When I first watched Casey Reas’ talk on chance operations at the beginning of the semester, I wasn’t entirely sure how to feel. Honestly, I was just ready to absorb whatever perspectives were being offered through different narratives. I’ve always been someone who likes control when I’m creating and knowing what’s going to happen, having a plan, getting things “right.” So the idea of building randomness into a project felt a little chaotic, maybe even risky. But Reas broke that tension down. He walked us through how he uses systems, chance, and instruction-based art to remove the artist’s ego from the process and let the artwork evolve in ways he couldn’t fully predict. The way he referenced John Cage and connected those ideas to computational art made it all click: randomness doesn’t mean lack of intent, it just shifts where the intent is. Reas isn’t just throwing things into the void and hoping for the best, he’s setting up a structure where randomness can still move freely. That clicked with me. It’s not about losing control entirely, it’s about creating a space where unexpected things can happen without everything falling apart. That made the idea of randomness feel a lot less intimidating and a lot more useful.
Since I’m writing this reflection a bit later in the semester, I’ve had more time to think about my own relationship to randomness—and honestly, I like randomness I can control. Total chaos just ends up looking like a muddy mess. I prefer when randomness happens within boundaries, where the outcome is still cohesive and intentional, even if it’s unpredictable. That’s the balance I’m drawn to: letting go a little, but not so much that the work loses meaning or direction. It’s about creating space for surprise, but still being able to call the final result your own.