The writer draws from his experiences both as an artist and as an electronic information designer for three metaphors that introduce lessons applicable to development of cyberspaces, especially musical and therapeutic ones.
The metaphor of the Neighborhood invites examination of one successful method for an artist and a group to construct a neighborhood mural. The metaphor of the Garage provokes examination of the garage band which continues to hold appeal and focus the creative energy of youth. The metaphor of the Porch introduces issues of development for one special needs group, senior citizens.
Delivered at the First Conference of Cyberspace in Music Therapy, New York NY, February 1992 and first published in its Proceedings. During reading of the paper this slide was projected:
The Neighborhood, the Garage, the Porch: Healing Spaces of Home
The technology industry is blessed with a voracious appetite for metaphors over the years, around which to shape its development. Xerox PARC's desktops and file folders, Apple's HyperCard cards and stacks, Brenda Laurel's theater metaphors --all help influence the creation of coherent systems of tools of empowerment. I wish to illustrate some possible directions and models for the creation of cyberspaces and their musical components with three reassuring metaphors taken from daily life, from imagery of the home. As I take cyberspace to mean a shared arena of consensus that only exists electronically  many of its design and philosophical issues can readily be compared to architecture and urban planning. The first of these metaphors is that of the neighborhood, and some of the lessons neighborhood arts might bring to technological development. The second is that of the garage, the realm slightly outside of the house (and its standards of orderliness) where tinkering and twanging can go on undisturbed. The third metaphor is that of the unhurried yet sociable front porch, private property yet interface to the street and neighborhood.
1. The Neighborhood
San Francisco's Tenderloin is a noisy, clamorous urban neighborhood. Many appreciated the social service agency as a place of refuge to sit, to snooze (you don't sleep at night if you're homeless), to think, talk or read. There was surprisingly little reading, and it was here that I first became aware how pervasive illiteracy is in this country; many of the clients simply could not read. The neighborhood had a high population continually interfacing in and out of the mental health system.
My first exposure to community arts was here, when I was hired to teach art skills--drawing, printmaking and mural painting--in this service agency's neighborhood drop-in center. Community or neighborhood arts is contextualized. It depends on its world, the shared assumptions and history of that world to be understood; a world outside of that of the mainstream, for the mainstream art market is based on the artwork as a mobile, rootless commodity. Whereas the ethic and aesthetic of studio art that I had carefully learned in college was one of exclusivity, this context demanded inclusivity, affirmation of every voice. Whereas "the art world" cultivated specialization and esoterica, here all could take up a breadth of skills and styles but your audience sought and expected some communicative value in your work, something that spoke to them and their daily lives (even if it was a painting that offered a clear escape from its urban difficulties). The community arts movement that was active in the late 1970s in San Francisco involved communities not served by the downtown art institutions: Black, Latino, Asian and Gay. The Neighborhood Arts Program was even initiated by the Arts Commission in response to protests by these excluded groups on the occasion of the the funding of the new Louise M. Davies Symphony Hall. The most challenging type of artwork for me in this world added elements of interactivity and collective creativity, community murals. 
By "community" I uphold the political definition put forth by Saul Alinsky [4 ] and others as a group with both immediate and long-term shared interests. Community art thus puts the artist's role into an unalienated context, and tests her or his professional flexibility; an artist may occasionally be as frustrated with artistic problems in this role as one alone in the studio but will never feel isolated and alienated. The artist gives form to content shared and developed among others, in a relationship of artist and audience new to our society but the standard in many traditional cultures. For the purposes of my metaphors I will here use "community" and "neighborhood" interchangeably.
I gradually developed a procedural model for artist and community interaction in the painting of a neighborhood mural that I call the "Tennis Game". Like a game on a neighborhood playground, the leadership role in each step of the process bounces back and forth, from artist to community, back to artist, to community and so on. Though all the participants are involved in both the design and painting process, I here define the "artist" as one who is educated in the history and craft, and brings to the project her or his set of professional skills. This process maximizes the use of the skills of both the professional artist and the untrained neighborhood group of participants that will live or work with the completed mural. The Tennis Game method proceeds through clearly defined stages of responsibility that shift between the artist and the neighborhood.
First of all, the neighborhood initially expresses its desire for a mural, and begins to look at its potential site differently from that moment on. Here they contact an artist.
