We are moving into a time when ever more subtle accommodations of human and machine are possible, enticing us into participation — virtual computer environments, medical implants, smart appliances, smart cars, smart houses. Streams of information and energy insinuate themselves into conversation with the human nervous system, at ever higher frequencies and bandwidths. Both Andrew Tomasulo and Chris Vecchio use their scientific training (graduate study in electronic music, and a Ph.D. in electrical engineering respectively) to make technology a means of expression, fashioning thought-provoking riffs on our evolving relationship to new technologies.

Chris Vecchio's new work, combining small dial-face meters with bleached animal bones, give us an equation for symbiosis of machine and body that might disturb some, but not the artist. The ticking machine-heart enthroned on a pile of bones (Evolution) also recalls the opening scene of this year's iconic film, 2001: the bone tool underlying its shinier, more articulated descendants. In Evidence of Toolmaking I the meter's battery pack is ensconced in a vertebra, suggesting some ultimate union of the nervous system and its electronic extensions. Vecchio's Poetron, apparently a compact metallic box, broadcasts speech-synthesized haiku on a very low-power radio frequency. Considered as 'electromagnetic sculpture' (his description), it extends to a larger, wall-dissolving circle, importuning passersby with its musings.

Andrew Tomasulo's Non-electroplasmic Limb Deflector is a visually striking and elegant demonstration of the kind of intermodal sensitivity that underlies our ever-more electronically interactive surroundings. Six huge hanging sheets of clear mylar, each responsive to signals fed through a single wire, translate those signals directly into sound. Each sheet quivers visibly with the sound vibrations, and these throw out a rippling, ever-changing flow of reflected light from the mylar surfaces to each other and the surrounding room. The title teases; though highly interactive with itself, the piece will not deflect anyone's limbs. The mylar sheets are more like sensitive, undifferentiated bodies for whom limbs would be obsolete, dematerializing before our eyes into a bank of glimmering screens. Both artists play with the deep structure of technologies that are with us already. A world with walls that talk and listen, and bodies that tick and whir, is virtually here — there's just the matter of making ourselves comfortable in it.