For my project, I was inspired from the gym leg adductor machine where you have to close your legs against weight to work on your inner thigh muscle. I created the circuit just like in class but I added the 2 strips of copper tape on my inner thigh so that they when the legs were closed, the electricity would flow through. I also added crocodile clips just to extend the length of the circuit.
I drew a rough schematic on how I wanted the system to work.
There is something profoundly magical about receiving affection: a hand that reaches out, a presence that wraps you in warmth, a small gesture that makes the world feel less heavy. Love, in its quietest form, has the power to make us feel seen, valued, and alive. Through my project, I wanted to explore that invisible current the emotional electricity that flows between two people who care for each other.
The interactive piece symbolizes the way love and connection illuminate us. When you touch the hand of someone you love, or even move close enough to feel their presence, your heart lights up not just metaphorically, but literally within the work. The glowing heart represents how affection has the power to activate something deep within us, a light that reminds us we are not alone.
Demo Video:
Future Improvement:
If I had more time, I would have expanded the project to include sound and more expressive lighting to create a deeper emotional experience. I would have added soft heartbeats, ambient sounds, or even gentle whispers that respond to movement and proximity. As two people approach each other, the soundscape could evolve, symbolizing how connection changes both our inner feelings and the atmosphere around us.
I also would have made the heart light more dynamic by allowing it to change color and rhythm based on the kind of relationship or emotion being expressed. Warm tones could represent comfort and love, cooler shades could suggest distance or nostalgia, and rhythmic pulses could express moments of excitement and joy. These additions would transform the project into a poetic language of sound and light, a more immersive way to express how love and presence illuminate our lives.
Step-On Switch: An Unusual Arduino Foot-Activated Circuit
Overview:
For my first Arduino assignment, I created an unusual switch that does not require the use of hands. My switch is activated by pressing it with the foot, completing the circuit to light up two LEDs (red and blue). The idea was to create a physical interface that feels natural, intuitive, and accessible, something that could fit into everyday gestures like stepping, rather than pressing buttons with fingers.
Inspiration:
I was inspired to use the feet after thinking about how often we interact with objects using our hands, keyboards, phones, remotes, and how limiting that can be. I wanted to explore another part of the body to interact with technology in a more grounded and physical way.
The foot felt like an interesting choice because stepping on something has a clear and satisfying feedback, it’s an action that already feels like a switch. Plus, it connected to the idea of accessibility, making a device that could be triggered without hand movement.
Building Process
Since this was my first time ever using Arduino, I learned a lot through trial and error and by asking questions in the IM Lab. I gathered all the materials from the lab, mainly cardboard scraps, metal sheets, and wires.
Here’s how I built it:
Overall Reflection:
I really enjoyed how hands-on this project was, literally using my feet instead of my hands. It helped me see how electronics can interact with the body in playful, unexpected ways. I liked that the result felt tactile and responsive, and it gave a sense of satisfaction when the LEDs lit up under my foot.
What I could improve next time:
Schematic:
This schematic illustrates how my foot-activated switch completes the circuit to power the red and blue LEDs. The 5V output from the Arduino flows through the LEDs and a 330Ω resistor to limit current. The circuit remains open until the metal conductor plates make contact, this happens when I press the cardboard switch with my foot. Once pressed, the metal pieces touch, closing the circuit and allowing current to flow, which lights up both LEDs. This simple setup demonstrates the bones of how my arduino circuit work and was the plan I followed to make building this project much easier.
Conclusion
This project taught me the basics of Arduino, digital input/output, and how creative thinking can shape how we interact with technology. Building a switch with my foot instead of my hand made me realize that interfaces don’t always need to follow convention, they can be playful, personal, and unexpected.
I’ve always been fascinated by pressure sensors – the way a simple press or change in force can trigger something to happen. You see them everywhere: in home alarm systems, automatic doors, and even in those dramatic scenes from Mission Impossible, where a character steps on the wrong tile and sets off a trap. That kind of precision and sensitivity has always intrigued me. So, when I realized I could actually build one myself, I thought, why not?
The concept seemed simple enough at first: a pressure-activated switch that lights up an LED when you press on it. But I didn’t want to make something tiny that would trigger with a fingertip, I wanted it to react only to real weight or force. My vision was to create a larger pressure pad, something that felt closer to those movie sensors that go off when someone steps on them. I figured, “How hard could it be?” Spoiler: harder than I thought.