In the second step the artist steps in, introduces her or his own work, provides historical examples. These may be slides or shared pictures of the murals of Pompeii, Bonampak, Renaissance frescoes, Los Tres Grandes (Rivera, Orozco and Siquieros) of Mexico, local examples of murals and the artist's own. The group begins to evaluate these works as achievements of which they too are capable, even considering imagery and aspects of ancient or classic works to quote. The artist helps the neighborhood participants develop an educated eye before the research and drawing begins.
Third step, the neighborhood examines its reason for painting a mural, thinks about itself, of what it's proud, the community context of the mural. To ask "What do you want to see?" usually will result in suggestions of second-hand imagery--the latest television craze, a pop celebrity or local sports hero. If the question is phrased "What is important to you?" the neighborhood will examine itself, its strengths and its motives. The sports hero may reappear, but as an example to youth as a kid from the neighborhood housing project that worked hard and made good. Sketches are brought in, photographs from their own albums, or from magazines. The group realizes its imaginative resources, its own imagery and even the world of imagery to adapt and use and assemble in its own localized context.
In the fourth step artist then employs design skills to assemble the imagery into coherent form. Suddenly it looks like Art! Symmetry, balance, and the scale of each image are given attention and a unified look. Perspective, if any, is established, diagonals and a sense of movement, perhaps a spiral of imagery.
Yet the neighborhood group must be able to look at this possible design and see it as theirs, so the fifth stage is their critique and improvement of it. They now have one or more concrete visualization of possibilities to evaluate. Their newly heightened aesthetic awareness supplements the artist's, due to their own familiarity with local content and context. They offer their changes, refinements to be incorporated into the design, and approval. They also aid with any preparation of the wall as necessary.
For the sixth step the artist then draws the design upon the wall with chalks, graphite or china markers, rapidly applying her or his learned skill. This drawing stage can be the most frustrating to non-professionals. The original drawing might be squared-up for accurate transfer to the wall, or drawn upon it more or less freehand. The latter process can have an organic quality caused by human scale, by the arcs of the arm like the Vitruvian man within the circle. Lines must be readable to all participants, yet not coloring-book confining.
The neighborhood group then actually paints the mural as the seventh and often longest step. The artist provides suggestions for color-mixing and the development of value range, teaching the use and abuses of outlining and the visual push and pull of foreground and background. Most of the art instruction the artist provides here grows out the solving of specific problems, as on the job in any workplace. Brush care and cleanup may need to be taught, and an example of perseverence, motivation and energy, for the process often feels like housepainting until the wall is completely covered with paint. It can be difficult convincing participants that there is such a thing as underpainting. By this end of this step all can satisfactorily say that they painted their mural.
In the eighth step the artist paints finishing touches, perhaps lettering if any, some outlines, shadows and shadow edges and highlights. Definition is provided by a unifying hand lightly lain.
Finally the group varnishes the complete mural if necessary. The neighborhood celebrates and dedicates their mural, perhaps on an ethnic holiday. Neighborhood unity has been enhanced, and the event brings it publicity and possibly contacts with local politicians seeking photo-opportunity. Yet the process has raised political conciousness through group accomplishment; if we accomplished this, what issue can we tackle next? The mural now becomes part of the neighborhood history it may depict, as well as beautification and decoration. The neighborhood lives with it, and how the mural lasts and is respected often reflects the success of the Tennis Game process.
This process could be applied to the creation of therapeutic sound-spaces, using electronic tools for the shaping of music and sound environments rather than paint on firm architectural surfaces. A community mural affirms an environment by enhancing a wall of it with artifice; the creation of a cyberspace does the same through electronics. The engineer designing and programming cyberspaces could incorporate user design input and adaptability in an incremental development process adapting the Tennis Game. What steps in the development of cyberspaces can be identified, and how can they be "bounced" back and forth between engineer and user? What skills of cyberspace implementation can be readily transferred to the layperson who'll use the space? The goal would be the creation of a musical, therapeutic cyberspace that its users felt was theirs "from the ground up". Incorporating a wide range of generalized, detailed, collective, personal, quirky and even sometimes clichéd audio into a coherent unity would be a design challenge analogous to the visual artist's challenge on a neighborhood mural. And the de-mystification of the engineering process might be as fulfilling as the community muralist's sharing of the artistic.
A cyberspace for music therapy could then be like a neighborhood in several ways. Labyrinthine, multifaceted, multifarious, polyvocal, it would provide through its complex structure of audio imagery an arena of identity, both group and individual. May it affirm and reinforce that identity more gently than the peer-group conformity sometimes enforced in neighborhoods of our youth. The cyberspatial neighborhood must give its user a readily-understood sense of context and location. This would be the affirmation of a space, its sense of history and relation to other locations and their inhabitants. Like the boundaries of a neighborhood, a virtual space might exist largely defined in the hearts and inclinations of its residents, imperceptible to any outsider unaware of subtle sensory clues.
