you are what you make
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you are what you make
science, design and the human body at the intersection of biotechnology
a dissertation written bymarisa naruko bennett jensen
in requirement for completion of
ba designgoldsmiths college, university of london
january 2014
You Are What You Make:Science, Design and the Human Body at the
Intersection of Biotechnology
A dissertation written by:Marisa Naruko Bennett Jensen
In requirement for completion of
BA Design
Goldsmiths College, University of London
January 2014
1Science-Design, Design-ScienceAn Analysis of Definitions
2Motives and Metaphors
5ConclusionA Personal Reflection
On BioDesign
/References
Additional Reading
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0Introduction
3BioPunks The Rogue Side of
Doing Biology
4BioCommerce Genetic Gold or
Garbage Tissue?
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What is the value of the skin, hair and other cells
on your body? It’s likely you barely consider these
biological traces you leave everywhere, as you shed
and grow fresh ones every day. What if a team of
scientists were to collect these cells for biomedical
research, or use them for genetic engineering
experiments or biological profiling – would you care
what happened to them then? It’s hard to imagine
why one would want to meticulously collect every
clipped fingernail, every hairball from the shower,
every sleepy drop of drool and squirrel them away,
yet that is exactly what I’ve been doing for the last
few months. Armed with little scientific knowledge
but abundant curiosity for the makeup of my body
parts, I have embarked on a self-exploratory journey,
evocative of the grooming rituals performed by
Vincent Freeman in the genetically discriminatory
world of Gattaca. In reality, the business of bodies
is booming: DNA extracted from human tissue can
reveal powerful information about disease therapy
and genetic ancestry lines, and medical scientists
are in fraught competition to own this information.
Nationwide DNA banks and tissue collection
protocols are cropping up all over the world
[GeneWatch, 2013], because governments know there
is money to be made, and power to be gained, in the
trafficking of human tissue.
Alongside this, the onslaught of biotechnology and
genetic engineering have permeated many areas of
current popular culture, inspiring wild fantasies of
future worlds transformed by synthetically tailored
life forms. Where these practices were once the
stuff of sci-fi novels, they are now the focal point of
contemporary predictions of the future. BioPunks, a
growing community of untrained scientists dabbling
in bioengineering, are already tinkering with the very
fabric of life in their garages without authorisation
or proper equipment. ‘Bio-design’ and ‘bio-art’ are
making appearances at established global museums,
with work ranging from speculative ideas to fully
realized creations.
So how does design vie with science into this bio-
obsessive new world? Alexandra Daisy Ginsberg of
Synthetic Aesthetics, a collaborative group that is
focused on the future of synthetic biology, defines
‘design’ as “the transmission of ideas through
things… the translator of new technologies into the
mass of stuff that surrounds and mugs our everyday
lives” [PopTech, 2013]. If this is true, designers
must remain at the forefront of synthesising these
emergent ideas into understandable and relatable
forms. Yet as the progress of technology continues
to accelerate, and the pace of digital communication
keeps cultural perspectives in constant flux,
maintaining a relevancy and urgency in design work
can be challenging. While it would seem natural
that designers collaborate with scientists to remain
abreast of this momentum, an analysis of Nigel
Cross’ theoretical science-design definitions and a
University of Cambridge study both reveal specific
obstacles and conflicts that can confuse the process.
I will therefore attempt to investigate alternative types
of science-design combinations that may be more
beneficial to both parties in the context of bio-design.
It might help to reflect on a time when creative and
scientific domains were not as explicitly separate
as they seem to be today. In the 17th Century and
leading up to the Industrial Revolution, biologists
and artists worked intimately together as a hybrid
of two disciplines. The Pre-Raphaelite artists in
their 1850 periodical The Germ praised science in
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Introduction
0Introduction
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Faber Futures is a collection of textiles which are screen printed with dyes made by genetically manipulated bacteria. This collaboration is a work in progress by textiles designer Natsai Chieza and The Ward Lab of University College London.
Photos: thisisalive.com/faber-futures/En Vie/Alive, Espace Fondation EDF, Paris April – September 2013
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Introduction
borrowing knowledge from existing artefacts, and the
second through manufacturing and reflecting on new
artefacts [Cross, 2000]. The step forward for design
to familiarise itself with the life sciences, and remain
a culturally relevant stakeholder in the development
and application of biotechnology, must then
surely be through these same levels of interaction
inside the laboratory, or through an efficiently
mediated collaboration. However, it’s important
to recognise the boundaries between design and
science: collaboration does not mean they become
inseparable, and the benefits and disadvantages must
be equally recognised.
its “precise search for the truth” and consequently
painted scientists like Newton and Hippocrates not
within their laboratory settings but in scenes of
artistic inspiration and thinking [Estrin, 2011]. Ernst
Haeckel’s depictions of nature as a machine illustrate
the equal parts scientific precision and abstract
creativity required for encapsulating complex
biological systems and structures. The founding
members of the Royal Society in London were both
practicing architects and leading scientists [Myers,
2012], exploiting different ways of knowing in both
science and art.
With the onset of the Industrial Revolution, however,
the meaning of ‘design’ has moved beyond mere
aesthetic representation and become more intimately
involved with function, efficiency, user experience
and innovation. Nigel Cross likens contemporary
designers to experts in the ‘artificial world’ [Cross,
2000:54]. If the profession of a designer is thus to
add or alter elements of this artificial world, what
does it mean to design with living things? Where
are the boundaries between the ‘artificial’ and
the ‘natural’ when an organism is manipulated or
synthetically created?
Biotechnology continues to creep into the
mainstream, and we cannot continue to think of
design as sitting purely in the artificial domain.
As global needs shift towards softer and more
sustainable methods of production and consumption,
designers must too shift their focus towards these
ends. The implications of ‘designing life’ are vast:
introducing living organisms as a medium to make
with suggests new sets of responsibilities concerning
production, maintenance and disposal that may
not have been previously considered. And when
it comes to designing with the matter of our own
bodies, whether it’s with tissue or with genes, those
implications run even deeper.
