Why We Love Things We Can Yell At: The Joy of Simple Interactions in Physical Computing
Have you ever wondered why it’s so satisfying to yell at things, and even more so when those things respond? One idea from the article “Physical Computing’s Greatest Hits (and misses)” particularly stood out to me: the visceral pleasure people experience when interacting through yelling or loud noises.
There’s something fundamentally cathartic about making noise—perhaps it’s the primal simplicity or the sheer emotional release of shouting out loud. Now, combine this human instinct with technology, and you’ve got an instant recipe for delight. Projects like Christopher Paretti’s SpeedDial, which reacts simply to sound level, tap directly into our innate desire for immediate feedback.
But what makes this seemingly straightforward interaction so compelling? On the surface, it might feel gimmicky—after all, you’re just shouting at a microphone. Yet beneath that playful exterior, there’s a subtle layer of emotional connection. When a device instantly reacts to our voice, we feel heard—even if it’s just a blinking light or an animation triggered on-screen. There’s an emotional resonance in being acknowledged, even by an inanimate machine.
From a practical standpoint, these projects are remarkably accessible. Unlike complex systems relying on intricate gestures or detailed body tracking, shouting requires no special training or sophisticated movement—anyone can participate instantly. This ease-of-use encourages playful exploration and inclusivity. It democratizes the interaction, inviting everyone—from seasoned technologists to kids—to engage without hesitation.
However, simplicity doesn’t mean there’s no room for depth. The article hints at this by suggesting more sophisticated interactions like pitch detection or voice recognition, achievable on more powerful devices. Imagine yelling commands at your smart home system or your car responding differently depending on your tone of voice—there’s immense potential here.
At its core, the beauty of “things you yell at” lies in their simplicity and directness. They remind us that effective physical computing interactions don’t always need layers of complexity. Sometimes, the purest and most joyful connections between humans and technology arise from the most fundamental forms of expression.
Making Interactive Art: Set the Stage, Then Shut Up and Listen
There’s something refreshingly humbling about Making Interactive Art: Set the Stage, Then Shut Up and Listen. It gently nudges artists—especially those new to interactivity—toward a kind of creative ego check. The central message? Once you’ve built the world, let go. Really, let go. No guiding hand, no long-winded artist’s statement explaining what each LED, wire, or wooden block means. Just let people enter, experience, and respond.
And honestly, this advice hits at the core of what makes interactive art so compelling—and so tricky. Most of us come from traditions where art is this deeply personal monologue: Here’s what I think. Here’s what I feel. Please receive it. But interactive art flips that script. It’s not a monologue anymore. It’s a dialogue. Or better yet, a jam session.
What I really like about this piece is how it compares creating interactive art to directing actors—without micromanaging them. The idea that you don’t tell your actor what to feel, but rather create space for them to discover the emotion on their own, is such a smart analogy. It’s not about control. It’s about suggestion. Curation over explanation.
There’s something incredibly respectful in that approach. You’re treating your audience like active participants, not passive viewers. You’re saying: “I trust you to make something meaningful here, even if it’s not the meaning I imagined.” And that’s powerful. It also requires a certain vulnerability from the artist, because the outcome is never fully in your hands.
From a design perspective, that’s where things get really interesting. The choices you make—what you include, what you leave out, how you shape the space—aren’t about decoration or symbolism as much as they’re about affordance and invitation. Do I want someone to touch this? Then I better give it a handle. Want them to linger? Don’t make the space feel like a hallway.
So maybe the best takeaway from this essay is that interactive art is more about listening than speaking. It’s not about being understood in the traditional sense. It’s about being felt, experienced, and maybe even misunderstood—but in ways that are meaningful to the person engaging with it.
Set the stage. Then, really—shut up and listen.