2. The Garage
Bands were springing up all over. Physical music, music made beef and pork, music made snake. Rock n' roll is argumentation with a beat. Rythm n' Portents. While little boys and girls on the curbs and cul-de-sacs played beetles and mealworms, we wanted to be the Beatles. With steadfast determination we continued our obsession with squaring the circle of Rock.
Chords chafing over guitars like bee-wing vibrations. Two chords are better than three, the use of only one is best of all. Drums rumble patter like stockinged feet. Music so suburban it still often had the sound of pots and pans, pegboards going up in a garage workshop, electric sanders, Beethoven's gluegun, sonatas of spar varnish being applied to picnic tables. Mockingbird bass. Abrasive drums. The sting of the drums.
What Will the Neighbors Think? (they dug it). Song like the moan of a distant chainsaw, snow-blower, lawnmower. The drive-in movie about Rock was called "They Came Out of Some Garage". If we opened the door only cars and station wagons passed by, or people's little brothers and sisters. We had frittered away the Summer, but we were sharpening our rifles. Now let's get serious and conquer the world, this world in which they judge a man by his guitar pick. Ours was the Garage of the Popes.
--from the novel Fun .
There are two ways in which the metaphor of the garage is appropriate to questions of cyberspace and music therapy. There is the prevalent romantic Silicon Valley myth of electronic technology being developed in the garage, on a shoestring budget offset by plenty of optimistic inventiveness. In the spirit of Henry Ford (and the recent movie "Tucker"), from Bill Hewlett and Bob Packard in sleepy Palo Alto through Steve Wozniak and Steve Jobs getting their Apple I ready to show to the next meeting of the Homebrew Computer Club, the myth lives on. The Technology Center, a museum in San Jose, California, is even housed in a building it calls "The Garage". It is a particularly American mythos, that of invention and collaboration, little guys showing up established Big Industry, and soon doing very well financially by doing good things with their better mousetrap.
Yet there is also another garage myth, slightly more rebellious, of suburban teenagers with affordable electric guitars and amplifiers and drumsets assembled in a "garage band", both practicing old standards for the highschool dance and assembling their unique and original vision of the Future of Rock and its attendant fame. This may be a form of music self-therapy in the creation of a collaborative refuge from the social disquiet of adolescence, too often an extended liminal and meaningless state.
Much attention is being paid nowdays to the phenomenon of the men's group, a variety of men (usually middle- and upper-middle class) coming together in unconventional ways. A popular activity of these gathering is a drumming circle, where the joy of collective activity and ordered noisemaking is celebrated. Somehow I see this as an attempt to recapture or substitute for the "garage-band bonding" of teenage men. In a Fall, 1991 visit to Philadelphia's Franklin Institute I stepped inside the music room and started playing one of the two electronic sets of digital drumpads. After a while, a guard came in and played a bit on the second one. We improvised together wordlessly in the big glass booth, and went back about our business. I have seen this occur in the musical instrument booths of San Francisco's Exploratorium as well. Perhaps world leaders should begin their diplomatic meetings by playing a bit of music together.
The community feeling of the neighborhood and the egalitarian arena of the garage can also merge in wonderful ways. Two decades ago in highschool I was in a group which played humorous, original country-western songs on three occasions for patients in the Northville, Michigan, Mental Hospital. Each performance--for women, for youth and for the criminally insane--was a time of excitement for them, for participation, for a certain communion between us. One elderly woman sat down at the piano after I played our songs and proceded to play fine stride and ragtime, the staff surprised that she hadn't done that before. One teenager, perhaps frazzled by one to many acid trips gone bad, pulled from his pocket a crumpled paper with chords for a song he'd written, delighted a borrowing a guitar and appreciative ears for a few minutes. One middle-aged Black man, who'd pleaded insanity in a homicide case, took the guitar and hilariously parodied an elderly drooling Delta blues musician. In each case the presence of musical instruments and musicians elevated the patients' status and affirmed their creativity and individuality in the locked and inevitably limited institution.
For in any virtual garage--digital or "analog" like our visits to Northville--peers come together to jam, to create something more than the sum of the individual parts. Here the experiences of the organizers of prison bands or music programs for any disturbed or marginal youth need also to be studied.