Cross contends the current ways of knowing in design
come from two avenues: the first through copying and
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Growth Assembly (left) A series of synthetically created plants that grow the parts to make up a fertiliser pump
E. Chromi (above) An engineered bacteria that signals the presence of harmful pathogens inside the digestive tract by changing colors
In my research I have spoken with certified medical
biologists, do-it-yourself BioPunks and those in
between, and while they all comment on different
degrees of science-design overlap, it’s only in
personal attempts at scientific investigation that
my own ‘designerly ways of knowing’ [Cross, 2000]
reveal themselves. A lack of scientific expertise led
me to make intuitive decisions that were focused
partly on scientific accuracy and partly on design
opportunity, steered for the most part by suspicion.
My attitudes toward my own bodily materials
influenced my willingness to work with elements
that entailed painstaking collection methods, had
particularly high ‘yuck’ factors, or yielded no
apparent scientific value but stoked my design
curiosity.
These factors are undoubtedly entangled with the
inherent or ‘tacit’ knowledge discussed in Chris Rust’s
Design Enquiry: Tacit Knowledge and Invention in
Science [Rust, 2003:3]. Thus we see a third contender
in science-design collaborations that plays an
obvious but crucial role : the unique set of knowledge
that is specific to each individual, regardless of
profession and instead dependent on emotional,
cultural and experiential factors.
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Introduction
Daisy Ginsberg is part of Synthetic Aesthetics, a collaborative group that focuses on how synthetic biology may implicate science and design roles, our relationships with our products and services, and new ideas about their production, maintenance and disposal. The majority of her current work is design fiction, although she has also collaborated on projects that directly engage with lab biology.
Photos: Author’s ownBunny Smash, Museum of Contemporary Art TokyoDecember 2013
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be an emergent idea that flexibility in design is
valued over specialism, and while this might make
pigeonholing some work difficult, it increases the
chances of finding the best solution in a given design
problem. It presents a stark contrast to the meticulous
categorisation of modern science, which must be
considered in the analysis of existing science-design
collaboration.
Rust makes sense of these differing approaches
by describing science as ‘atomistic’ and design as
‘holistic’ [Rust, 2003]. An analysis of each possible
combination of individual scientific and design
disciplines is a staggering ambition, so for the
purpose of this dissertation I will focus on those
disciplines that participate in and are influenced by
bio-design. Unless otherwise stated I will frame the
subjects in question as ‘scientists’ or ‘science,’ which
includes biotechnology, medical biology, life science
and genetic engineering, and ‘designers’ or ‘design,’
which includes both specific and interdisciplinary
approaches as well as speculative design fictions.
Connections between science and design are by no
means novel, and although the differences between
them may seem at once obvious, a discussion of
their practices and methods can lead to a surprising
amount of confusion. Cross defines the following
three possible science-design combinations:
1. Scientific Design
2. Design Science
3. The Science of Design
‘Scientific design’ refers to the shift from
craftsmanship to manufacturing brought on by the
Industrial Revolution which has introduced scientific
underpinnings to various aspects of design. These
include materials science and engineering, supporting
the placement of design within the industrial
world. While the definition itself is not particularly
controversial, it presents the interesting perspective
of ‘scientific design’ as making science visible.
Cross refers to designed objects as subtly implying a
scientific consideration in their material makeup, but
in the context of synthetic biology one could derive a
slightly different meaning. As cellular investigations
function on the micro-scale, design can act as
magnifier of these seemingly invisible discoveries.
While living organisms are far from becoming the
staple materials in general design practice, futurist
projects that propose possible applications for
synthetic biology fit the role of making science visible
in a much more direct way. By exploring the potential
social and cultural impacts of synthetic biology,
designers are able to render the oft-convoluted
specifics of emerging scientific research visible and
relatable to the public eye.
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Chapter One
In order to pinpoint the intersection of science
and design, it might help to start by dividing the
two practices into categories that facilitate our
understanding of them independently. The terms
‘science’ and ‘design’ are both umbrella terms for two
vast disciplines, each of which contain numerous
specialities that require unique skills, processes
and ways of thinking. The era before the Industrial
Revolution was prone to a rather romanticised view
of science, promoting an all-encompassing approach
that utilised knowledge from the life sciences,
chemistry, physics and the sub-divisions within.
Today, however, the banks of scientific knowledge
have been built upon in such volumes that specialism
is required to increasingly narrow degrees. Max Little
describes scientists as being encouraged to ‘hyper-
specialise’ [Little, 2014:86], which tends to lead
scientific branches to forget they are in fact part of a
tree.
Design, too, implies a range of stand-alone practices
that have clear distinctions spanning industrial,
graphic, fashion, software, and architectural (and
so on). Most design educations that I’m personally
familiar with emphasise a commitment to design
specialism, tutoring the particular skills that have
been established as the standard for each pathway.
However, there seems to be a certain malleability
to these practices that allows for a degree of
interchangeability, reminiscent of the holistic
approach that defined the science of the pre-
Industrial Revolution. My own design education can
be categorised as ‘multi-disciplinary’ (a term that
seems to be employed more and more frequently
by freelancers and start-ups today) encouraging
students to discover alternative opportunities
between disciplinary boundaries. There seems to
1Science-Design, Design-ScienceAn Analysis of Definitions
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Design Beyond Making was one such example:
the speculative exhibition debated the effects
environmental concerns and scientific innovation
might have on society’s use of materials. By
presenting objects, videos and instructive manuals
as ethnographic artefacts from a possible near
future, Cross’s explanation of ‘scientific design’ was
manifested in the speculative materials research,
while also communicating an overall understanding
of its uses and implications.
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Chapter One
Design Beyond Making A design fictions exhibition speculating on the effects of science and technology on future commercial uses and personal relationships with materials
Photos: Author’s ownDesign Beyond Making, Protein Gallery LondonNovember 2013
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Chapter One
‘Design science’ on the other hand refers to an
“explicitly organized, rational, and wholly systematic
approach to design” [Cross, 2000:53], applying a
standardised methodology to the design process.
