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EFF attorney Julie Samuels would rejoice as much as anyone if that romanticized 3D print utopia came to fruition. But, she cautions, it would be extremely atypical for a high-tech industry. The thrust of Silicon Valley is toward acquisition and consolidation; Apple started as a hacker company and, 30 years later, it's a titan of Silicon Valley, protective of its innovations and embroiled in the biggest patent arms race in the world.
"What's really dangerous is this pervasive culture where innovation is measured by the number of patents you get," Samuels says. That already happened in the 3D print industry during the '80s. Now that the old patents are expiring the 3D print market is finally starting to mushroom, and scores of new enterprises are popping up where before there were just a few. But if the original inventors return to assert their patents, they could erase all that progress. We could be jerked righ back to the '80s, when a few powerful firms had a virtual 3D print monopoly. The cost of a 3D printer could shoot up to $20,000; the "revolution" could once again be confined to engineering departments in universities or well-heeled architecture firms. It would be neither plastic shit nor space food.
The notion of patent squatting has generated a knot of complicated emotions at Type A, which Rutter admits has begun filing patents. In the back room, designers squabble about what purpose a patent serves anyway. Is it a tool to protect property, a means to encourage innovation, or a blunt instrument for companies who have no other product? Is it a thing that once had meaning, but that has now become its own form of virtual currency?
Rutter takes the rather hard-line view that patents stifle new industries, and yet he grudgingly participates in the system. Patents are a way to attract investors, he says, and raise enough money to expand the company. They're also a shield in the event that Stratasys comes along and sues.
But even as Type A outgrows its DIY stage and opens an 8,000-square-foot manufacturing plant in San Leandro to accommodate its new production demands (20 machines a week, to start), Rutter maintains an open-source ethos. He's not turning Type A into a closed system but, rather, an "accessible source" business — meaning its design files aren't open for the general public to copy, but the founders allow tinkerers to mess with those designs.
Whatever potential there is for ready-made houses or fabricated food, it hangs on the balance of a healthy industry. Mid-level companies like Type A, which emerged with all the bright-eyed idealism of the open source movement, now have to solidify their place in the market. That means keeping up the pace of innovation while trying not to be sued, or devoured. It also means protecting their meager patent assets.
Yet Allen believes that the Type A staff shouldn't live in fear of a lawsuit. "Product cycles last about six months in 3D printing," he says, explaining that at least two new types of print machine will hit the market each year. That's faster than smartphones, which are already far too fast for the courts to keep up with; Apple and Samsung are still squabbling over products that have long since gone off the market.
It's just not that easy to forestall a high-tech revolution. Particularly one that can copy itself.