Traditional instruments like violin and even the piano are not as "generous" as digital ones (whether commercial or, like the Franklin Institute's, site-specific), demanding a longer time and discipline committment to produce sounds that meet expectations of the music they have heard skilled musicians produce upon those instruments. Philosophical questions arise: Do those in need of therapy most need the discipline of the "real"? If it sounds like music, is it music? And if it feels like space, is it space? Debates rage on about analog and digital instruments' sensitivity and subtleties, yet many contemporary electronic keyboards have the capability of multitrack sound-on-sound recording, even sampling. In a workshop teaching the animation program Macromind Director , people grasped the soundtrack-assembling capabilities immediately, cutting and pasting audio segments in various orders, well before mastering the animation of visual elements. The auditory may be the part of our environment we seek or gain control of most quickly.
Marshall McLuhan has written  of the "hot" media of radio, engaging in a way the cool cerebral visual medium of text and image can never be. Other writers have reintroduced the metaphor of the gaze in discussing how cyberspaces may inadvertantly replicate the sexism of the larger society .
Yet perhaps the cyberspatial garage should be a visual realm as well as auditory. The visual aspect of rock n' roll has an importance similar to the actual form of the music--witness the success of opera in the nineteenth century, or of MTV today, or how picture histories of rock n' roll performers are so evocative. Chamber quartets (with the exception of San Francisco's Chronos Quartet) rarely think about "look", hairstyles and tailoring, uniformly adopting the formal dress--signifying the upper class and their servants--consistent for nearly a century. Art schools have always been centers of rock n' roll banding, and Art Rock--with its greater attention to fashion, text, and new instrumentation and technology--has been long acknowleged as a continuous genre. Those who manipulate visual elements in dress, with paint, on stage and architecturally will all inform the field of cyberspace design.
Much of music is based on mental spatial relationships, and the classical Greeks taught the discipline as a part of mathematics. The ability to "jam" or improvise or transcribe a known song to a different key demands this spatial sense, and technological augmentation of the spatial qualities of music might reinforce that. A cyberspace environment might inherently spread diffuse boundaries, like sound itself.
Virtual instruments might exist imbedded in the environment. The Mandala Sytem by Vivid Effects of Toronto  has been used to combined the user's movement in space with visual iconographic controls. The user, positioned before a video camera, can play a variety of virtual drums, which she sees pictured surrounding her own image upon the computer screen. Has the Mandala Sytem been tried out in a therapeutic environment? How would the autistic children behave in a world where every move produced a musical response? How long before its cybernetic responses encouraged them to actively control this tuneful world?
In another combination of music and virtual space, a graduate student studying with of Michael Benedikt, Professor of Architecture at the University of Texas, designed a virtual record store. [10 ] The student's proposed three-dimensional real-time interactive mercantile space consists of a great gridded tube into which the browsing shopper flies, the tube displaying on its interior the covers all its records while playing them in an indistinct cacaphony; as you approached a specific record, its music would grow louder and distinct and shut out the sound of the others.
A cyberspace for music therapy might be like a rock band's garage as a realm of participation and permission, unencumbered by rules, the private collective space safe from prying ears (No "Turn that down!"). Here music can be its interface for tools of reflection and empowerment. All can become peers in the great equalizer, cyberspace, and all can be in control of one's world. As a laboratory for aspirations and dreams, a place where experimentation rules, the virtual garage continues earlier traditions as a place to create scientific instruments, or of joyous song extruded from musical ones. It must be a safe place for the marginal to gain strength--especially for youth, often impoverished and underappreciated inventors. A virtual garage could be linked by phone lines, in which isolated patients could play together with no sense of violated boundaries. To try on new dandified persona, and to dream together, like rockers do.
3. The Porch
The front porch. A social yet protected place to perceive and involve oneself in the passing world, to be involved as you want to be. Involve the passers-by in conversation, simply nod in greeting or glare if you so choose. My elderly father speaks of seeing, as a young man, retired President Calvin Coolidge wave silently to him from his porch in Vermont. In one sense it is a stereotype to see the porch as the realm of senior citizens ("old rockin' chair got me again") yet on the other hand there are many ways it has served their needs for generations. Perhaps now the porch suggests a third metaphor for hospitable cyberspaces, a place friendly to senior citizens.