This assertion seems acutely questionable, especially
when reflecting on my own design methods and ways
of thinking. While falling into certain routines of
working is an unavoidable habit of human nature,
these modes of uncritical thinking are detrimental
for innovation. The problem with a systemised design
process is that it considerably limits the scope of
design possibilities, tending to homogenise the
outcomes. Merely applying scientific rigour to design
methodology only seems beneficial for efficiency in
mass production.
Admittedly, both science and design employ cycles of
reflection and iteration that may relate to one another.
However, it’s important to remember that design is
ultimately a people-focused discipline, meaning there
is a need to consider user interactions and emotional
experiences in the design process that is not present
in science. Jane Fulton Suri and R. Michael Hendrix
of IDEO refer to these factors as ‘design sensibilities’
[Suri, 2010], distinctly categorising them as separate
from design methods. Cross’s description of ‘design
science’ does not account for them, reducing design
thinking to a handful of methods without contextual
richness or empathy. As so deftly put by Tad Toulis,
“You can’t turn design into complete logic, otherwise
it loses its true power.”1
Lastly, the ‘science of design’ can be simply described
as the academic study of design: i.e. how it works
and the methods that are used. Cross argues that the
main benefit of this is as platform for individuals
to have conversations about their practice and find
connections between their methodologies. While he
specifically refers to conversations between designers
of different specialities, it could be inferred that
discussing the ‘science’ of any field could increase
cross-disciplinary understandings, including those
between science and design.
1 Overheard on twitter: http://bit.ly/1dDtLxQ
Design Thinking A diagram outlining the balance between Design Methods and Design Sensibilities
Image: Developing Design Sensibilities, Jane Fulton Suri & R. Michael Hendrix2010
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Although Cross’ definitions of various science-
design combinations warrant their merits, I remain
unconvinced that they fully delineate design’s
complex entanglements with biotechnology. Propelled
by scientific research, bio-design would be nowhere
without the science to back it up. Yet without cultural
speculation and probing, the social element that is
key to design would be lost. Cross writes theoretically,
but a practical investigation at the University of
Cambridge revealed other complexities [Peralta,
2011]. In the study, scientists and designers of
varying backgrounds worked together on three
separate briefs, and while it helped bring to light
some possible misunderstandings, the nature of the
projects promoted a relationship between designer
and scientist that was more like that of designer
and client, rather than a truly collaborative practice.
Nevertheless, the consistent culprits in these cases
seemed to be communication and motivation.
For a designer not fluent in complex laboratory
speak, there might be opportunities for design
innovation that are being misinterpreted or getting
lost in translation. Wired often employs the popular
analogy for synthetic biology as genetic code being
like computer code, implying that life forms can be
‘hacked’ like software [Goodman, 2013]. Although
metaphors can be powerful tools to simplify abstract
systems, it’s important not to confuse the metaphor
for a literal translation.
The outbreak of synthetic biology from its laboratory
confines has given birth to programs like GenoCAD11
or Gene Designer that present genetic components
as icons that can be dragged and dropped, cut and
pasted into specific formations that allow for the
‘design’ of a synthetic organism [Agapakis, 2011].
Although programs like this may promote production
and organisation of genetic code, they don’t
necessarily facilitate a comprehensive understanding
of how the components actually interact or even
what they mean. The software only presents a shallow
understanding of the biological context and dynamics
of gene transcription, disregarding the limits of the
metaphor. In this sense, design acts as a ‘flattener,’
smoothing over the uneven and abstracting away the
uncertainties [McKenzie, 2009].
This is of course a crucial role for design, to make
complex ideas more relatable and articulate a
contextual framework. However as Professor Nikolas
Rose warns, in this ‘flattened’ understanding, it could
also mean that some of the scientific specificities are
being wrongly applied to more abstract perceptions
of the human body and life as a whole [Rose, 2007].
It’s easy to imagine these abstractions leading to
projects that are either misguided or limited to
speculation without substance. Conversations with J.J.
Hastings, a biomedical engineer from collaborative
studio The Kitchen, confirmed this theory. “There’s a
danger of it becoming reductionist, but that’s the limit
of not being specialised in the field,” says Hastings.
“Unless you have ten years of biomedical training,
you’re just not going to know everything that can
be known” [Hastings, 2013]. Perhaps the fostering
of mutual understandings depends on a level of
collaborative intimacy that enables a close regulation
and the development of a shared formal language.
And, perhaps these flattened understandings, while
not always the most accurate, can provide fresh ways
of thinking about science that otherwise wouldn’t
work in the lab.
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Chapter Two
2Motives and Metaphors
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An early experiment involving living materials. Yeast is mixed with water and sugar to create a ‘breathing’ typography that consumes glucose and releases carbon dioxide, growing and dying over time.
Photos: Author’s ownMaterials Workshop, Goldsmiths CollegeOctober 2013
scientists must make when proposing a new idea as a
worthwhile subject of investigation – something that
no amount of logical reasoning could produce [Rust,
2004]. In these moments, it seems scientists too must
partake in a type of design fiction, as they speculate
on some future context to fit their research. This may
be the crucial point for designers to step in, bringing
a richer insight to the cultural needs and desires of
the time.
The initial stage of imagining and enquiring may
actually be more important than the process of
discovery itself: correlations between design fiction
and science fiction, and their ability to spur multiple
avenues of investigation is a trending topic in today’s
design world, most notably discussed by Julian
Bleecker of The Near Future Factory in his essay
Design Fiction: A Short Essay on Design, Science, Fact
and Fiction [Bleecker, 2009].
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Chapter Two
This introduces the second point about motivation
– designers approach their investigations knowing,
however implicitly, that their research will eventually
be manifested in some kind of designed outcome.
Consequently the research is directed by the hope
of inventing something new, whereas the motive of
general scientific research is primarily the expansion
of knowledge. One might pair science and art as
creating for the sake of creating, as opposed to the
constructivist drive of design and engineering.
