I discovered that the robots perceive the stars in a rather interesting way. Rather than organize them into arbitrary patterns with spatial relationships, they assign a numerical value to each one based on its relative brightness and color temperature. Then they map these to a variety of output configurations: sound scapes, topographic maps, and even haptic maps.
In the robots’ society, cats seems to possess a great deal of autonomy. At least no robot I’ve ever spoken with on the subject has ever made the claim to “own” a cat. Typically the relationship is described as “the cat lives with me…” or “the cat also lives here…” I suppose the cats adopt robots rather than the other way around.
Memory of trees. The robots have compared trees to a network and they’re not wrong. What must it be like to attempt to address a node only to find it missing?
Bad sector. My interpretation of a story a robot once shared with me about experiencing data corruption. I imagined them transiting a landscape of data and then feeling like parts of themself were disappearing as they lost resolution. It sounds unsettling.
I didn’t have a crowd watching me this time. This drawing was inspired by a robot I talked with a few days ago. They sat on the floor of their store, leaning up against the checkout counter. “I’ll be with you at some indeterminate point in the near future. I have a cat with me.” Indeed, the robot cradled in their lap a cat on a pillow. I could hear the cat purring from across the room. Robots are cat people, too.
After the first ink mess captured the attention of a couple near me I quickly had the rest of the réchargé crowd around me. Despite drawing in public for years, I’ve never drawn this level of attention. I suppose it’s the somewhat unconventional methods of smearing the ink around? After I removed the first drawing from my board a robot stepped back and struck a pose. “May I ask you to draw me in that same style?” How could I say no? This whole experience was unprecedented!
Sitting at a spindly table outside the réchargé was courting disaster; indeed I had no sooner finished a quick pencil sketch when I bumped the table and splashed a few drops of orange ink onto my drawing. After freezing in horror for a moment I moved quickly and dropped more ink onto the paper and began smearing it with my fingers. Robots nearby were fascinated with the utter lack of precision and watched as I worked with the rapidly drying inks; first orange stained fingers and then a brush loaded with blue.
Robot Of The Day 