In the beginning, I tried to build everything at once , the sensor pad made from cardboard and aluminum foil layers, and the circuit on the breadboard. The problem was, when it didn’t work, I had no idea why it wasn’t working. Was it a loose connection? Or had I messed up the circuit itself? I went back and forth for a while, trying to fix both at the same time, which honestly just made it more confusing.
To make things worse, I started out using thin copper wire, thinking it would be neat and professional-looking. But those wires didn’t hold contact well at all, every time I moved the board a little, the connection would break. After a few frustrating tries, I switched to jumper wires, which made testing much easier. Around that point, I decided to simplify the problem by building a smaller version first. I wanted to prove the circuit worked before investing time into rebuilding the big pressure pad again.
I realized the key was to finish and test the circuit first basically, to complete the LED and resistor setup with two extra test wires, make sure it lit up when the wires touched, and then integrate those wires into the foil pad. Once I took that approach, the small version worked flawlessly, and then the larger version came together perfectly afterward.
I first used a green LED just to test the circuit, but later I wanted the project to feel more meaningful. I chose red instead not just because it looked like an alarm color, but because it represents the anxiety and tension that come with pressure. It’s a small change, but it gave the whole project a deeper meaning.
Here’s the video demonstration of both the small and large versions of my pressure sensor project.
Concept
The idea behind this project is to create a hands-free switch that uses body weight to control a simple electrical circuit. When someone sits down, the pressure causes two layers of aluminum foil, separated by a bouncy piece of foam, to touch, completing the circuit and lighting up an LED. When the person stands up, the foam returns to its original shape, breaking the connection and turning the light off. This project demonstrates how everyday materials like foil and foam can be turned into a functional pressure-sensitive switch, showing how creative design and basic electronics can work together to make an interactive, responsive object.
Image & Video Documentation
Future Improvements
In future versions, the pressure switch could be made more durable and precise by replacing the foil with conductive fabric or copper tape, and using a softer, more uniform spacer material to ensure consistent contact. It could also be used to trigger more complex outputs, such as sounds, animations, or notifications, when someone sits down. Equally important, it could also be made more aesthetically pleasing by adding color and by making it smaller, making it not only functional but also a cute device to have hidden somewhere, such as on a chair.
Concept
This project takes inspiration from the dual-manual organ, an instrument that engages both the hands and feet to create layered musical expression. Similarly, I wanted to explore how interaction not only through hands can become a creative control method. I built a pedal-activated LED system, allowing the user to light up different colors by stepping instead of using their hands. The choice of red, yellow, and green LEDs draws directly from the universal language of traffic lights, symbolizing stop, pause, and go, which could creates a visual rhythm that also parallels musical tempo. The pedal thus becomes both a practical switch and a metaphor for coordination and rhythm through movement.
Image & Video Documentations
Video(Download)
Future Improvements
Building this project helped me better understand how simple sensors and physical actions can create meaningful interaction. The foot-controlled design felt intuitive and playful, emphasizing how movement can extend beyond the hands in creative electronics. However, I also noticed that the current version only allows a binary on-off behavior. In the future, I’d like to make it more expressive, for example, by integrating pressure sensors so that the brightness or color changes based on how hard the pedal is pressed, or adding a fade-in/out animation for a smoother, more musical response. Another possible direction is to connect the pedal to sound or musical output, letting each color correspond to a tone similar to the dual-keyboard organ.
If good design induces positive emotion, why do bad designs exist?
For a long time, I thought good designs not “nice-to-haves”, because it would take much mental efforts for me to even open an app I don’t like. Norman’s piece reinforced my belief, and I started noticing how intentional UX design can guide positive feelings. If good design makes users happier (and presumably more loyal), why would anyone create something clunky or unpleasant?
One big reason is cost. Last year, I bought a cheap disposable raincoat for a trip. It was thin, the buttons fell off easily, and it didn’t even cover my shoulders properly. The design was terrible, but it cost $5 compared to a $50 waterproof jacket that would’ve lasted years. For the brand, the goal was to sell a low-cost, single-use product, not to create something that felt good to wear. Good design here would’ve raised production costs, which didn’t align with their business model.
