Forbes Business
중도 성향
IT/기술
Tribeca Lets AI Into Its Official Lineup—One To Watch, Not Cheer
Tribeca Festival 2026 accepted a fully AI-generated feature into its official lineup. Dreams of Violets is a milestone worth watching closely.
🇺🇸 미국 · IT/기술 · "WATCHING" · 총 7건
필터 보기현재 지수
50.0
0 = 부정 우세
50 = 중립
100 = 긍정 우세
최근 7일 기준 12,213건을 분석한 결과, 뉴스 심리지수는 50.0(균형)입니다. 긍정 1건(0.0%)·중립 12,211건(100.0%)·부정 1건(0.0%)이며, 중립 비중이 뚜렷하게 높습니다. 성향 지수는 종합 19.3(중도 균형)입니다.
Tribeca Festival 2026 accepted a fully AI-generated feature into its official lineup. Dreams of Violets is a milestone worth watching closely.
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IO Interactive’s 007 First Light is here, and it’s just as stunning a James Bond mov — err, video game — as we hoped it would be. Pardon the confusion, the title’s engaging tutorial really feels like you’re watching a great Bond movie at times. Whether you’re a longtime Hitman fan who’s been eagerly waiting […]
Electrons are great. We use them to move vehicles, illuminate cities, and, of course, compute. But computation is not confined to the world of electronics. And shifting to alternative nonelectronic realms can unlock unique advantages: Photonic chips, for instance, process information with light while generating little heat. Another compelling alternative is fluidics, which uses pressurized gases or liquids to build logic circuits. Pioneered in the 1960s but sidelined by microchips, the field reemerged in the 1990s as “microfluidics.” This approach aims to shrink laboratories onto a single chip by creating microscopic fluid channels with integrated micropneumatic control systems. Today, there is a second fluidic revival, this time in the domain of soft robotics. Scaling microfluidic designs up to the millimeter-scale range (millifluidics) enables the higher flow rates necessary to drive robotic actuators. These robots exploit the nonlinear behaviors of soft materials to create lifelike motion and safer interactions, often utilizing pressurized air. By building systems that “think” with the same air that powers them, we can drastically reduce the need for bulky electronic-to-pneumatic interfaces. This is the focus of my Soiboi Studio robotics lab. With millifluidic logic, I have steadily scaled the complexity of my designs. What began with a simple oscillator has most recently evolved into a clock featuring a soft, four-digit, seven-segment display. What Is Millifluidics? Building on microfluidics research from the early 2000s and recent developments from the Grover Lab at the University of California, Riverside, I’ve developed millifluidic devices using standard 3D printing and silicone casting. The basic architecture is simple: A flexible membrane is sandwiched between rigid layers embedded with networks of air channels. Just as electronics rely on differing voltage potentials, these fluidic circuits operate on the pressure difference between atmospheric pressure (logical 0) and a near-vacuum at around −60 kilopascals of relative pressure (logical 1). Using negative pressure means the membrane is pulled into openings. This creates robust seals that allow me to replicate electronic building blocks. A cast silicone membrane forms the face of the clock [top], while behind it sits 3D-printed millifluidic blocks [middle rows]. An Arduino Uno controls driver boards that operate solenoids, which are connected to valves that are attached to a vacuum pump [bottom row].James Provost While fluidic resistors are easily realized by adjusting the channel geometry, the heart of the system is a valve that mimics a metal-oxide-semiconductor field-effect transistor, or MOSFET. This vacuum “transistor” features a flow layer with two chambers (the source and drain) divided by a central valve seat and a control layer containing a cavity (the gate). A membrane runs between the control and flow layers and normally prevents airflow between the source and drain chambers. To switch the transistor on, a vacuum is applied to the gate chamber, sucking the membrane into the cavity and lifting it off the seat. This opens a path for airflow, equivalent to closing an electric circuit. By adding a small aperture to the membrane, I