyway, either because viewers will be bored to tears or because the work will be unable to escape the world outside of the museum. But ultimately, it’s that outside world that can lend conceptually minded art its meaning and value. Around the same time that Thelma Golden’s “Black Male,”—a now-iconic exhibition that the New York Times once derisively called “slanted toward conceptual political work”—opened at the Hammer in L.A., the O.J. Simpson trial began in the city. A courtroom is no more hermetically sealed from the broader context in which it exists than a museum or piece of conceptual art is, and Golden’s exhibition has become a hallmark for how art can parse pressing political conditions.

Indeed, despite all the claims made to conceptual art’s intellectual purity, broader societal inequity is partly why it was historically dominated and defined by white men. No doubt more study will reveal overlooked minority and women artists forced to practice conceptual art outside the lens of art history’s white microscope. But regardless, subsequent politically engaged and inclusive modes of artmaking that harnessed some of the tools of conceptual art, like feminist art, institutional critique, and performance art, have explicitly looked for meaning beyond the white walls. Where conceptual art ends and those movements begin is difficult to say.

During a panel about black conceptualism at the Hammer, artist Rodney McMillian spoke of the relationship between Charles Gaines and Sol LeWitt. Though rooted in conceptualism, Gaines’s practice expands on LeWitt’s foundational paragraphs, he said, opening them up to include ideas around representation in art so that “there could be space for artists of color and gendered minorities.” When LeWitt died in 2007, Gaines sent around a message with a few thoughts, which McMillian shared with those who had gathered to hear the talk. “Sol was the most generous person I know,” the message read. “His passing leaves an enormous hole for me personally and I dare say to the world of contemporary art.”

—Isaac Kaplan

https://www.artsy.net/article/artsy-editorial-if-you-don-t-understand-conceptual-art-it-s-not-your-fault