Another reason is misaligned priorities. I’ve used software for courses that’s so confusing—not p5.js, but it would be fair to mention Arduino IDE and most Adobe offerings. The team behind it probably focused solely on function, “Does it track data, can it be integrated with all hardware?” They forgot to ask, “Will this feel easy to use?” Maybe they were rushed to launch, or thought “usability” was less important than checking off feature lists.
There are also cases of designing for the wrong user. I’ve read about stories where the visually impaired struggles with many “well-designed” apps, with all the bright colors that blur together, tiny text, no screen-reader support. The designers may have imagined a “typical” user and didn’t consider how their choices would exclude others. Poor design is a lack of empathy for diverse needs.
Is software engineering compatible with good design?
Software engineering becomes non-negotiable in high-risk, high-pressure contexts, most probably the world Hamilton worked in. When a product’s failure could mean disaster (e.g., a space mission, a medical device, or a banking app), engineering ensures no crashes, no glitches, no errors that cost lives or money. Overall, reliability. I think about Apollo 11. If Hamilton’s code hadn’t detected and fixed the P01 flaw mid-flight, the moon landing must’ve failed. In that case, engineering wasn’t just “important” but existential.
But engineering and good design don’t conflict, but rather complement each other. Engineering builds the “trust” (i.e., will a product work when I need it?), and good design builds the “connection” (i.e., will it be easy, intuitive, and after all nice to use?). Take the Wio banking app as an example. Its engineering ensures my transactions are secure and fast, and its clear, low-jargon design makes it easy to check my balance or transfer money. If the app crashed every time I used it, its pretty interface wouldn’t matter. If it worked perfectly but was impossible to navigate, I’d switch to another bank.
This week’s readings were definitely something refreshing to analyze as I agreed with the authors notion that physical computing is less about the devices themselves and more about the relationships they create between people and machines. In “Physical Computing’s Greatest Hits (and misses),” the authors critique of overly complicated projects made me question how often creators mistake complexity for creativity. I found his idea that “the simpler interaction is the more meaningful one” especially relatable. It reminded me of minimalist interactive artworks like Rafael Lozano-Hemmer’s Pulse Room, where a simple heartbeat sensor becomes a profound collective experience. The authors argument made me reflect on my own tendency to prioritize aesthetic or technical sophistication over intuitive engagement from the audience.
In “Making Interactive Art: Set the Stage, Then Shut Up,” his metaphor of the artist as a stage-setter really reframed how I think about authorship. I used to believe that creators should guide the audience toward a specific emotional reaction, but this readings insistence on letting the user finish the work through participation challenged that assumption. It raises the question: where does authorship end in interactive media? Is the true art in the design, or in the unpredictability of human interaction?
Both readings pushed me to see interactivity as a dialogue rather than a display. They align with theories I’ve encountered in my Interactive Media classes, especially discussions around user agency and co-creation. Ultimately, The authors perspective helped me realize that successful interactive work doesn’t shout, it listens. These readings made me rethink what it actually means to design something interactive. I used to believe that making an interactive project meant using as much technology as possible to impress people. But the ideas these readings assert is that the simpler interaction is often the more meaningful one, which really clicked with me. It made me realize that interaction isn’t about showing off sensors or screens, it’s about designing moments that feel natural. I thought about projects I’ve made where the tech took over the experience, and how maybe, the more invisible it becomes, the more powerful the interaction actually is.
The balance between aesthetics and usefulness has always been a hot topic. My perspective on beauty and productivity is that if something does its job well, that is enough. I used to value productivity more than aesthetics. According to the reading, for a product to be truly beautiful, it “has to fulfill a useful function, work well, and be usable and understandable” (p. 7). I agree with this idea because if a product does not serve its intended purpose, it fails to justify its existence.
However, in reality, this is not always the case. Take Apple, for example. People love Apple products because they are well-designed and undeniably beautiful. Yet, in terms of productivity, they may not always be the most practical option. MacBooks, for instance, perform most of the functions that a laptop should, but they lack a USB port. While users can buy external hubs, many find it inconvenient and would prefer at least one built-in port. Despite this, people continue to buy MacBooks. The success of Apple’s stock market performance suggests that many consumers value aesthetics just as much as, or even more than, productivity.
