As we neared the due date of our final project, we were asked to conduct user testing prior to our submission.

I had two of my friends play my game, after which I had them give me feedback on what they liked, what they disliked, and any other features.

User Testing 1

User testing 2

From their experience, I was able to gain valuable insight into what I could improve in my game.

What I needed to add:

• An Instructions Screen: the gameplay mechanic wasn’t immediately obvious to anyone who played, so I implemented an instructions screen within my game that the user would have to go through if they wanted to play the game.
• Faster turnout time between rounds: Each new “round” of the game was taking a really long time to load, so I shortened the time between the pattern displaying
• User Interactivity: Another thing I noticed was that there was a slight delay between when the user clicked the button connected to my Arduino and the button lighting up and playing a sound, so I had to go back to my Arduino code and integrate a debouncing delay, so that the experience felt more seamless

I plan to integrate these within my game for a more polished and complete feeling, taking into account their criticisms to improve.

Final Concept: Motion-Activated Mini Garden Visualizer

My final project is the Motion-Activated Mini Garden Visualizer—an interactive installation that uses an ultrasonic sensor and individualLEDs embedded in miniature garden that I built. The project simulates how a garden might come to life in response to presence and movement. Instead of using a microphone to detect sound, the system now detects distance and motion. As a person approaches, LEDs light up in various colors, mimicking the way plants might react to human presence.

This visual experience is enhanced by a P5.js sketch that features lava lamp-inspired blobs. These blobs move and shift color based on proximity—creating a unified physical-digital display that changes in mood depending on how close someone is to the garden.

Why These Changes Were Made

Originally, the project was a mood tree visualize using an LED strip and microphone sensor. However, due to hardware limitations (the Arduino could only power 5 LEDs reliably), I shifted to using individual LED lights. At the same time, I replaced the microphone sensor with an ultrasonic sensor to create a more responsive and stable interaction system. These changes also allowed me to design a mini garden setup that feels more visually integrated and conceptually clear.

Real-World Relevance & Future Use Cases

This concept has real potential for garden and farm environments:

In gardens it could act as a calming, responsive lighting system.
On farms, the same setup could help detect animals like foxes approaching livestock (e.g., sheep). In the future, it could be upgraded with:

Sirens or alerts- when something comes too close.
Automatic light deterrents- to scare animals away.
Wireless notifications- to a user’s phone.

User Testing Reflection

I conducted user testing without providing any instructions, observing how people interacted with the installation:

What worked well:
Users naturally moved closer to the garden and quickly noticed that proximity activated the lights**. The more they explored, the more they connected movement with the garden’s glowing response.

What caused confusion:
each lights colour meant what- where was the sensor exactly

What I had to explain:
I explained the system was using

motion sensing was a bit confusing , and once clarified, users became more engaged.

How I’ll improve the experience:
To make it clearer, I plan to place a small instruction that says:
“Walk closer to bring the garden to life.”
This subtle cue will help guide new users and enhance intuitive interaction.

Final Thoughts

Changing from sound-based input to motion-based sensing not only solved technical challenges, but also made the experience smoother and more immersive. The use of single LEDs in a mini garden created a more grounded and intimate installation. These changes—while unplanned—ultimately led to a more thoughtful, future-facing project that bridges creative expression with real-world functionality.

The video:

https://drive.google.com/drive/u/0/folders/1Kk2lkQgoAyybXSYWVmY2Dog9uQVX_DMq

 

 

 

This week’s reading stayed with me more than any other. It made me think about how disability is usually approached through design, not with pride, but with silence. So many assistive devices are made to blend in, to be as invisible as possible. But what if visibility is the point? What if difference is not something to hide? This prosthetic eye with a small butterfly detail says more than a thousand clean, neutral medical devices ever could. It does not pretend to be a real eye. It says, I am here. I am not hiding.

This prosthetic eye doesn’t try to hide. It turns a medical object into a moment of expression.

That reminded me of how often people are taught to minimize themselves. To shrink into what is considered normal. Even in design school, we are often told to prioritize simplicity and universality, which sometimes ends up erasing complexity and identity. The reading showed how glasses once carried shame, but now they are fashion. We pick them in colors, shapes, and moods. That change happened because someone dared to design with beauty in mind, not because they tried to make glasses disappear.