In my own design practice, the early stages of my
investigations seemed directionless and random, but
they implicitly informed the design decisions that
would be made in later stages. The development of my
work with yeast exemplifies a type of ‘thinkering’ out
loud with science that takes advantage of a ‘flattened’
understanding. This is important because science
must also engage in a type of imaginative invention
in order to pursue certain types of research. Rust
describes this as the ‘leap of illumination’ that
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One example of effective mediation between design,
science and fiction became apparent during a
workshop that ran in conjunction with Design Beyond
Making, hosted by the afore-mentioned studio The
Kitchen – made up of Hastings and her textiles
designer counterpart Amy Congdon. Together they
invented a new use for decellularisation (a scientific
process that is normally reserved for regenerative
medicine) by re-appropriating it for the creation of a
new type of material.
“Working with a designer opened me up to an
interest in materials,” Hastings grinned at me. “As a
biomedical researcher, there’s a way of doing things
within a certain setting; the [lack of] sterility in a
setup like this just wouldn’t be done in a professional
setting for tissue engineering. But working with a
De-CellularisationA process that is normally used for biomedical engineering, de-cellularisation involves stripping an organic material of its cells, leaving behind only the extracellular matrix. In the medical industry this matrix is used for seeding new cells, but Congdon and Hastings apply more traditional textiles methods to explore how it can be used as a material to make with
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Chapter Two
designer has completely freed up my notions of what
is the way forward. It’s playful” [Hastings, 2013].
Perhaps it’s within this ‘playful’ context that science
and design fit best together, allowing cooperative
leaps of illumination and the development of a mutual
empathy. The slightly trite analogy might be that of
two children who don’t speak the same language but
can play in the same imaginary world.
This multifaceted approach to life sciences was
pioneered by interdisciplinary research lab
SymbioticA, the first known studio allowing artists
and designers of differing backgrounds access to
university lab equipment and staff. Offering a fully
experiential program involving academic courses,
personal and collaborative work opportunities,
workshops, exhibitions and public forums, the
most telling aspect of their proclaimed objective is
to perform ‘concept-generating’ activities that are
‘curiosity-based’ [SymbioticA.uwa.edu.au, 2014].
For my own practice, it provides the perfect platform
for implementing a design approach to a scientific
curiosity, committing explicitly to neither discipline
but instead suggesting new forms of research and
idea production that are relevant to both.
Photos: Author’s ownDe-Cellular, Protein Gallery LondonNovember 2013
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Photo: Author’s ownDe-Cellular, Protein Gallery LondonNovember 2013
De-CellularisationA de-cellularised piece of bacon
BioHackspace, LondonA space for members to make, experiment, hack and tinker with biology
Photo: Author’s ownHackspace LondonOctober 2013
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Chapter Three
3BioPunks The Rogue Side of Doing Biology
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Yet while many tout the merits of community
empowerment, DIYbio is not immune to the same
concerns that permeate cultural perceptions about
genetic engineering. The very idea that average
citizens will best know how to use synthetic biology to
suit their own needs is marred by the undeniable fact
that they are not experts in the subject. Accidents (or
deliberate harm) in the wood shop or computer lab
can result in dismembered fingers, a pesky computer
virus or even national missiles being fired off. Yet the
invisibility of bacteria, of illnesses and pandemics,
and the inherent knowledge that living things mutate
as a rule of nature, unlocks a more primal fear in us
as a society.
With synthetic biology there is always the implicit
danger that “the object of your inquiry could kill you”
[Wohlsen, 2011:87]. A computer virus with no ‘off’
button seems a lot less terrifying than a human virus
with no ‘off’ button, and if the blueprints of bacterial
formations were to be as freely available as BioPunks
want them to be, it seems a lot more likely that the
biological version of the 3D printed gun scandal
might occur, invisible to the naked eye until it’s too
late. The last year has seen platforms like Kickstarter
successfully source funding for DIYBio projects like
Glowing Plant and Dino Pet, which were met with
a bittersweet mixture of applause for innovative
sustainability, and fretful hand-wringing over the
wide distribution of unauthorised manipulated
lifeforms.
For the time being however, these public concerns
may be slightly exaggerated. In practice, the level of
scientific expertise needed for these types of fears
to be confirmed is generally much higher than what
can be achieved through self-taught methods and an
oddball collection of donated equipment. The existing
regulations around acquiring potentially detrimental
biological material to begin with is nearly impossible
for people with no credentials in professional science
[Wohlsen, 2011]. My own experience at London’s
BioHackspace led me take bacterial samples from
various parts of my body and grow them for analysis,
which as a novice in bacterial science was intriguing,
but ultimately did not exceed the level of a biology
experiment in high school.
Oliver Medvedik of Genspace noted that all of
their biological material is strictly non-pathogenic,
commenting on the public’s distorted perception of
organisms used in the hackspace in comparison to
the billions of potentially dangerous microbes that
fester around us daily [Eng, 2012]. The BioPunks that
cause the most potential harm seem to be those who
have turned their experimentation on themselves,
ironically posing much less threat to the worried.
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Chapter Three
If scientists and designers can successfully work
together to mediate their objectives and develop
socially meaningful applications for designed life,
it opens the case for visions of idyllic utopias and
unsettling dystopian futures. In reality the direction
of science-design collaborations in biotechnology
will largely be chauffeured by the agendas of
industry, government, healthcare and academia.
No matter the vocal strength social media and
global connectivity have given us as citizens, the
institutional stakeholders involved in emerging
technology will inevitably design its applications
in their own terms. Onerous patenting laws aside,
engaging fully in genetic engineering requires
equipment and chemicals that are expensive and hard
to come by.
As a response, we are witnessing the growth of
DIYbio, a sub-group of the DIY Maker Movement that
holds the same penchant for open-source knowledge
and freely available tools. Spawned by the success
of makeshift basement laboratories like New York’s
Genspace and California’s BioCurious, the movement
has not only risen to an actively competitive level
in the participation of the International Genetic
Engineering Machine Competition (iGEM), but
inspired several similar labs in various parts of the
world. These ‘Bio-Hackers’ or ‘BioPunks’ firmly
believe that cellular exploration should not be hidden
behind walls of authority and strict regulation, and
responsible individuals without a formal science
background have equal right to participate.
