Timothy Place

This week, I wanted to point you to some resources out there on the web that have to do with the underlying principles of Max. I usually spend time 

 something, and thought it would be a nice change to talk about things which aren’t exactly hidden, but generally subtle: What kinds of things make Max 

? What were the resources that started me on 

The long journey back from an exhilarating and exhausting face-to-face week with my colleagues gave me some time to reflect. (At Cycling '74, we live and work splattered across the planet. We don't live in the same time zone, let alone go to an office or gather around a fire. The chance to be together patching in the same room is rare.)

In 2002, I received one of the all-time great issues of Computer Music Journal in the mail. It contained an article called “

How I Learned to Love a Program That Does Nothing

), written by David Zicarelli. Although I had used Max for years, it was not until I read this article that Max truly began to make sense to me at a deep artistic level.

One of its insights not only remains with me to this day, but informs other parts of my life: When you create a new patcher you get a blank document. Nothing in it at all - Max itself is imbued with the creative tension of boundless infinity and the sense of intimidation that comes with it. It’s interesting to look at David's article now – not because of the content that’s now dated (This article is pre-Max for Live/Pluggo era), but in the general insights that remain.

Another companion on my flight home was an issue in the current issue of 

. It’s a place to go to immerse myself in ideas near to my life as a climber and also far away from my patching life. That said, I cannot help but see Max all around me at times. In this case, the article "Gap to Gap: The Search for the Perfect Climbing Poem" turned my thoughts to how poets wrestle with bringing something into being that is only imagined - not unlike making a first ascent of a piece of rock which has never been climbed and for which there is no guidebook, no instruction, no history. Just a blank page.

It's that new ascent by which we so often measure our climbing and patching: the traversal from point to point. The blank space that informs us something is a poem or a patch, the reach that makes us look for the next handhold; Transforming the "terror of a blank page" or the next step up to more generalized anxieties (A variation of which will seem familiar to every soul who posts to the Max Forum: "How am I embarrassing myself?"). Reflecting on these things reminds me that it isn't just the blank patcher that is so important, but also the blanknesses within the patchers that create the poetry of patching.

This week, I wanted to point you to some resources out there on the web that have to do with the underlying principles of Max. I usually spend time here talking about how to do something, and thought it would be a nice change to talk about things which aren’t exactly hidden, but generally subtle: What kinds of things make Max Max? What were the resources that started me on my journey?

In 2002, I received one of the all-time great issues of Computer Music Journal in the mail. It contained an article called “How I Learned to Love a Program That Does Nothing" (available through MIT Press here), written by David Zicarelli. Although I had used Max for years, it was not until I read this article that Max truly began to make sense to me at a deep artistic level.

Another companion on my flight home was an issue in the current issue of Alpinist magazine. It’s a place to go to immerse myself in ideas near to my life as a climber and also far away from my patching life. That said, I cannot help but see Max all around me at times. In this case, the article "Gap to Gap: The Search for the Perfect Climbing Poem" turned my thoughts to how poets wrestle with bringing something into being that is only imagined - not unlike making a first ascent of a piece of rock which has never been climbed and for which there is no guidebook, no instruction, no history. Just a blank page.

It's that new ascent by which we so often measure our climbing and patching: the traversal from point to point. The blank space that informs us something is a poem or a patch, the reach that makes us look for the next handhold; Transforming the "terror of a blank page" or the next step up to more generalized anxieties (A variation of which will seem familiar to every soul who posts to the Max Forum: "How am I embarrassing myself?"). Reflecting on these things reminds me that it isn't just the blank patcher that is so important, but also the blanknesses within the patchers that create the poetry of patching.


from-the-web-of-patching-and-ascents

In case any of you are wondering, I asked: That's NOT a stock climbing photo. The man in the picture is Timothy himself. Compared to this, crossover filters are a stroll in the park.

Leading the ice route called "Tangled Up In Blue", January 2016.

Leading the ice route called "Tangled Up In Blue", January 2016.
Ouray, Colorado.
Photo Credit: Craig Tinkham


no, the man in the picture is me. you can tell from the shoes.

From the Web: Of Patching and Ascents