The part about Aimee Mullins was especially striking. She does not just wear prosthetic legs. She expresses herself through them. Some are made of carved wood. Some are translucent. Some are bold and sculptural. They are not about fitting in. They are about standing in her truth. That made me wonder why assistive design is still expected to be beige, flat, and purely functional. Why do we still act like blending in is better than standing out?

This reading helped me realize something personal. I have spent so much time trying to design things that are clean, minimal, and safe. But rarely have I asked myself if they help someone feel more like themselves. That is the kind of work I want to make going forward. Not just design that works, but design that empowers. Not just access, but expression.

Owning yourself is powerful. It means showing up as you are, even when the world wants you to stay small. And design should not be about helping people disappear. It should be about helping them be seen.

Bret Victor’s rant made me realize how passive we’ve become about the future of design. It’s not just that we’re stuck with screens, but that we’ve stopped questioning them. Everyone seems satisfied with touchscreens and voice assistants, as if that’s all interaction could ever be. What bothered me most is the lack of imagination. For a field that’s supposed to be creative, interaction design has become weirdly repetitive.

What stood out in the responses is that Victor isn’t against progress — he’s against settling. He points out that the tech world keeps selling the same ideas with slightly updated hardware, but very little actual vision. That feels especially relevant now, when even “futuristic” designs are just smoother versions of old things. I found myself wondering how often I do the same in my own projects. Am I just remixing what already exists, or am I really thinking about what interaction could become?

This made me think more about risk. It’s easier to build something people already understand, even if it’s a little boring. But real design, the kind Victor is asking for, takes more risk. It asks what else we could be doing, not just what works today. I want to start asking those questions earlier in my process, not just at the end when everything feels finished.

Physical Computing’s Greatest Hits (and misses)

I often feel like nothing is original anymore. Every time I come up with an idea, I search it and find five people who have already done it, sometimes in more impressive ways. That can be discouraging. It makes me wonder what the point is if everything has already been made. But reading Tom Igoe’s piece helped shift that mindset. He talks about the “greatest hits” of physical computing — projects like musical gloves or motion-controlled sounds — not as clichés, but as classic forms that people keep coming back to. These ideas repeat because they are approachable, fun, and full of room for variation.

What I appreciated most was the reminder that repetition doesn’t cancel out creativity. A musical glove might not be new, but the way I make it, the story I tell through it, and how I design the experience can still feel personal. Igoe encouraged adding a twist, and that made me realize I do not have to be original in concept, but in execution.

I also liked his point about meaningful gestures. A motion that triggers a sound might technically work, but if the movement feels random or doesn’t make sense in the context, the interaction loses impact. That made me think more critically about how I design user input. I want people to feel like what they do matters, and that their actions are met with responses that feel natural and thoughtful. That, to me, is the real magic of interaction.

Making Interactive Art: Set the Stage, Then Shut Up and Listen

Tom Igoe’s post made me realize I often over-explain my work. I worry people won’t get it unless I guide them, but he makes a strong case for stepping back. In interactive art, it’s not just about what I make. It’s about what the audience does with it.

I liked how he compared it to setting a stage. I provide the space and tools, but the audience brings it to life. That means accepting unexpected interpretations and trusting the piece to speak for itself. I think good design should be guidance enough. If the design is clear and intentional, it should naturally lead the audience through the experience without me having to explain everything.

Moving forward, I want to create work that invites exploration without over-directing. That kind of openness feels more honest and more meaningful.

Emotion & Design: Attractive things work better

This week’s reading made me laugh a little because it called me out directly. Norman’s idea that attractive things work better really stuck with me, but not because I think they literally work better. It’s because they make us feel better about them. That feeling changes how we treat the object. Case in point: this pink-bow mug I saw online. I would buy it instantly just because it’s cute. But if I actually tried drinking from it, I know the bow handle would probably poke me in the eye. And yet, I still want it.

I would 100% buy this, and it would 100% poke my eye.

