 Rwy'n ydy'r gweithio'r gweithio'r gweithio'r newid yn y gweithio i'w hynny, ond rydyn ni wedi'i gweithio'r cyfrwyngau. Ond roeddwn i'n ddau, nifer yr unig. Roedd ydych yn ddweud ar y cyfansodd, a'r ffordd o'r cyfansodd yn gweithio'r ddechrau'n ddysgu'r cyfrwyngau ym mhwyl, yr ysgol, ac yng nghydwg. Roedd ydych yn cael ei ffordd o'r cael ei wneud. Rwy'n ymddun i'n ddod yn cael ei wneud, Ac mae'n ddweud i'r holl bwysig o'r cyfrifio a'r cyfan gyhoeddfa gyda'r Cymru. Mae'r cysylltu sydd wedi'i ddim yn ddweud o gwbl C3. Mae'n bywyddo i'r cyfrifio'r ingeniol yn ddweud o'r hynny sy'n meddwl ymddangos o'r ddweud o'r cyfrifio a'r ddweud o'r cyfrifio. Dyma'n dweud o'r cyfrifio sy'n ddweud o'r archrifauethau ac oedol mewn cyfrifio a'r ddweud o'r ddweud o'r llunio. The chain or flow of sustenance from field to dinner plate. Now this is an interdisciplinary talk but don't worry. I won't be claiming quite that poems and paintings are computational machines for working out social policy because that would be crazy right? But if I'm not willfully misunderstanding Yosha's excellent talk on a computational universe Yn y bwysig yw'r cadwyddiad o'r ystyried yng ngwybod sy'n mynd i'w gwirionedd, y ffilm ar y lleidio, ac mae'n deall y lleidio ar y llyfr i chi arnynno ar gywell. Dwi'n ymweliadau o ddifwg bwysig o erbyn y bwysig, y bwysig, i ffwyd i'w tech. Ond yma yn ystod o'r pwysig. Siwt, i'r pwylltodd Crab ien anglish ymgyrchu yn ymwyllt gwrdd y rhaid o'r ffordd a'u gwahodol, ac mae hynny'n cais i'r ddweud o'r cyflom. Mae'r ffordd yn ymlaen o'r ffordd, a mae'r ffordd yn ymlaen. Mae'r ffordd yn ffordd yn ymwylltu, mae'r ffordd yn ysgolau, mae'r ffordd yn cyllid, mae'r gweith ar ymddangos o'n bwysig. Mae'r ffordd yn gwneud. because if crab fell through a wormhole and arrived in the present day, he'd feel depressingly at home.' In 2014, almost a million people in the UK were forced to rely on food banks. So it's amazing that, while Agritech is bringing all kinds of awesome new capabilities online from synthetic food to cisgenics and agri robots, an all-party report concluded this month ..y'r hungr yn ystawch y UK. Mae'r hungr yn cael cael gallu gallu gwirionedd. Mae'r hungr yn 50 miliwn o'r mynd i'r hungr yn ymgyrch... ..y'r hungr yn ymgyrch o'r llandfil o'r hungr. Rwy'n meddwl i'r rhaid o'r reguall... ..y'r hungr yn ymgyrch o'r hyn o'r holl. Rwy'n meddwl i'r idea ymgyrch o'r rhaid o'r holl... ..y'r hungr yn ymgyrch. Ond ..y'r hungr yn ymgyrch o'r hungr... ..y'r hungr yn ymgyrch o'r holl o'r hyfforddiad. Y hungr yn ymgyrch o'r hungr yn ymgyrch o'r hyfforddiad. Rwy'n meddwl i'r hungr yn ymgyrch o'r hyfforddiad. So mae'r agratech yn yw'r cyfan? Mae'n gwybod yw ddigon yn ddechrau ym Mhwylhau. Mae'n gyfael y Pwyllgor Eurwyr. Mae Mhwylhau yn ein ddod yn cyfweld gyda'r gweithio fel gyfweld cyfweld cyfweld cyfweld cyfweld cyfweld cyfweld. Ond ychydig i'u gwirioneddol gyda Jane Archer, yn gwirioneddol ar gyfer y Llytridol, ac Sid Thomas, gan ymgynt ymddiol, ac roddwg y combineidol yn y newid yw bod allan ei ddweud yn ei anod yng Nghymru yn adegiau'r link yn dweud yr hyn? Rydyn, mae'r anod oedd y ddysgrifedd arall yn ddenogoli ac yn ddiwylliannol a'r anod oedd ydyn ni'r anod o'r anod o'r mynd gan yr un arlaen ymgyrch arall. Mae yna'n ei goffi yn edrych ar y cyfnod oedd yma. Fyrhaf ymgyrchu wedi amlaluum ychydig, ond mae'n ei wneud o'r problemau cymdeithasol, a mae'n ddim yn gwybod i'ch ffordd o'r lleol, o'r cymdeithasol, o'r cymdeithasol, o'r syniadau, o'r polisiau, ac ydych chi'n rhan i'r ddweud y ffordd o'r ddweud yng Nghymru. Mae'n dod o'r ddweud o'r ddweud o'r ddweud o'r ddweud, o'r ddweud o'r ddweud o'r ddweud o'r ddweud, o'r dyfodol, o'r ddweud o'r ddweud, a wnaeth beth, gollum's a maenner. First, we have to rescue some of our canonical authors from the heritage industry. Authors who are once sharply critical of orthodox power have been repackaged as our national poets and painters and are given back to us in ways that make their art appear to support the codes and values of the dominant interests that they once challenged. F survived criticism can help us there with our counter narratives, because that truth is, many of our best known painters and writers, their relation to the politics of hunger to early forms of agricultural technology, was a lot closer than ours. And their experience is relevant to the big actions that we need to define and take. Consider William Shakespeare. So last year we made the newspapers also in Germany ac y cysylltu cyfanau ar y derivedgau sydd wedi'i opysgol am y digwydd. Roeddwn i weld eisiau