created a check valve—the fluidic equivalent of a diode. By combining transistors and resistive “pull-down” channels, I can build a full suite of logic gates. The original microfluidic designs that inspired me were fabricated from etched glass and milled acrylic. Adapting them for a standard 3D printer required reengineering the logic elements and mastering two critical fabrication techniques. First, I need airtight prints, yet printed plastic is notoriously porous. By printing at elevated temperatures, slow speeds, and slight overextrusion, I was able to fill microscopic gaps. When you’re using transparent filament, there’s a handy visual indicator: The more transparent the plastic appears, the lower its porosity. Second, I used glass for my print bed. By printing the upper and lower chambers directly against this bed, I got the interface surface to become mirror smooth. This finish is essential for creating reliable, airtight seals. A 0.3-millimeter silicone membrane is placed between the layers and secured with screws. How Does the Soft Clock Work? The clockface is a cast silicone membrane. Each digit segment is formed by a small underlying cavity. When air is evacuated from this cavity, the membrane is sucked inward to create a concave hollow; when atmospheric pressure is restored, the silicone pops back flush with the surface. The result is a mesmerizing, organic motion. The “brain” of the clock is an Arduino Uno, while the fluidics significantly reduce the hardware footprint. A four-digit, seven-segment display with two separator dots would require 29 solenoid valves to control directly. My clock needs just 11 valves. A pneumatic transistor is off when its upper control chamber is at atmospheric pressure [top]. When air is removed from the control chamber, it lifts a membrane, which allows air to flow between lower flow chambers and turns the transistor on [bottom]. James Provost To understand how it works, consider a standard electronic four-digit, seven-segment LED display. This also uses 11 pins to drive its digits. (In clockface displays, an additional pin is required to drive the separator dots.) Every digit is connected to a shared data bus with seven lines, one per segment. The four control lines select individual digits. Only one digit is illuminated at time, and strobing the digits at least 50 times per second creates the illusion that all four are simultaneously illuminated. Such high-speed switching is not possible with air. Instead, I rely on memory. Each segment acts like a capacitor: By evacuating its cavity (logic 1), you “charge” the segment; by restoring atmospheric pressure (logic 0), you discharge it. Hence, each digit acts as an independent 7-bit memory. If the system is sufficiently airtight, the segments maintain their state for several seconds. Like the electronic display, the system utilizes a seven-line data bus. Each line connects to a solenoid valve that provides either vacuum or atmospheric pressure. To selectively address the individual digits, I placed a fluidic transistor between each segment and its data line. All the transistors’ control inputs for a given digit are combined into one “write enable” line connected to its own solenoid valve. Activating this valve allows me to write data into the corresponding digit’s memory. The clock updates one digit per second, meaning a full cycle across the face takes 4 seconds. This cycle also drives the separator dots: A set of fluidic diodes connects the enable lines to the dots’ cavities. Consequently, as each digit is addressed, the dots pulse automatically. This display is more than a clock; it is a soft robot that happens to tell time. By offloading computation to the same air that powers movement, the clock approaches a new class of machines that are simpler, lighter, and more integrated. I’m now developing a guide for getting started with vacuum-powered logic and may release a refined version of this clock in the future. Watching the silicone skin morph serves as a fascinating reminder that not all logic needs silicon; sometimes, all you need is flexible silicone and a flow of air. This article appears in the June 2026 print issue as “The Soft Clock.”
