When I think about computer vision, what interests me most is how strange it feels to give a machine the ability to “see.” Human vision is so automatic and seamless that we don’t really think about it, but when you translate it into algorithms, you realize how fragile and mechanical that process is. I find it fascinating that a computer can pick up tiny details that our eyes might not notice, yet at the same time, it can completely miss the “big picture.” That makes me wonder whether computer vision is really about replicating human vision at all, or if it’s creating an entirely different way of perceiving the world.
What I find both exciting and unsettling is how computer vision plays with control. On one hand, it can feel magical when an artwork follows your movements, responds to your gestures, or acknowledges your presence (like in TeamLab). There’s an intimacy there, like the piece is aware of you in a way that a static painting could never be. On the other hand, I can’t help but think about surveillance every time I see a camera in an installation. Am I part of the artwork, or am I being monitored? That ambiguity is powerful, but it also puts a lot of responsibility on the artist to think about how they’re using the technology.
For me, the most interesting potential of computer vision in interactive art isn’t just the novelty of tracking people, but the chance to reflect on our relationship with being watched. In a world where surveillance cameras are everywhere, an artwork that uses computer vision almost automatically becomes a commentary on power and visibility, whether or not the artist intends it. I think that’s what makes the medium so rich: it’s not just about making art “see,” it’s about making us more aware of how we are seen.