The Embodied Agents in Contemporary Visual Art (EACVA) Symposium, held at Goldsmiths, London on April 17th, 2026 marks the conclusion of a three-year research project (2023–2026) exploring how human creativity can be expanded through collaboration with robotics and artificial intelligence. The symposium brings together artists, researchers, and scholars, with a focus on artist residencies in robotic labs. These residencies have produced a range of outcomes, including robotic drawing, hybrid painterly processes, and experimental integrations of machines into artistic practice. The work highlights both contemporary and pioneering approaches to computational and machine-based art The event also features special guest speakers, including Sean Clark, discussing machine drawing practices and the legacy of pioneer Jack Tait, and Paul Cohen, speaking about his father Harold Cohen’s AI art work (AARON).

In this talk, I set out to explore the life, work, and significance of Jack Tate, a pioneering artist working with electromechanical drawing machines. While the focus is very much on Jack, I felt it was important to situate his work within a broader context—specifically, the work we are doing in Leicester through the Computer Arts Archive, and, more generally, within the history and ongoing development of computer art.

I began by outlining the context of the Computer Arts Archive. This is a community interest company based in Leicester that is part of a small but active network of organisations, including Interact Digital Arts, the New Media Art Club, and Krafthaus Arts. Together, these groups support digital art practice, exhibitions, and historical preservation within the city. The archive itself operates with a clear principle: we are custodians, not owners. The materials we hold—including Jack Tate’s archive—are held for public benefit. If a better home becomes available for any collection, we would move it. That position reflects a broader concern I have about preservation, particularly in a field where so much has already been lost.

A central motivation for this work is addressing under-told stories in computer art history. I am not attempting to compete with large institutions, but I do think there is space to contribute by focusing on artists and narratives that have not received the attention they deserve. Jack Tate is a clear example of this. While many people are aware of his work, there is still much to be done to understand, document, and present it properly.

I framed the talk through my own practice and interests, because these inevitably shape how I approach Jack’s work. My practice is systems-based, and I am particularly interested in how systems interact, exchange information, and evolve over time. My recent work, Computational Constructs, reflects these concerns. Alongside that, I have a strong interest in computer art history—particularly local histories—and in the role of artificial intelligence in supporting human creativity. I am not interested in AI replacing creativity, but in how it might amplify and extend it. Another important strand for me is multimodal knowledge: the ability to transform information between formats, whether text, sound, or image, in ways that make it accessible and usable.

Jack Tate himself is a remarkable figure. Born in 1934, he has had a career spanning over six decades, with a sustained focus on drawing machines. He trained as a photographer during National Service, working with aerial imagery, and I think that early exposure to image-making technologies had a lasting influence on him. What stands out to me is the consistency of his practice. While many artists move between media, Jack has continually returned to the drawing machine, refining and extending it over time.

His machines are electromechanical rather than digital. There is no computer in the contemporary sense. Instead, they are built from motors, gears, cams, and other mechanical components, and their behaviour emerges from that physical structure. They can be influenced through what he calls programmers—also electromechanical devices—but fundamentally they are embodied systems. This is important. These are not simulations; they are real, physical processes unfolding in time.

A key idea in his work is the balance between determinism and unpredictability. On one level, the machines follow clear, mechanical rules. But because they are physical, there is always variation. Components shift slightly, motors behave differently under load, and environmental factors come into play. This introduces a form of quasi-randomness grounded in materiality. Unlike digital randomness, which is algorithmic, this is genuine variability arising from the system itself.

What interests me particularly is the point at which these two tendencies—control and unpredictability—meet. Too much determinism and the output becomes predictable. Too much randomness and it loses coherence. But there is a point between the two where something unexpected yet structured emerges. That is where the most interesting work tends to happen, and I recognise it in my own practice as well.

I also began to think about Jack’s machines not just as tools, but as instruments. This is an important shift. Like a musical instrument, a drawing machine has inherent characteristics, but it can be played in different ways. When others use his machines, they produce drawings that retain a recognisable “Tate-like” quality while also reflecting their own sensibilities. This suggests that Jack’s legacy might extend beyond his own work to the systems he has created for others to explore.

Materiality is central to his practice. The machines are constructed from a combination of off-the-shelf components and custom-made parts, often fabricated in his own workshop. They are not polished artefacts but working devices, continually modified and repaired. This ongoing process of making and remaking is part of the work itself. It stands in contrast to much contemporary digital practice, which tends to be screen-based and immaterial.

The machines also produce sound, which adds another dimension. When you encounter them, you are not just looking at a drawing—you are experiencing movement, rhythm, and mechanical noise. In that sense, the work becomes audiovisual, even if that was not the original intention.

In terms of process, Jack often starts with relatively simple instructions—movements along axes, rotations, and pen lifts—and lets the machine generate complex images. He produces a large number of drawings, treating them as experiments. Some are selected and developed further, but the emphasis is on exploration rather than producing singular, definitive works.

One aspect of his practice that I initially found challenging was his use of digital post-processing. He often scans the drawings and works on them in software such as Photoshop, adding colour and emphasis. Coming from a background where the output of a generative system was often treated as “pure,” I found that slightly uncomfortable at first. However, I have come to see it differently. For Jack, the drawing is just one stage in a broader process. The post-processing does not undermine the work—it extends it.

His background in photography is also significant. Many of his machines can be adapted to use light sources, producing images through long-exposure photography. These works often resemble digital graphics, but they are entirely analogue in origin. This demonstrates the fluidity of his approach and the way his earlier experience informs his later work.

Another important aspect of his practice is documentation. He has written extensively about his work and completed a PhD that formalises much of his knowledge. This makes his work unusually accessible for study and archiving. It also provides a strong foundation for future research.

I discussed his reconstruction of Desmond Paul Henry's work as an example of practice-based research. Henry’s machines were not well documented, so Jack approached the problem by building and experimenting, using his own knowledge to approximate the original processes. This demonstrates the value of understanding through making, rather than relying solely on abstract analysis.

More recently, Jack has begun painting. What is interesting is that the visual language of his machines carries through into this new medium. The same kinds of lines, structures, and compositional ideas are present. This suggests a deep coherence in his practice across media.

At the Computer Arts Archive, we are committed to keeping his machines active. They are not treated as untouchable museum pieces. People are encouraged to use, experiment with, and learn from them. This has proven particularly effective in engaging younger audiences, who often become deeply absorbed in the experience.

Finally, I touched on the role of artificial intelligence. We now have a substantial body of material from Jack—documents, images, videos—and limited resources to process it. AI offers a way of supporting this work, particularly in analysing and organising information. I am interested in how we can use AI in a focused and responsible way, grounded in our own materials.

As a small experiment, I asked my own AI agent to summarise Jack’s legacy. The response suggested that he would be remembered as a champion of embodied generative art in an increasingly digital world. That seems to me a fair conclusion. His work demonstrates that generative processes can be physical, tangible, and materially grounded. It also reinforces the importance of building your own tools and engaging directly with the mechanisms of creation.

Overall, I see Jack Tate as a significant yet under-recognised figure in the history of computer art. His work bridges analogue and digital paradigms, combining technical ingenuity with a sustained commitment to experimentation. Through the Computer Arts Archive, I am keen to ensure that his contributions are properly documented, understood, and made available to future generations.