Last year, after watching Google's I/O keynote, I wrote that it felt like Google's future was Google googling. After watching this year's I/O keynote on Tuesday, I don't think Google just wants to google for you - I think it wants to do everything for you, all from a search box. Take the trusty Google […]
Editor’s note: If you’d like to pinpoint the instant when the world entered the nuclear age, 5:29:45 a.m. Mountain War Time on 16 July 1945, is an excellent choice. That was the moment when human beings first unleashed the power of the nucleus in an immense, blinding ball of fire above a gloomy stretch of desert in the Jornada del Muerto basin in New Mexico. Emily Seyl’s Trinity: An Illustrated History of the World’s First Atomic Test (The University of Chicago Press) offers hundreds of startlingly vivid photographs of the Manhattan Project that emerged from a 20-year restoration effort. This excerpt and the accompanying photos record the massive effort to capture the awesome detonation of “the Gadget.” aspect_ratioReprinted with permission from Trinity: An Illustrated History of the World’s First Atomic Test by Emily Seyl with contributions by Alan B. Carr, published by The University of Chicago Press. © 2026 by The University of Chicago. All rights reserved. In the North 10,000 photography bunker, Berlyn Brixner was listening to the countdown on a loudspeaker, his head inside a turret loaded with cameras and film. He was one of the only people instructed to look toward the blast—through his welder’s glasses—ready to follow the path of the fireball as it launched into the sky. The two Mitchell movie cameras at his station would deliver the best footage to come of the Trinity test, used by Los Alamos scientists to make some of the first measurements of the effects of a nuclear explosion. Related: New Trinity Book Uncovers Images of the First Atomic Test When the detonators fired, the cameras captured what Brixner could not have seen—the very first light of a violent, silent sea of energy unfurling into the basin. As 32 blocks of high explosives erupted all together, their incredible force surged inward toward the sleeping plutonium core, compressing the dense sphere of metal instantaneously from all sides and bringing its atoms impossibly close together. A carefully timed burst of neutrons sowed momentary, uncontrolled chaos, and then, as quickly as it began, the fission chain reaction ended. Footage from a high-speed Fastax camera in Brixner’s bunker, shot through a thick glass porthole, shows a translucent orb bursting through the darkness less than a hundredth of a second after detonation, as a rush of heat, light, and matter blew apart the Gadget. When the brightness faded enough for witnesses to make out ground zero, they saw a wall of dust rise up around a brilliant, shape-shifting, multicolored ball of flames—forming a fiery cloud that shot into the sky atop a twisting stream of debris. The camera footage tells a story no less dramatic but hundreds of times more intricate, preserving the moment for scientists to return to again and again to measure and describe the behavior of the fireball and other visible effects with exacting detail. On balance, the photography effort was a huge success, despite only 11 of the 52 cameras producing satisfactory images. By arranging those cameras at intentionally staggered distances, complementary angles, and with a broad spectrum of frame rates and focal lengths, the Spectrographic and Photographic Measurements Group was able to piece together a remarkably complete picture of their subject. On 12 July 1945, Herbert Lehr, a U.S. Army sergeant and electrical engineer assigned to Los Alamos, delivered the plutonium core to the McDonald ranch house, where the bomb was assembled. Los Alamos National Laboratory According to the group’s leader, Julian Mack, the more than 100,000 frames that were captured still “give no idea of the brightness, or of time and space scales.” Mack attributed fortune, as much as foresight, to the photographic record that was made, especially during the earliest phase of the blast. Indeed, the explosion was several times more powerful than predicted, and the intensity of its effects overwhelmed many of the cameras and diagnostic instruments. The human observers were similarly overcome. “The shot was truly awe-inspiring,” said Norris Bradbury, the physicist who would succeed Robert Oppenheimer as director of Los Alamos. “Most experiences in life can be comprehended by prior experiences, but the atom bomb did not fit into any preconception possessed by anybody. The most startling feature was the intense light.” Norris Bradbury, the physicist responsible for the final assembly of the Gadget, stands next to the partially assembled bomb at the top of the shot tower. The cables on the outside of the bomb would transmit the signals to trigger the synchronized detonations of conventional explosives, which would then create the inward-directed shock wave that would compress the bomb’s plutonium core. Bradbury would go on to succeed Robert Oppenheimer as director of Los Alamos on 17 October 1945.Los Alamos National Laboratory It is a common sentiment that words and even pictures pale in comparison to the experience of the explosion. Even so, soldiers, scientists, and many other witnesses have added their firsthand accounts—often absorbing and poetic—to complement the trove of hard data collected during the test shot. They describe an intense and blinding brightness that filled the basin with daytime; an ominous, darkening cloud rearing its head in eerie silence; the wait for the invisible wave rushing out from the heart of the Gadget; and the mighty roar that arrived at last, in a thunder, and seemed never to leave. Physicist Isidor Isaac Rabi, watching from 20 miles away, remembered, “It blasted; it pounced; it bored its way right through you.” James Chadwick, head of the British contingent of scientists who joined the Manhattan Project, later said, “Although I had lived through this moment in my imagination many times during the past few years and everything happened almost as I had pictured it, the reality was shattering.” The blast, captured with an assortment of high-speed and motion-picture cameras, shows the fireball expanding between 25 milliseconds and 60 seconds, by which time the mushroom cloud is over 3 kilometers high.Los Alamos National Laboratory And physicist George Kistiakowsky found himself certain that “at the end of the world—in the last millisecond of the Earth’s existence—the last human will see what we saw.”