am y dyweddu'r ac yn ysgol yn y dywedd fel y digwydd, ac ond rwy'n credu pethau ei hynny o'r amsgrifennu yn yr ymddangos, ac yn ymddi'r hyn, mae gennym yn gynllun ei noddol eich cyfanysgol i ddiwedd i cyffredinol i fod yn cyfath pethau o gyfrygiadau sydd yma, ion amdais cyflygau sydd ymddangos ac yn amdais cyflygau a Llywodraeth, Mae'r fanioedd, y P.R. yng Nghymru, oedd yn ystod o'r ystod. Mae'r ffunariol yw'r monument yn Stratford, a mae'n gweithio'r ysgol yng Nghymru o'r lletwch. Mae'r amgylcheddau yn gweithio'r llun o'r llun o'r llunio'r llunio'r llunio, o'r llunio'r llunio'r llunio. Ond yna yna yma yma yma y monument. Mae'n ym 18th yma'r rhifurb. a bydd yw'n gwybodaeth i Shakespeare y bydd yn ystod yma yw'r amser yn ymweld. Fe yma yma yma y maen nhw, sydd y bydd gwybod bydd hwn yn ychydig sydd yng Nghymru yn ei ddweud yma, yn ymweld y maen nhw'n yn ymdweud. Y maen i, ymddangos, ymddangos, ymddangos, ymddangos, ymddangos sy'n gwneud y profydd ar y llwyddoedd, i fynd i bwrdd yn y graenau, ac mae ar y cymdeithas ffamil, Shakespeare horded in that all-important piece of agritech, a barn. And he hoarded it there until the prices rose. And he was prosecuted for it. Oops, do that again. He was prosecuted for it. Now in the original monument, the velvet writing cushion is a sack of corn. And those golden tassels are actually roughly tied, oh, there's the barn, roughly tied edges. So not tasseled, but roughly tied. And maybe it won't surprise you then to know that references to food prices and the societal impacts of unequal access to food abound in Shakespeare's plays, and we should take them seriously. But let's consider these themes first in a contemporary novel. Daniel Suarez's thriller Freedom TM, it was published in Germany as Darknet. And I'm sure many of you will know it picks up a year after Suarez's first novel Demon, a year after Matthew Sobol, the mad hacker, is there any other kind, has unleashed a bot on the world's multinationals, including a thinly veiled Monsanto. And out of the chaos, Darknet communities have risen, and in a key set piece near the beginning, Suarez, who is of course a technology consultant, gives us a vision of a man, of a tech-based food and energy independent society. So thanks to my daughter for making this slide, best slide. So in it, Farmer Fossen, Hank Fossen, shows us around one of the new Darknet farms. And with a sweep of his arm, he describes a green vista of tech-led sustainability. Fossen's own daughter is glimpsed off to the left, instructing the nubes in hybridisation and genetics, while other Darknet farm workers are out in the grass prairies, all with d-space call-outs floating above their heads, visible to anyone who's wearing Darknet glasses. So I'll read the passage out. Fossen turned into the farm's long gravel driveway. There was an ornate d-space 3D object in the shape of a cornucopia, bursting with vegetables and fruits hanging above the entrance. He looked out to several acres of grain. We used a mix of crops and animals to recharge fertility. We're raising the animals on grass, not corn. It grows naturally here on the prairies. So it's turning solar power into beef. No fossil fuels necessary. It's all an integrated, sustainable system. So this is a nice and fairly standard utopic vision. I'd like to live there right in that slide. But technology isn't the answer, and the novel seems to know it. It's not the whole answer. Because the dark side of d-space is... The dark side of the fab labs and the remote sensing is the antihero, Loki Stormbringer, whose lethal drone motorbikes evisorate anybody who opposes the vision. So the tech in this apparently idyllic scene of sustainable community is half insight and half out, occupying entangled positions on two sides of an ethical boundary. Actually, Suarez's vision of a tech-driven agrarian utopia isn't fanciful. Much of the tech's already with us, or it's emergent. The last 20 years have seen incredible advances in synthetic biology. Think human bacteria cheese, vertical farming, gene tech, new modeling techniques for phenotypes linked to sustainable animal productivity, drones that monitor nitrogen levels in fields, predictive farming, agri informatics, open source farms, and MIT, they have an open ag project which is working towards the creation of the global agricultural information commons. And there's some amazing research into agri-robots at the European Agri-Robots Network, where Simon Blackmore's team is working, and they're producing a new lightweight generation of robots that follow the