Despite the originally negative connotations of the
term ‘hacker’ in computer programming, the hacking
done by BioPunks promotes an altogether different
idealism: one of creative, custom innovations relying
mainly on the collective intelligence of a community.
As with any type of hacking – be it in biology, coding
or making – the hack is the solution to any given
problem. And in essence the only thing the hack
requires is the freedom to access as many tools and
as much knowledge as possible [Wohlsen, 2011].
The strengthening DIY community is the mark of a
quickly changing global framework brought on by
the digital age. As emerging generations increasingly
formulate their cultural agendas by cutting, pasting
and re-tweeting their way through life, the protection
of intellectual property is becoming a somewhat
archaic idea, overshadowed by the appeal of easily
exchangeable and available information. True
ownership of any content that is released online
remains a perpetually foggy area, the discussion of
which is weighty enough for its own dissertation.
But its many connotations aside, without these
changing notions of ownership, hacking would not
exist the way it does today. While traditional science
institutions continue to be plagued by patenting laws
that slow the publishing and progression of research,
hackers see these procedures as tiresome obstacles in
obtaining useful knowledge.
Professor Alexandra Anderson of Imperial College
laments the hierarchical publishing system that
validates a piece of science research: “If your
research isn’t published, it’s like it never happened”
[Anderson, 2013]. For a hacker however, the biggest
success comes from the hack itself, after which the
hack can be shared freely for others to adopt and
iterate [Wohlsen, 2011]. At its very core, the hacker
movement is about empowerment, and you are only
as empowered as the tools you can get your hands on.
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BioHackspace, LondonTaking bacterial samples from isolated areas of my body and cultivating them in petri dishes
Photos: Author’s ownHackspace LondonOctober 2013
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Chapter Three29 – 30
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Photo: Author’s ownHackspace LondonOctober 2013
Self SamplesCultivated bacteria taken from my armpit
DIY StethoscopeHacking a stethoscope to connect to a mini-microphone, enabling it to be hooked up to an external speaker
Photos: Author’s ownGoldsmiths CollegeNovember 2013
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Chapter Three
The main virtue of spaces like these, then, seems to lie
in the openness and ease with which the members are
able to cross-pollinate their skills and ideas. Given
the diverse set of backgrounds and professions,
the members are more prone to appreciating the
opportunities in alternative approaches to problem-
solving. In a sense, ‘BioPunks’ are most talented at
the playfulness that could make institutional science-
design collaboration more effective. It’s important
to remember that in the grand scheme of things,
DIYbio is still in its infancy (public attention was
first drawn to it around 2005), so as of yet it’s rather
difficult to predict what design’s role will be. The
current objective of DIYbio is first and foremost the
accessibility of tools and equipment. While spaces
like Genspace have promoted some creative projects,
the bulk of achievements in the movement seem to lie
in hacking the means to at-home science experiments,
by proving it can be done with scant materials and
money.
Admittedly, this in itself should be considered a
type of design feat, as equipment and tools are
redesigned to suit personal needs and capabilities.
The priorities for my own equipment are accessibility
and portability before scientific accuracy; I don’t need
my tools to match the standards of those in a science
lab in order to benefit from them, as I am by no means
looking to make medical breakthroughs or discover
new organisms. Rather, it’s in the re-appropriation
of scientific methods that creativity lends itself, just
as The Kitchen re-appropriated decellularisation for
a textile designer’s ends. As a designer taking part in
science activities without proper instruction, I feel
akin to the ethos of DIYbio only to the extent that I
hack alternative or more design-appropriate ways of
performing scientific activities. The tools I invented
for extracting and exploring bodily materials, while
useful within the scope of the design project, may
not necessarily provide any function for a purely
scientific investigation of the human body. The
customisation and small-scale nature of this type of
hacking is therefore layered with individual forms
of ‘tacit’ knowledge. The point at which I depart
from the DIYBio path and into the realm of design
thus seems to be in the analysis and application of
whatever discoveries I make. We spoke before of
design as a ‘flattener,’ of streamlining the bumpy
connections between science and its entanglements
with businesses, governments and culture in favour
of efficacy. Here it might take on an alter-ego in the
form of ‘mess-making,’ by envisioning a multiplicity
of participants in the making and making-sense of
science and its related tools and practices [McKenzie,
2009].
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scientific research; others are religiously or culturally
bound by the traditions of their community or
upbringing.
Scientists who view human substances like blood,
hair, saliva and sperm to be fully replenish-able and
therefore disposable are not paying attention to the
cultural and emotional importance people place on
the components of their body; they are missing the
‘sensibilities’ that so distinctly separate design from
science. After all, if a person can be fully identified by
the DNA present in every drop of their blood, surely
there are deep emotional connections that should be
considered when it’s retained for experimentation.
Human tissue trafficking causes uproar because our
body parts are entrenched in the ideas, perceptions,
and associations we have about ourselves and our
lives, and exploiting them as commercial products
may not agree with our social beliefs. Yet the
exponentially dropping price of DNA sequencing
and increasing popularity of genomics services like
23andMe suggests an inherent human desire to
understand and analyse our bodies on a personal
scale. This could be for the sake of inheritance risk
assessment, motivation for a lifestyle change or plain
curiosity, but it presents the conflicting decision
between the empowerment in understanding yourself
and the ultimate helplessness you might face with
the discovery of an incurable condition. It brings
to light the thorny relationship between a clinical
understanding of our biological makeup and the
undeniable emotional ties we have with our personal
traits. The culture and ethics of increasing body
commodification have begun to infiltrate the design
world also, most notably discussed in the Body/Art/
Bioethics symposium hosted by SymbioticA and the
Tissue Culture And Art Project of the same director.
