‘Scroll’ in its most literal sense refers to a rolled up sheet of paper or, more commonly, parchment, which was used for documentation. However, the word ‘scroll’ is now more commonly used as a verb rather than a noun, referring to the action of moving the display of a screen up and down. Moreover, apart from the gesture of moving one’s hand up and down a screen, the range of movement that can take place on the tiny phone screen is limited, yet it can still produce significant effects. The process of drumming one’s fingers seems to be completely unrelated to the forms that appear on the screen in the form of text or image. The physical movement of the hand on the screen does not directly translate into the form that is produced on the screen. This phenomenon relates to what Ingold refers to as the ‘regression of the hand’—the decline of the tactility and relations between manual movement and the material traces it yields.
I would like to explore the ways in which the actions involved in being on the phone lead to processes of creation and, most importantly, communication. Furthermore, I am interested in how modern electronic devices, particularly those with touch screen interfaces, challenge or even defy André Leroi-Gourhan’s idea of graphism. Leroi-Gourhan defines graphism as “relatively durable traces of dextrous manual gestures”(Ingold 116). In simpler terms, this refers to the marks that serve as a record of actions.
Heidegger, in commenting on the typewriter, expresses distaste for it and discusses how this device transformed the nature of writing (122). The transition from typewriter to computer keyboard intensified this separation. Unlike the typewriter, which immediately imprinted letters onto paper, the computer displays words on a screen separate from the physical act of typing. If the text displayed on a computer screen is eventually printed, the act of inscribing it onto a material medium is credited not to the one who typed but to the machinge, the printer.
With cell phones, this separation becomes even more complex. The keyboard itself is no longer a an individual, physical machine but one of many virtual functions of the device. Ingold argues that the act of typing leads to a disruption in the process of transduction, wherein the ‘ductus’—the actual kinaesthetic action does not directly correspond with the form that appears on the screen (Ingold 122). Ingold’s transduction refers to the process through which gestural action produces a transformation in material form (102). In the case of touch screen devices, this relationship is fractured. The physical action required is minimal, and the materiality of the medium being operated upon is ambiguous. The material that the hand comes into contact with is the surface of the phone, yet the change that takes place is in the code that exists in a virtual realm. This change in code is then represented by images and icons displayed on screen, giving the user an illusion of interacting with the material within the digital realm.
Grip and Gestures
While using a phone, a person typically grips the device between the pinky finger and the thumb, with the back of the phone resting against the other fingers and balanced on the pinky. The thumb, which helps to secure the phone, also performs most of the navigational movements on the screen. Though the position of the hands often changes depending on the activity being performed, the actions being done on the screen are all done by the fingers. In particular, the tips of the fingers. This is in line with Ingold’s idea that the progress of technology is characterized by the shift from use of hands to fingers (123). In using a cell phone the tasks of typing, editing, clicking pictures are carried out as the fingers move across the surface of the screen. But the actual content being produced through these actions exists within the screen. The fingers make contact with the surface, yet the resultant forms remain entirely virtual. When you pinch to zoom in, the visual content on the screen enlarges, but the physical scale of the screen itself does not change.
Ingold discusses how repetitive manual actions during the process of creation physically affect the hand in ways that contribute to or even enhance the process of making (117). He gives the example of string makers and cello players: their hands become coarser and develop calluses. The hardened skin protects the fingers from pain, allowing the musician to play longer and the craftsperson to produce better strings. Thusm these injuries, far from being a hindrance, actually facilitate the craft. In such cases, the deformation of the hand becomes integral to the process of creation.
In the case of operating touch-screen devices such as phones, however, this relationship between bodily transformation and creative process becomes disrupted. The body still undergoes change; users experience repetitive strain injuries like carpal tunnel syndrome, the so-called ‘iPhone pinky,’ where the pinky finger becomes bent from supporting the device, and even soreness in the thumbs from constant scrolling or typing. However, unlike the callused hands of the craftsman or musician, this alteration in the hand of the phone user does not affect the process of making in any way.
This is because the gestures required by touch-screen devices are minimal and effortless. On a touch-screen interface, the physical gestures enacted by hands such as toggling, swiping, or pinching, are reduced to nothing more than pre-programmed features. Though these features are derived from bodily gestures, when incorporated into digital devices they become standardized features designed to trigger certain responses on the screen. This is in line with Ingold’s analysis that such actions have become metaphorical rather than genuinely physical or material (124). The gestures no longer result in real manipulation of substance but instead, represent symbolic actions whose effects are purely virtual.
This transformation creates a kind of simulacrum, in which gestures acquire meaning only through their digital consequences rather than through any tangible engagement with the material. The hand’s action ceases to produce traces in the Leroi-Gourhanian sense of graphism, instead reducing manual gesture into a sort of abstraction.
Human and Posthuman Writing
Heidegger suggests that the typed word lacks the humanity of handwriting. Ingold argues that the perfect, mechanical typescript robs the writing of any traces of being produced by a human, and reduces it to a mere means of communication rather than a way of telling (Ingold 122). In this light, the movement of the hand is what imbues the produced handwriting with its humanistic dimension.
Ingold, drawing on Leroi-Gourhan, argues that while machines can extend human capacities and enhance certain forms of production, they also subtract something essential (122). The integration of mechanical devices into human action pushes us toward what he describes as a ‘posthuman‘ condition. He argues that even the simple act of pressing a button removes part of the humanity from the process, reducing it to an interaction with an intermediary rather a correspondence with material. Leroi-Gourhan’s argument raises the question: what happens when the entire process consists of nothing but pressing buttons? And those buttons are not even physical? On touch screens, the buttons are mere visual representations of electronic codes designed to simulate real-life, tactile surfaces. The gestures we perform do not affect real objects; they activate digital representations that mimic the appearance of materiality. The result is a detachment between human movement and material change.
Moreover, the rise and incorporation of Generative Artificial Intelligence into many applications has further flattened the process of creation. The art of inquiry, the ‘thinking through the making’, that Ingold propogates in ‘Making’ ceases to occur, as creation is increasingly reduced to typing short prompts for AI systems that generate text, images, or designs automatically (6). The hand’s role shifts from making to merely initiating a command.
All that remains now is scrolling. Most app interfaces are designed for endless scrolling, condensing all human interaction into a single repetitive gesture. Earlier in the essay, we discussed how effortlessness has become the priority in technological design. Yet it is precisely in effort that the humanism of creation lies. By removing friction between the hand and the material, we move further and further away from genuine making. As Ingold says, “It is precisely where the reach of the imagination meets the friction of materials, or where the forces of ambition rub up against the rough edges of the world, that human life is lived” (Ingold 73).
Ingold, T. (2013). Making: Anthropology, Archaeology, Art and Architecture (1st ed.). Routledge. https://doi.org/10.4324/9780203559055