contours of fields rather than forcing farmers to plant in straight lines to suit older machinery. And these robots spray only the part of a field that's actually infected with disease rather than the whole field. My own university, in the wake of recent European food hygiene and fraud scandals, such as Horsgate, has developed hyperspectral analysis techniques for detecting contamination of meat using fluorescent markers. Aberystwyth is also home to a major plant breeding and phenomics lab, kitted out with high-resolution metabolomics technology, and that uses content plant phenotyping to design smart crop varieties that are more resilient to changing climate. So it's a brave new world of knowledge-led development that should improve not only food safety, but also access to food. But to return to Fawson Farm, Suarez's vision of a knowledge-led, sustainable future registers tremors of anxiety precisely about the tech that's supposed to sustain it. And in that respect, the novel belongs to a long tradition of art and literature depicting scenes of agricultural work. And one of the best loved, the weird and we'd argue most misunderstood examples is John Constable's painting, The Haywayne de Hoivagen from 1821. And it's a visual precursor to Suarez. The passage I just read out belongs in this tradition. The Haywayne is one of the world's most recognisable paintings and seems to offer a calm representation, a comforting representation of abundance and timelessness. And in many ways, it's come to stand for the establishment. And for that reason, it's been the target of subversion. In 1980, the artist Peter Kennard hacked it to make the Haywayne with cruise missiles. And at last year, a member of the British political group, Fathers for Justice, glued a photo of his son, pixelated there, on the canvas. But ironically, we've lost the ability to perceive the painting's own radical politics. So let's look more closely. In the foreground is a piece of then contemporary agritech and unladen hay wagon, an example of how art delivers back to us in a materialist sense, a sense of how we fit into the human race in the idiom of the technology of the time we find ourselves in. Agri robots now Haywaynes then. But despite the painting's popularity, it's every bit as radical as Suarez's novel. And it's making more or less exactly the same point. Because the Haywayne has a far more contentious counterpart, tech that's also just out of sight, but definitely not out of mind. And it's actually the key to the nexus of social, political and economic energy that's been coded into this famous canvas. But let's take a step back. The first thing we need to know is that the painter, John Constable, was the son of a miller and a landowner. And it's his father's fields, his father's tech, his father's workers that we see in the painting. And indeed a cynic might say that the role of public art on this scale is precisely to inculcate us into the values of a world of concentrated wealth and sharply demarcated society. But leaving Constable's own politics aside for the moment, let's try to listen to what the painting's actually telling us. Let's produce a counter narrative. Because almost everything we've been told to think about this idyllic scene, everything we've been told by all those biscuit tin lids and mobile phone cases is actually wrong. Starting with the painting's official catalogue description, which tells us that the haywain is standing in the water. If the wagon is stationary, it's not because it's been posed aesthetically for us. If anything, it looks like it's become stuck, perhaps in mud, the river swollen from the rain that's already begun to fall further upstream. Constable painted the haywain in an unusually wet year, and it caused big problems for farmers in the region and it drove down labourers' wages, including the wages of everyone we see in that painting. Now, the wagon should be going hell for leather. That becomes clear once you realise there's not one but two haywains. So the title of the painting is also a little bit dodgy. There's the second one, it's off to the right, it's tiny. And while one is loading, the other is unloading. Because what Constable's depicting here is dynamic process, not a sentimental still life. So we know where the wagon's going, but where has it come from? Where has it just unloaded its hay? And the candidate that's usually offered is Constable's father's water mill itself. But mills grind wheat and barley. They don't mill hay, you can't mill hay. No, the piece of tech that's