Dynamic Genetics Vs. MannA design fiction project by Superflux, narrating the court case of a victim of genetic discrimination who consequently turns to black market gene therapy
Photos: dynamicgenetics.co.ukJanuary 2014
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Chapter Four
4BioCommerce Genetic Gold or Garbage Tissue?
The ethical concerns about designed biology hit
close to home for most people – there’s something
about living things becoming commercialised that
as a society we can’t seem to get over. If suddenly
biology is being designed, the implication is that it’s
being designed to be sold, the significance of which
becomes none the more poignant when it concerns
our own bodies. Dynamic Genetics Vs. Mann, a
design fiction by futurist studio Superflux clearly
exemplifies some of these concerns by narrating
the case of a victim of genetic discrimination by
future insurance companies. Saddled with an
impossibly high health insurance bill or the risk of
unemployment, the protagonist turns to counterfeit
gene therapy to lower the cost of his health insurance,
provoking debate around ideological struggles
about identity, surveillance and ownership that are
presented by advancing biotechnology.
The truth of the matter is that a scientific reduction
of the human body to ‘data banks’ of genetic
information has been ongoing for over a decade,
most notably by the Human Genome Diversity Project
(HGDP). Masked as a kind of philanthropic quest to
preserve the genetic details of ‘endangered tribes,’
the project involved extracting genetic materials of
indigenous and isolated communities to study and
manipulate their biological traits. Modern medicine
has seen countless cases of blood cell lines and other
human tissue being retained in efforts to further
understand ancestral histories, heritable diseases and
population genetics [Andrews, 2001]. Most famously
chastised for its ambiguous tenets around informed
consent and questionable treatment of indigenous
people, the moral complexity of the HGDP is deeply
rooted in cultural and individual perspectives on the
human body. Some may gladly donate their bodies to
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37 –
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Chapter Four
Selected presentation pages outlining ‘mined’ human substances and consequent experiments
Downwards from top row:Sweat collected after exercise and boiled for salt and mineral extraction; Yeast in skin scrapings used to bake bread; Endurance testing of hair and saliva between two individuals
Photos: Author’s ownNovember 2013
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Saliva of the FittestA competition of the digestive speed between saliva provided by two individuals
Photo: Author’s ownDecember 2013
Full video:vimeo.com/81530408
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Chapter Four
Where the initial collection of my skin, saliva, sweat
and hair felt rather clinical and detached, the point
at which my experiments gained momentum and
character was in the ‘playfulness’ that came with
influence from The Kitchen. Attempting to bake
bread with the yeast I suspected to live on my skin
introduced a ritualistic and social element that was
missing in the rows of plastic beakers filled with
sweat. Combining the scientific knowledge of human
yeast cultures with the domestic tradition of bread-
making provided a fertile introduction to the social,
cultural and personal ideas about identity, ownership
and acceptability that can be both breached and
highlighted when dealing with human tissue. The use
of your own skin in an activity as globally relevant
yet historically domestic as cooking suggests a
symbiotic relationship between a hyper-awareness
of the self and the biological processes that normally
go unnoticed. The value of my skin thus becomes
centred not on the market value it might garner in the
medical industry, but on its ability to function in this
lateral interpretation of its genetic components.
Saliva Of The Fittest takes on the playful element of
scientific investigation quite literally by prototyping
a game where two participants can compete with
the digestive capabilities of their saliva. Funny at
best and disgusting at worst, the game acts similarly
to the bread experiment in that it celebrates the
saliva not for its market genetic value but for its
biological genetic value – how well it can do what
it was designed by nature to do. Despite the almost
inseparable ties between DNA and identity, in its
search for medically poignant genetic strains, medical
researchers can systemise the tissue collection
process to the extent that the tissues ironically
become nearly unidentifiable. Sitting amongst a sea
of glass vials categorised by numbers and letters that
yield no indication of name, face or cultural origin,
the human materials collected in the medical research
field can become eerily un-human. In contrast, the
game presents an alternative opportunity to take
pride in the biological merits of our genetic makeup
within a social context, taking advantage of human
substances that may not be commercially valuable but
are actually indispensable for human functionality.
Without saliva we cannot survive, yet it is generally
discarded without thought, and usually dismissed as
an unsavoury facet of the human body. By competing
with something as simultaneously trivial and vital
as saliva, the prototype proposes a reconsideration
of the value of the biological traits that we may not
necessarily be able to train or reflect on as important
parts of our genetic identities.
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Photo: Author’s ownDecember 2013
Saliva of the FittestA competition of the digestive speed between saliva provided by two individuals
These explorations of the self, and the materiality
of the human body is perhaps the element that has
most successfully tied together the various aspects
of my research. Unlike the bacterial samples taken at
the Hackspace, the tangible tactility of my skin, hair
and saliva allowed me to easily experiment and ‘play’
in ways that helped me learn about their makeup,
formulate avenues of investigation and also excited
my design curiosity. However, despite interactions
with different areas of the scientific community, the
work only fits with Cross’ defintion of ‘scientific
design’ to the extent that the scientific information
was based on suspicions and hunches guided by
iterative cycles of experimentation. Literary research
and verbal confirmation from authorities was used to
justify or nudge these suspicions, but it was rarely a
primary instigator of any activity. In fact, my complete
lack of scientific expertise almost prohibited me from
doing otherwise, leaning my experiments toward the
do-it-yourself formula, and deliberating alternative
social norms surrounding genetic identity and human
value that are defined by my own design sensibilities
and rather than scientific precision.
Sissel Tolaas is a smell artist with a specific focus on human smells, how they are created and how we perceive them. With higher education in chemistry, art and language, her work is an interesting blend of the three, using fragrance as an ethnographic tool and communicator.