Senior citizens' special needs as a group become apparent in various kinds of interface testing. In the case of the personal computer, the importance of precisely positioning visual elements must accomodate bifocal eyesight, especially with non-light emitting screen display technologies . Solid principles for effective animated onscreen information for any audience like clarity of text, minimal onscreen movement at any given time, a strong sense of priority among visual elements are all especially crucial for seniors. In 1988 The nephew of a grand old muckraking journalist, the late I. F. Stone, wrote to Apple Computer, Inc. that Stone had typed his final book The Trial of Socrates on the Mac in 12-point Chicago font, easy on his failing eyesight .
Similarly, the world of musical cyberspace tools must acknowlege the hearing-impaired. NASA Ames Research Center has demonstrated a device called a Convolvotron for synthesizing three-dimensional virtual acoustic displays in real time, separating sound into spatially recognizable component sources, reconstructing an illusion of space . Perhaps we might eventually see Convolvotron hearing aids, dissassembling what to the impaired ear is a murky and unreadable mix of ambient sounds, and reassigning simulated spatial locations to numerous real-world (traffic, voices in the room) and simulated sources for an orderly audio environment.
Those in academia and industry who communicate frequently by electronic mail on the computer or terminal on their desks ("on the Net") swear by it and depend on its single channel, a gray line of text. It is a particular delight to get an immediate response to a message, to know that miles away someone is reading what is written and is moved to immediately type a response. Specialized computer bulletin boards now give a sense of community to the physically isolated, and one specifically designed for seniors is SeniorNet, developed at the University of San Francisco. Inviting musical spaces for seniors with limited mobility could alleviate loneliness.
As many seniors face loss of short-term memory. A cyberspace might augment that, where a single murmured word--or its synonyms--could access information branches in sound environments. Perhaps a communication space in which the user was encouraged to sing her message would aid memory retention, in the ancient bardic tradition.
Furthermore a community's social memory could be augmented and preserved in the virtual medium. Memory spaces would be a logical extension of oral history projects. The vocal narrative could be given spatial illusion by the appropriate sounds, music (Big-Band or ethnic-specific), even smells and virtual tactile sensations. The visual component to the space might be extrapolated from old photographs stored under the bed--Here's San Francisco on V-J Day in 1945!. Reconstructed memoirs in cyberspace is a genre seeking its Marcel Proust.
The creation of such cyberspace projects could be a cross-generational, involving the grandkids. Using the structures of hypermedia, the experience could access those of the children or grandchildren, drawing parallels while strengthening the bonds between generations. Virtuality will help seniors of limited mobility move beyond prevailing stereotypes of old folks at home, and cyberspace developers' efforts will empower yet another group of diverse, creative, and active individuals to do things previously not considered possible or feasible; with luck and temperate habits, someday we'll all be members of this long-lived, empowered group.
A cyberspace for music therapy will be like a porch to the extent that it is a space both private and public discourse. Generous and user-friendly, such a space will give its user, however physically and mentally challenged, a gentle sense of home and its security. As a social space it must offer all participants a quiet conviviality, not noisy or demanding, where one may expand or limit participation as one chooses, or may sit back and observe or listen undisturbed. Finally, as a memory space the virtual porch is a place with firm roots, yet a good place from which to look outward.
Much work is to be done towards new interfaces and shared digital information spaces.
Though we seek maximum participation in their design, among other demographic factors there are different kinds of participation for different age groups. In teaching Computer Graphics to 18- to 22-year-old adults I notice that most the semester they are most comfortable with exercises that involve following directions rather than those demanding creativity and originality. I contrast that with my class on Comics for gradeschoolers, who have overflowing creativity and no hesitation to express themselves in comics' visual, narrative language and conventions. In the latter setting, "comics jams", where one kid quickly draws one panel of a comic strip and passes it on to the next, helps to promote egoless cooperation. This kind of exercise might be a creative icebreaker in the interface design process with users of any virtual technology. Perhaps the best tools with which to equip the developer of such unprecedented media with are flexibility and creative thinking. The teaching of cyberspace development skills remains a challenge ahead.
In suggesting the metaphors of the neighborhood, the garage and the porch I draw upon experience as an artist giving form to my own content, as well as that of a designer giving form to the content of others. I work to link and coherently assemble my own experiments in community murals, collaborative musical performance and interactive hypermedia literature into expressive new works and prototypes. I contemplate "muralworld" interfaces with virtual surfaces decorated with complex figuration, possibly assembled through a community process . Any and all of these projects could be adapted by the therapeutic practicioners to meet needs of specific users. Therapy awards its patient new responsibilites, as well as a new irresponsibility and affectlessness--a safe place to try things out, things that might not always work; the traditional domain of the artist.