The next reading, about the code that helped send people to the moon, reminded me of the importance of checking and rechecking every detail. It shows why it is essential to anticipate every possible error, even those that seem unlikely or unnecessary. Launching the P01 program midflight might have seemed like a situation that would never occur, but it did. If Lauren had not accounted for this scenario, the outcome for Jim Lovell and the mission could have been very different.
Attractive things Work Better
I’ve always noticed how looks can open doors. It’s something people like to call pretty privilege. In most industries, they prefer someone who has good looks. You see it everywhere at the airport check-in counter where the smiling, well-dressed staff makes you feel calm, or in a company that hires someone polished to sit at the front desk because, somehow, they represent the brand better.
We are naturally drawn to beauty, whether it’s a charming smile or a sleek phone screen. Companies know this; that’s why a tech gadget with a glowing logo or a car with smooth curves often sells better than a clunky but equally powerful competitor. Don Norman’s idea that “attractive things work better” isn’t just about vanity. it’s about psychology.
A MacBook isn’t the fastest laptop in the world, and yet when we open that smooth aluminum case and feel the satisfying click of the keys, we tend to believe it’s faster, smarter, and somehow more capable. The elegant design creates a sense of trust and delight that shapes how we experience the product. The beauty of it literally makes us think it works better.
Attractive design doesn’t just sell. It softens us. It makes us more patient with flaws, more forgiving of errors, and more willing to explore. That’s the secret power of beauty: it opens the door for better experiences.
Norman explains this beautifully in “Attractive Things Work Better.” He talks about how our emotions influence the way we interact with the world. When something looks good, it makes us feel good and when we feel good, we actually perform better. He even gives a simple example: imagine walking on a wooden plank that’s safely on the ground you’d stroll across without a second thought. But put that same plank high in the air, and suddenly, your fear takes over, your body stiffens, and it becomes ten times harder. The situation didn’t change; your feelings did.
That’s what happens with design too. When we see something beautiful like a teapot with elegant curves or a smartphone that feels right in our hands it puts us in a positive mood. We become more relaxed, more open, and surprisingly, even more creative. Norman calls this the power of positive affect. It’s why we forgive a beautiful product for small flaws but get frustrated quickly with an ugly one, even if it works just as well.
So when I think about “pretty privilege,” it’s not just about faces or appearances it’s about how beauty changes behavior. Attractive people, like attractive designs, create comfort and trust before a single word is spoken or a single button is pressed. And through this text, I feel like it helped me see that aesthetics aren’t shallow; they’re psychological. Beauty works because it changes us somehow.
Her Code Got Humans On The Moon — And Invented Software Itself
When I was in eighth grade, our school hosted a movie event through a club called Global Female in STEM (Science Technology Engineering and Mathematics). They showed movie called “Hidden Figures” which is the story of three brilliant African-American women, Katherine Johnson, Dorothy Vaughan, and Mary Jackson, whose work made NASA’s early space missions possible. I remember sitting there, completely mesmerized, realizing for the first time how many women had shaped history from behind the scenes, only to have their names forgotten.
Since that day, I’ve carried a quiet admiration, and maybe a little fire, for women in STEM who were never given the recognition they deserved. Now, as a Computer Science major myself, I’ve felt small moments of that same bias. Sometimes, it’s a look that says “are you sure you can do this?” It’s subtle, but it stings like being told you have to prove your worth twice before anyone believes it once.
That’s why reading about Margaret Hamilton hit differently and fill me up with pride. Here was a woman in the 1960s, leading a team at MIT, writing code that would land humans on the moon all while raising her daughter.
The image of her bringing her little girl to the lab late at night felt so familiar. My mom, also a working mother in STEM, used to take me to her computer lab when I used to be alone. Margaret’s story reminded me of my mother of every woman who’s ever juggled passion, work, and motherhood with quiet strength.
What moved me most was how Margaret didn’t just write code; she invented software engineering itself. She gave structure, respect, and permanence to something the world didn’t even consider a real science yet. And when her code saved the Apollo 11 mission, it wasn’t just a victory for NASA. It was proof that brilliance has no gender.
Reading her story filled me with pride. It made me realize that every time a woman like Margaret Hamilton, or my mother, or even I sit behind a computer and type, we’re not just writing code. We’re continuing a legacy.