I first met Robert Woo in 2011, during his third time walking in a powered exoskeleton. The architect had been paralyzed in a construction accident four years earlier, but he was determined to get back on his feet. Watching him clunk across a rehab room in an exoskeleton prototype, the technology felt astonishing. I had the same reaction when reporting on early brain-computer interfaces (BCIs), which enabled paralyzed people to move robotic arms or communicate by thought alone. Both types of bionic technology seemed to verge on magic. But that initial sense of awe, I’ve learned over many years of reporting on these technologies, is only a starting point. What matters is not what these systems can do in a carefully staged demo but how they perform in the real world. Do they work reliably? Can people with disabilities use them for their intended purposes? And what does it actually cost—in time, effort, and trade-offs—to do so? The question isn’t whether the technology looks impressive the first time but whether it holds up on the hundredth. The special report in this issue, “Cyborg Tech From the Inside” takes that perspective seriously. In my feature article on Woo, an exoskeleton super-user who has spent 15 years testing these systems, the story of the technology is inseparable from the story of its use. Woo’s relentless feedback has driven steady, incremental improvements. In Edd Gent’s reporting on the pioneers testing the earliest BCIs, the experience of these extraordinary technologies likewise resolves into something more complex. As one trial participant notes, these early adopters are like the first astronauts, who barely reached space before coming back down to Earth. Together, these stories reframe these individuals not as passive medical patients but as the ultimate beta testers and co-engineers of the bionic age. I saw the gap between demonstration and daily use firsthand when I interviewed Woo in a Manhattan showroom recently, where he was testing a new self-balancing exoskeleton from Wandercraft. The device is a striking advance that kept him upright without crutches, but it also revealed the friction of the real world. As Woo tried to walk out the door, barely an inch of slope on the Park Avenue sidewalk was enough to trigger the machine’s safety sensors and halt his progress. It was a stark reminder of how far these systems must evolve before they fit seamlessly into everyday life. For the people who use them, that seamless integration is the ultimate goal. Getting there will depend not just on technical breakthroughs but on how well these systems hold up outside controlled environments, over time, and under real conditions. Looking from the inside doesn’t make these technologies any less remarkable, but it does change how we judge them—not by what they can do once for a photo but by what they can sustain over a lifetime. That’s the standard their users have been applying all along. Our commitment to evaluating technology from the user’s perspective extends beyond this special report. To provide a necessary corrective to the “techno-solutionism” that often dominates coverage of assistive devices, IEEE Spectrum created the Taenzer Fellowship for Disability-Engaged Journalism, under which six writers with disabilities are contributing articles about the devices they rely on daily. As Special Projects Director Stephen Cass notes, these journalists “aren’t afraid to ask clear-eyed questions about the tech and are deeply aware of how it impacts humans.” You can read the fellows’ work at spectrum.ieee.org/tag/taenzer-fellowship.