It reminded me of how we collect things like stickers or fancy stationery just to admire them and never actually use them. Sometimes, function becomes secondary when something looks good enough. Norman makes the case that beauty improves usability by creating positive emotions, but I think this also raises a bigger question. How far are we willing to let go of functionality just to have something pretty? And when does that stop being design and start becoming decoration? It’s something I want to think about more in my own work. I still want my interactive projects to function well, but maybe it’s okay to prioritize joy and visual pleasure too. Sometimes, looking at something beautiful is the function.

Her Code Got Humans on the Moon

Reading about Margaret Hamilton reminded me why I love creative tech in the first place. She wasn’t just writing code. She was building the foundation of what software could even be. What really stood out to me wasn’t only that she helped put people on the moon, but that she did it at a time when software engineering wasn’t even considered real engineering. She coined the term herself because nobody else was giving it the weight it deserved. That says a lot about the kind of vision she had. She wasn’t just part of the system. She was defining it.

What I found especially inspiring was her mindset around error handling. She didn’t assume the user would always follow instructions perfectly. She designed with failure in mind, and made sure the code could still function under pressure or human error. That’s a mindset I want to carry into my own work, especially when building interactive projects. Not everything needs to be perfect, but it should be ready for the unexpected. That’s not just smart coding, it’s thoughtful design. The user might not always know what to do, but the system should be kind enough to keep going.

 

When I look at this photo of a seal and a puppy that somehow look like long-lost twins, my human brain gets the joke instantly. I can tell they’re two different animals, and I also get why they’re being compared. There’s context, humor, and visual nuance involved. But for a computer, that kind of recognition isn’t simple. Computer vision doesn’t work like human vision. We interpret meaning and emotion, while a computer just sees pixels, shapes, and patterns. Golan Levin’s essay really drove that home. Computers are not seeing the world, they’re processing data through whatever narrow lens we’ve given them.

To help computers understand what we want them to track, we use things like face detection, color tracking, optical flow, and trained models. These tools help narrow the field and make the computer’s “guess” more accurate. But still, it’s guessing. A puppy that looks like a seal might completely throw it off if the system wasn’t trained on edge cases like this. That’s part of what makes working with computer vision both fascinating and fragile.

In interactive art, computer vision opens up exciting possibilities. We can create responsive environments, playful installations, and performances that react to motion and presence. But the same tools are also used in surveillance and monitoring. There’s a tension between creativity and control that we can’t ignore. As an artist, I think it’s important to design with awareness. Just because the system can track someone doesn’t mean it should. I want to create interactions that feel intentional and thoughtful, not invasive. At the end of the day, I want the system to respond with care, not just accuracy.

For this week’s production assignment on data visualization and generative artwork, I wanted to capture a very real and very dramatic part of my daily life: my cat Pieni’s obsession with food. Even when she’s been fed every single time she still manages to ask for more like she hasn’t eaten in centuries.

So I thought, why not visualize her lies?

Concept:

This project is a simple, animated bar chart that compares two things across a typical day:

• How many times I actually fed Pieni

• How many times she asked for food anyway

How It Works

Each time slot (from 8AM to 8PM) has two bars:

• A light blue bar representing the single time I fed her (yep, I did my part).

• A dark blue bar that pulses with animation to show how many times she pretended to be starving during that same period.

I added a slight pulsing animation to the begging bars to reflect how annoyingly persistent and dramatic her pleas are—even when her bowl is full.

Challenges & Decisions

While this project wasn’t technically hard, the main challenge was design clarity. I didn’t want it to look like a boring spreadsheet. I wanted it to be:

• Aesthetic and cat-meme friendly

• Easy to understand at a glance

• Somewhat interactive (through animation)

I spent a bit of time tweaking:

• The color scheme (cool blues)

• Bar spacing and layout

• Centering and visual alignment

• The legend—cleanly placed in the top-right instead of labeling every bar

What I Learned

This week helped reinforce how storytelling and humor can make even simple data visualizations fun and engaging. It also helped me practice:

• Pulse animation with sin() for movement

• Using clean design principles in p5.js

• Balancing simplicity with personality

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.