(Clockwise from top) Walls painted with the pheromones of unidentified anxious men; Tokyo’s ‘smellscape’ mapped with words; Tokyo’s ‘smellscape’ mapped with samples
Photos: Author’s ownBunny Smash, Museum of Contemporary Art TokyoDecember 2013
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Chapter Four
Smell-artist and scientist Sissel Tolaas takes a similar
perspective on the human body through her olfactory
explorations. Regarding the body as a tool of invisible
communication, Tolaas collects sweat molecules from
individuals and analyses their chemical makeup in
relation to emotional factors like fear or anxiety,
unlocking marvel at the previously unconsidered
intricacy of such a largely disregarded material. In
another project Bacterially, Tolaas collaborated with
synthetic biologist Christina Agapakis to cultivate
cheeses made from human armpit or foot bacteria,
drawing parallels between body odours, food odours
and the power of suggestion. Similar to my use of
saliva and skin, there is a distinct tension between
the pre-conceived ‘yuck’ factor dictated by social
norms, and the alternative perceptions provoked by
an alternative context. It questions the established
notions about what we find appealing, interesting
or valuable about our bodies, which when studied
objectively, can begin to seem to absurd.
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Design proposals of this type are prescriptive as well
as responsive, selling audiences constructed ideas
as well as accounting for their concerns and desires.
No matter the type of science-design combination,
the ‘designerly’ element of the project becomes clear
with the enforcement of ‘design sensibilities’ – acting
as a mediator between the scientific information and
its ramifications on culture, society, government and
business.
Opportunities to collaborate at London’s Hackspace,
while interesting for the purpose of inspiring self-
empowerment, proved to be less concerned with
the creation of socially interesting projects than it
was with catching up with institutional activities
in biotechnology. Nevertheless, hackspaces overall
do seem to tread a blurry line between biology
and design that I suspect will secure their place in
the unfurling domain of bio-design. Groups like
Genspace could be categorised as ‘mess-makers’
of synthetic biology in that they experiment with it
equally in the context of creative projects as well
as standardised competitions like iGEM. As of yet
however I would hesitate to call them designers –
even multi-disciplinary ones – but it’s difficult to
pinpoint exactly why. Perhaps I would feel more
comfortable categorising their more creative
endeavours as ‘bio-art’ rather than ‘bio-design’, as
projects like Glowing Plant or DinoPet successfully
meld the scientific and the creative but do not quite
exhibit coherent design sensibilities.
On the other hand, open-source resources have
begun to burst conventional ideas about authority
in all fields, and with knowledge about almost every
form of making being shared and applied by people
of all backgrounds, the question of “Who designs?” is
drawn to the forefront. As McKenzie points out, the
answer to this was at one point obvious: scientists
and biological engineers took the role of designers
within their specialised fields, as they manipulated
cells for specific forms or functions. Yet there are
elements in the institutional practice of biotechnology
that demonstrate a shift in the organisation,
distribution and responsibilities in doing biology,
most notably embodied in the relevant digital network
cultures. Websites like OpenWetWare (and indeed
the general structure of iGEM) promote flexible
interchanges of imitation and invention through
the sharing of knowledge and protocols, bringing
different figures of design into flux with one another.
[McKenzie, 2009]. By moulding the development of
biotechnology in the image of open-source networks
and web-centric collaboration, the question of who
designs what becomes less defined. This is the very
heart of the hacking movement, and it looks set to the
challenge the conventions of design just as much as
those of science.
While embracing diversity and knowledge
transferability can combat the monotony of a ‘one
size fits all’ approach, it’s important to remain acutely
aware of design’s role in this context. In this sense
there must also be an explicit understanding of
the motives and potential of each party; a constant
exchange that I grappled with in my own explorations.
While the bacterial samples I cultivated proved too
scientifically sterile to provoke design inspiration
within my own capabilities, the tactility of using saliva
or hair inspired a playfulness and curiosity that only
later required more scientific literature to provide
a firmer contextual foothold. Nevertheless, taking
advantage of my ‘tacit’ knowledge when acting on
suspicions was what defines and characterises the
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Conclusion
5ConclusionA personal reflection on BioDesign
So where have we come to with bio-design? In
Chapter 1 I discussed a variety of scientific areas
and forms in which design can manifest and
give benefit. Peralta’s study for the University of
Cambridge highlighted how misaligned objectives
and communication problems between scientists
and designers pose as the most notable obstacles.
As a result I’ve suggested that the most mutually
lucrative area for science-design collaboration lies
in the type of non-committal playfulness of joint
experimentation exemplified by The Kitchen, and
outlined how this approach is manifested in my
own work. For scientists working with designers,
this can be a welcome opportunity for the kind of
inventive brainstorming that may help them make
more innovative leaps of illumination, providing
an alternative approach to the making sense of
biotechnology. For designers working with scientists,
it provides a richer and more culturally poignant
toolkit of materials, processes and contexts with
which to inform their work, keeping bio-design on the
cusp of relevancy and cultural interest.
However, at the moment the majority of creative work
engaging with synthetic biology that can be most
clearly classified as ‘design’ seems to be situated
in the design fiction or speculative camp, bridging
the gap between convoluted scientific research
and the implications it has on communities, ethical
boundaries and public debate. In this state design is
effective even as a perpetually unrealised concept,
a stark contrast to the reductionism and eliminatory
process required by science enquiries. By proposing
multiple possible futures and provoking thought
about the ‘right’ way to introduce this technology into
the hands of the public, design is fulfilling its role
as a people-centered practice and moral regulator.
45 – 46
work, placing it within a cultural framework, boosted
by the intense subjectivity of working with my own
body parts. In this sense, while scientists must
understand the multi-faceted skill set of emerging
designers that goes beyond that of an aesthetic
organiser, visualiser or streamliner, designers must
also stay privy to their own culture, approaches
and ‘designerly ways of thinking’ [Cross, 2000] that
distinguishes them in their own identifiable form of
practice, rather than merely copying and borrowing
certain methods and ideas from other disciplines.
In the spirit of Tolaas’ endeavours to deconstruct,
analyse and experiment with a biological function as
influential yet scientifically overlooked as smell, my
experiments with saliva and skin thus paid homage to
the smell artist’s mantra: “I have what scientists don’t
have — the guts to go out there and try my ideas out
in reality” [Khemsurov, 2009].