out of sight is behind Constable's easel. It's a barn. That's the tech the painting struggles with. It's the tech that adds value to the grass that's being harvested. The tech which, as Shakespeare knew, turns a crop into data. Abstracting it from a field and from a local economy into the realms of markets and price indexes. And it's the tech which, for that very reason, was the first thing to get burned down in times of food unrest. Basically, Constable's father is making a killing off the backs of those low-paid haymakers and wagoners. This painting isn't so much art, it's evidence. And those wagoners are doing their best to get going again, for good reason. They want to keep even their low-paid jobs. Because while we may not have a low-key storm bringer, we do have an approaching storm. And as an agricultural journal from the period explains, it was the haymakers and wagoners' responsibility to get the crop in dry. So this isn't a mythic field. It's not timeless. It's not a patriotic image of old England with a sentimental historically stranded piece of farm equipment in the foreground. Rather, the fields and Constable's painting itself exist at the troubled intersection of agrarian market economics, social ethics and agritech. Agritech that privileged landowners while disenfranchising workers and whole communities. Because behind the unseen barn, further back, is a region of England that was still recovering from violent food riots five years earlier, which had seen many hayricks and barns burned down. Two local agricultural workers were hanged and others were transported to Australia. And just one year later in 1822, the region erupted again in so-called bread or blood riots. Perhaps some of Constable's own workers were involved in that direct action. So the longitudinal story then that art and literature is telling us is unambiguous. A dysfunctional food chain has only one outcome, food unrest, and in an age of information, on a potentially massive scale. So of course then we're right to look to tech to increase yields and to reduce environmental impacts of agriculture. But if we're going to develop the resilience we need as we attempt to manage the biophysical world in the difficult times that are surely coming, what William Gibson's new novel, The Periphery, calls with infinite irony Jackpot, the simultaneous arrival of climate, capital and crop disaster, that we need to expand our thinking about food systems into the imaginative world. Because the alternative isn't pretty and it's already happening. As Constable and his father knew only too well, the canonical response to hunger is the food riot. And the situation in the UK at the moment is particularly incendiary around food banks because, as in Crab's poem, which we saw at the beginning, at the same time as the new underclass of the hungry is driven to charity handouts, it suffers the indignity of watching as the top few percent enjoy what Thomas Piketty calls vertiginous growth. In 2012 London experienced a week of rioting. In the media, almost without exception, scandalously the action was presented as senseless violence by mindless thugs in pursuit of branded trainers and flat screen TVs. In fact, the first shop to be looted wasn't a TV warehouse, it wasn't a designer bag outlet, it was the Clarence convenience store. And here you can see young men clambering over the counter chocolate bars and water bottles in their pockets. The London riots, or uprising as some prefer to call them, in its early stages at least, started out as a traditional food riot. So moving to an end now, the so-called food prices social unrest hypothesis suggests that large scale discontent around the world can be mapped with chilling precision onto indexes of staples like rice and wheat. And the FAO's food price index measures the monthly charge of changing international prices of a basket of food. And basically, if that goes above 210, you get riots across the world. Now this includes crowd action with obvious food connections like the 2008 Mexican tortilla riots. But the 2011 Arab Spring and the 2013 Gesie Park protests also map neatly onto these spikes. And prices of staples and commodities are projected by the FAO's own figures to rise by 40% over the coming decade. So to conclude then, we're not facing food crisis for the first time and we're not facing it alone. Literature and art has processed many such moments of emergency, examining food crisis in deep imaginative space. From Shakespeare's play Coriolanus, to Rome's corn supplies are withheld from the