Month: May 2025

After reading Norman, I kept thinking about how often I’ve felt genuinely embarrassed, not because I did something wrong, but because something was so badly designed that it made me look like I didn’t know what I was doing. I’ve blamed myself so many times for design failures, but Norman makes it clear that it’s not me, it’s the object. One thing that still annoys me is the sink setup at Dubai Airport. The soap, water, and dryer are all built into one sleek bar, with no sign telling you which part does what. You just keep waving your hands around and hope something responds. Sometimes the dryer blasts air when you’re trying to get soap, or nothing works at all. To make things worse, some mirrors have Dyson hand dryers built in, others have tissues hidden somewhere off to the side, and there’s no way to know without ducking and peeking like a crazy person. Norman’s point about discoverability and signifiers felt especially real here. One simple label could fix all of it.

In my interactive media work, I’m starting to think more about how people approach what I build. Norman’s ideas about system image and mental models stuck with me. If someone doesn’t know what they’re supposed to do when they see my sketch, I’ve already failed as a designer. In my  work, I try to make interactive elements obvious and responsive. If something is clickable, it should look like it. If something changes, the feedback should be clear. The goal is to make users feel confident and in control, not confused or hesitant. Good design doesn’t need to explain itself. It should just make sense.

After going through this week’s reading, I realized how often the word “interactive” gets thrown around. Chris Crawford makes a sharp distinction between reaction and interaction. Just because something responds doesn’t mean it’s truly interactive. For him, strong interaction happens only when a system “listens, thinks, and responds thoughtfully,” like a real conversation. He emphasizes that true interaction requires both sides to be active participants. That stuck with me, especially since we often label anything that reacts to input as interactive, even when it’s really just one-sided. I liked how Crawford stripped the term down to something clear. It’s not about bells and whistles, it’s about actual communication.

Looking back at my own p5.js sketches, I was intentional about making them gamified because I wanted them to feel interactive, not just look interactive. I wanted them to look more like a game than a GIF because only by interacting with an artwork do you really get to sense what went behind it and what it stands for. I love the effect of something actually happening because of a user’s input. It gives users a sense of presence, like they’re not just observing but actively shaping what unfolds. That moment of response makes people feel like they’re part of the piece, not just pressing buttons on the outside. It’s rewarding for both the user and the creator, and it’s the kind of experience I want to keep building on. To me, interactivity is a back-and-forth communication.

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.