The scraping, plucking, tweezing, and hoarding of my
body parts, while bizarre and unappetizing to some,
presented a unique platform on which a clinical,
objective analysis was constantly jostling with the
intense subjectivity of literally working with pieces
of myself. To this effect, no matter how scientifically
accurate or systemised my experiments could be, the
design sensibilities regarding ownership, identity,
culture and tradition that surround our relationships
with our bodies could never be ignored. Republic
of Salivation sits at the intersection of this tension
between science, design and speculative thinking,
stirring debate in the design community about
feasibility and scientific plausibility. Yet critics
of the project seem to have somewhat missed the
point: design fictions like these do not necessarily
stem from a problem-solution motive, but are
instead catalysts for social discussion, dealing
with uncomfortable issues in uncomfortable ways.
Therefore a successful science-design project is
not necessarily contingent on scientific accuracy,
but on its ability to provoke debate, inspired by the
types of suspicions that have so far guided my own
experiments.
However, my endeavours have as of yet only thrived
on a much more personal scale – by mining parts
of my body for personal experiments, I indulged in
my own code of ethics that remains impervious to
institutional, political or economic drivers. Instead
of focusing explicitly on the DNA code that is so
coveted by medicine, government and business,
my approaches considered another type of value
that deals more generally with the functionality
and materiality of the substances we produce
and dispose of subconsciously. I suspect the next
stage will be the consideration of a wider cultural
scope, experimenting with the power of context and
suggestion to draw out alternative reactions to the
same central subject matter.
This is a path that I hope to pursue, investigating
how biological and cultural perspectives on the body
grapple with each other in the biotechnology age. In
some ways it’s a very literal, personal embodiment of
Ginsberg’s idea of design as a “translator of the mass
of stuff that surrounds and mugs our everyday lives”
– except in this case the focus is not on the mass
of stuff around us, but the mass of stuff inside us.
It brings to view a new type of relationship between
designer and object that must be considered in the
overall picture of biotechnology: the more we design
with living things, the more we close the gap between
what we make and what we’re made of, complicating
our perceptions of our surroundings and ourselves.
47 –
48
Conclusion
Michael Burton and Michiko Nitta’s project Republic of Salivation envisions a future governed by food shortages and famine, resulting in food rations that are tailored to the physical, emotional and intellectual requirements of each individual’s employment. The concept is exemplified by the characterisation of an industrial worker, whose largely starch based diet allows for longer working hours on fewer nutrients. The biological effects of such a government controlled mono-diet are consequently taken advantage of as the worker harnesses the increased presence of amylase in his saliva for the illegal production of alcohol.
(Clockwise from bottom) Contraption for saliva collection; Illegal alcohol distillery alongside photographic food porn; Process of eating government-supplied starch blocks
Photos: designandviolence.moma.org; burtonnitta.co.uk/republicofsalivation.html
Droog Den Haag, The NetherlandsJanuary – April 2012
47 – 48
Con
clus
ion
Khemsurov, M. (2009, May 11). Sissel Tolaas, Scent
Expert. Sight Unseen. Retrieved December 6, 2013,
from http://www.sightunseen.com/2009/11/sissel-
tolaas-scent-expert/
Little, M. (January, 2014). ‘Science’s branches mustn’t
forget they’re part of a tree’. Wired UK., 58.
McKenzie, A. 2009. Design in Synthetic Biology.
Centre For Social and Economic Aspects of Genomics.
Myers, W. (2012). BioDesign. London: Thames &
Hudson Ltd.
Peralta, C., Driver, A., & Moultrie, J. (2010). Discovery
and Creation: Explaining Collaboration between
Designers and Scientists in Scientific Research. DRS
2010 Design and Complexity Conference Montreal.
Peralta, C., Driver, A., & Moultrie, J. (2011). Exploring
How Industrial Designers Can Contribute to Scientific
Research. International Journal of Design, 1(5), 17-28
PopCasts : Alexandra Daisy Ginsberg: Synthetic
Aesthetics. (2013). PopTech. Retrieved October
15, 2013, from http://poptech.org/popcasts/daisy_
ginsberg_synthetic_aesthetics
Rose, N. S. (2007). Politics of Life Itself: Biomedicine,
Power, and Subjectivity in the Twenty-First Century.
Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Suri, J. F., & Hendrix, M. R. (2010, Spring). Developing
Design Sensibilities. Rotman Magazine, 59-63.
SymbioticA. http://www.symbioticA.uwa.edu.au.
Wohlsen, M. (2011). Biopunk: DIY Scientists Hack the
Software of Life. New York: Current.
Interviews
Hastings, J. 2013. Interviewed by Marisa Jensen [in
person] Design Beyond Making, 06 December 2013.
Anderson, A. 2013. Interviewed by Marisa Jensen [in
person] Imperial College, 18 November 2013.
49 –
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Ref
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Jorgensen, E. (2012, June). Ellen Jorgensen:
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can_do_it_too.html
Keller, E. (2013, November 3). Should we fear
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Additional Reading
/Additional Reading
Aldhous, P. (2013, June 7). Do glowing house plants
take gene tinkering too far?. New Scientist. Retrieved
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article/dn23668-do-glowing-house-plants-take-gene-
tinkering-too-far.html#.UnaSKJR5xfg
Body/Art/Bioethics: A SymbioticA Symposium.
(August, 2010). Retrieved January 10th, 2014, from
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Elowitz, M., & Wendell, L. (2010, December 16). Build
Life to Understand It. Nature, 468, 889–8890.
Endy, D. (2011, March 3). On Biotechnology Without
Borders. Seed Magazine. Retrieved October 28, 2013,
from http://seedmagazine.com/content/article/on_
biotechnology_without_borders/
Flaherty, J. (2013, January 22). DIY Bioprinter Lets
Wannabe Scientists Build Structures From Living
Cells. Wired. Retrieved November 13, 2013, from
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Gallagher, J. (2013, July 11). Massive DNA volunteer
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24834375?ocid=socialflow_twitter_bbcnews
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