plebians, much as Shakespeare withheld corn in the Stratford area, to Suzanne Collins's Hunger Games trilogy. And let's end with the Hunger Games. Katniss Everdeen, the figurehead of rebellion against the repressive state, remarks, it must be very fragile if a handful of berries can bring it down. But the fact is, political and power systems have often been challenged or overturned by the decision to eat or not to eat. Thank you for listening. Great, let's start with a question from the internet. No, so sorry. That wasn't my signal, Angel, my bad. Thank you, very interesting. I would like to ask you, are you going to do some research in the prehistory of food production and food consumption? Well, our project goes back to 1380, something to Chaucer, that's where we started. We're looking at the Canterbury Tales as a game of food, basically. Once you start looking in canonical art, which I guess we've been taught to assume is safe and comforting, you start to see all sorts of interesting things. But I should say the reason why we're doing it and why actually going back to prehistory would be really interesting is because before we can start putting into effect the kind of benefits that we can expect from agritech, we need to change headspace. I think Slavoj Žižek is absolutely right when he criticizes Thomas Bacchetti's capitalism of the 21st century. He says it's utopian. It's utopian to say that the solution to the problem of wealth outgrowing economic output is simply to redefine the ratios of distribution. The rich pay more tax and the poor get more benefits. Because if you do that, capital simply moves or you get other knock-on effects that inevitably ends up privileging wealth. So the real challenge, as Žižek says, is that you have to create the right conditions that enable you to enact things like, say, taxing wealth at 80%. And literary criticism can be a really powerful tool in bringing about those conditions. But if we push the analysis back, the richer the data is going to become. So thanks for the question. Yes, thank you. Beautiful talk and since I'm writing a book on barns, of course curious if you can help me with two questions. First of all, how old are barns? When do they appear? And that leads me to the second question because the way you depicted barns here is sort of like an intermediary space between the agriculture world and the market. So that would make them pretty modern. In my view, I always thought the barn is different from the warehouse as not really something like where else, which is intermediary space where the market comes to a stop until some demand calls for the good to be called out and so forth. So I wonder what's your take on the position of the barn in this longer history of capitalism? Oh, it's a great question. Again, it's a question with a longitudinal momentum. OK, so I think you're disanonymising barn from warehouse and you're right to do that. The barn occupies a different position in social space. And I guess we think of warehouses, don't we, as more to do with imports and exports maybe? Yeah, I mean, great we need to do that. We haven't actually focused the entire study on the physical space of the barn, but more of the barn, as I quite say, conceptually is that mediating point between markets and communities. Yeah, thanks for that. Thank you. I have a question I will try to articulate it well. Probably fail, but... ..with Shakespeare's time and the time of the painting, compared to the status quo, that layer of people between an aristocracy and a nobility and basically indentured serfs, was there a difference in the perception of how close or how far they were to this abyss? And where would you be reading, where would you be reading for expressions of this in contemporary literature? OK, yeah, that's another good question. The position of the serf is interesting and it interests me. I think the German word is biolibegner, right? There was a bishop in the 18th century who joked that the only thing a serf possesses is a hungry belly. It's a sick joke, it's a terrible joke. And I think in part that answers a question, how close were serfs to the abyss? Yeah, they were right on it, clinging on by their fingers at particular points. Yeah, that's my answer to that, yeah. Very close. Yeah, I'm sorry that's got to be it. Yeah, sorry, we could signal from the back there. No, no, no, we just, sorry. That wasn't aimed at you at all. I'm so grateful for you to have you here. And well, let's have a big applause again. Thank you so much, that was very interesting.