3D printing is on the rise and is becoming an increasingly popular technology and one that is no longer reserved for scientists and engineers.
With the launch of the 3D printing lab at U of T in October — which was initiated through a joint effort between the Gerstein Science Information Centre and MADlab — students, staff and faculty now have the opportunity to flex their creative muscles and produce small-scale models of nearly anything they can imagine.
However, access to this kind of printing power comes with a great deal of responsibility and liability.
The technology, which layers hair-thin strands of melted polyactic acid (PLA) atop one another in order to create a computer generated design, is able to produce 3D models of virtually any design users input into a specially programmed computer system.
This is where a multitude of problems tend to arise.
Once the technology is commercialized, 3D technology will allow the general public to create any 3D object to scale, which has the potential to attract an array of customers, some who may be planning on printing objects more devious than model cars or plastic jewellery.
U of T has already faced controversy for enabling the printing of a handgun by one of its research labs. Although the gun was intentionally printed with missing key components, effectively disabling the weapon, the dangers of what can be printed with these new machines was subsequently brought to the fore.
Although 3D printers have the capability to print guns, the mass-production of weapons is not the main issue manufacturers have to worry about, in terms of mass marketing and commercially selling 3D printers. The main issue plaguing the success of 3D printing is user-friendliness compounded with impracticality.
Many of us cannot even operate our own desktop or office printers without them malfunctioning, running out of toner, or experiencing the dreaded paper-jam. Adding another dimension to the mix will more than likely result in an information overload — increasing the likelihood of user error, followed by user frustration and finally abandoning a project altogether.
Even at U of T, students wishing to use the 3D printer at the Gerstein MADLab must complete a slew of tests, in-person information sessions, and view an assortment of online tutorial videos on how to properly use the printing devices in the lab.
For the majority of students and general public whose knowledge of this sort of technology is limited to 3D glasses and view-finders, the biggest issue will not be how to sell and market their illicit, DIY weapons, but rather how to use the machines without the instruction of an in-depth, user safety and proficiency training session, like the one facilitated by Gerstein and MADlab.
Although 3D printing is revolutionizing the scientific and medical fields, providing doctors, engineers and scientists alike with the opportunity to print organs, limbs, and even foetuses, the same technology is neither practical nor universally marketable.
Rachel Armstrong, writing in the Architectural Review, frames the issue of materiality as “an artisan practice for an oligarchy of enthusiastic designers” and that 3D printing is a medium for which marketing gurus can “extoll the virtues of ‘organic-looking’ shapes.”
That being said, outside the realms of health care and engineering, there is a very limited market for 3D technology. Sure, like any new piece of technology there will be a momentary buzz of excitement and anticipation, much like the release of a new iPhone. However, the buyers of these machines will be limited to tech-gurus and hobbyists. For the rest of us materialistic consumers, why would we print something when we could just buy it?
Emma Kikulis is an associate comment editor at The Varsity. She is studying sociology and English. Her column appears bi-weekly.