Musical therapeutic cyberspaces should be given the virtues of the neighborhood, the garage, the porch of an ideally comfortable remembered place of innocence and experience, rest and development. So much electronic communication is active, assertive, the business call or search of the database, and this is the "productivity" market for which developers usually develop. Yet much of communication is therapeutic, in the words of the telecommunications slogan, to "reach out and touch". Like the hospital, we pass through our cyberspaces as necessary to convalesce, to repair and nurture what is damanged, to recapture something missing. For after all, the goal of all this technology, empowering in times of strength and healing in times of upheaval and disorienting change, is to bring us all safely home.
Mural, Holly Courts Housing Development, San Francisco, CA. Politec Acrylics, 22' x 24'.
Dedicated July 1980. Funded by Mayor's Office of Community Development, City of San Francisco. Whitewashed out by City of San Francisco Housing Authority, October 1980.
(c) Mike Mosher 1980.
 See Laurel, Brenda, _Computers As Theater_ (Addison-Wesley, Reading, MA, 1991).
 For two definitions of cyberspace, I like the zen-like phrases quoted by John Perry Barlow at the First Cyberspace Conference, Austin TX, April 1990: "where you are when you're on the phone" and "where all of your money that's not in your pocket now resides".
 Mural funding generally came from the Mayor's Office of Community Development, though for eight months 1980-81 I held the city's last full-time CETA-funded muralist position. For further history of San Francisco murals funding see Drescher, Tim, _San Francisco Murals: Community Creates Its Muse 1915-1990_ (Pogo Press, Minneapolis, 1991).
 See the books by Alinsky, Saul _Rules for Radicals_ and _Reveille for Radicals_.
 _Fun_ © Mike Mosher 1990. All rights reserved. My unpublished novel of a rock n' roll band circa 1970.
 Workshop at Apple Computer, Inc., Cupertino CA, June 1990.
 This is the central thesis running through McLuhan, Marshall, _Understanding Media_ (New American Library, New York, 1964).
 Raised in several occasions in presentations of the Second Conference on Cyberspace, Santa Cruz CA April 1991, and the Virtual Seminar of the Bioapparatus, Banff Art Centre, Banff Alberta Canada, October 1991.
 Vivid Effects, Inc., 317 Adelaide St. Suite 302, Toronto, Ontario M5V 1P9. (416) 340-9290. I saw the Mandala system demonstrated by Vincent John Vincent in performance at CHI '90, the Association for Computing Machines' Computer-Human Interface Special Interest Group conference in Seattle, WA, March 1990. The Mandala System is not to be confused with Jaron Lanier's "Mandala" programming language discussed in Rheingold, Howard, Virtual Reality (Summitt Books, NY, 1991), pp.158.
 Thought I saw this in Prof. Benedikt's presentation at the first Cyberspace Conference, Austin, TX, May 1990, it is discussed in his illustrated essay in Benedikt, Michael (ed.), _Cyberspace: First Steps_ (MIT Press, Cambridge, MA, 1991).
 Mosher, Mike "Seniors and the Macintosh", in Apple Viewpoints (Apple Computer, Inc., Cupertino CA) November 1, 1989. This newsletter--since discontinued--was sent to certified Apple developers.
 From an in-house publication circulated in 1988 by the Customer Relations department of Apple Computer, Inc., in which Stone's name was blanked out but his best-selling book's title was not.
 Demonstrated by Durand Begault at the tour of of NASA Ames Research Center's Virtual Environment Laboratories, Moffett Field, CA, January 24, 1992, on a tour for the YLEM Artists' organization. See also Wentzel, Elizabeth M., "Three Dimensional Virtual Acoustic Displays", NASA Technical Memorandum #103835 (National Aeronautics and Space Administration, Ames Research Center, Moffett Field, CA, 1991).
 Mosher, Mike, "Community, Imagery and Technology: Lessons for Interface Development", lecture at Bay CHI (local Computer-Human Interface group of the Association of Computing Machinery), January 14, 1992. Other works by the author that develop this direction include the computer-assisted multi-image musical performance piece "Christopher Cumolonimbus" at SCAN '91 and the S.F. Exploratorium 9/92: the Eleventh Annual Small Computers in the Arts Network conference, University of the Arts, Philadelphia PA, November, 1991, and the presentation "The Three C's: Comics, Community Murals and Computer Graphics" at SCAN '90, Philadelphia, November, 1990.