What is a programming language, and what can it be? What does a programming language that is not imbued with values of efficiency, utility and terseness look like? Can a poem be a program? Can code be as compelling as the artifact it attempts to create? in:verse is an experiment and exploration to answer these questions.
Programming languages are associated with utility and efficiency, but for decades, programmers have been exploring the bounds and definitions of programming languages through the creation of impractical, whimsical and absurd languages — designed not for their utility value, but rather the experience they propose. Much like the constraints and rules that writers and poets use to fuel creativity, these “esoteric” languages present constraints that create space for different kinds of thinking, and posit new ways of examining the communication between humans and machines.
Inspired by this rich history, in:verse is a programming language and development environment with embedded values that stand in opposition to the languages we are accustomed to; where poetry is code, random chance is valued more than precision, and telling a story is valued more than succinct, terse code. It is an experiment in engaging a broader audience in the speculations of what a programming language can be.
in:verse allows writers to create visuals with words, to mold the language to their liking, and to effortlessly explore unusual variations to their programs — with the assurance that their programs will never crash. It presents a writer with a puzzle in three parts — writing a shader, which requires a different mode of thinking than most computational drawing tools; using a stack-based programming paradigm, that is rarely seen in mainstream programming languages; and telling a story or writing poetry within these constraints.
in:verse encourages writers to build worlds in their minds as they write programs; to indulge in the practice of constraint-based writing; to explore new modes of collaboration; to forgo the need for speed and efficiency; and to embrace uncertainty and a lack of control.
DisneylandToyFactory.com is a two-part critical art project made up of a satirical website and an ongoing 3D printing experiment. Through a repeated, cyclical process of 3D scanning and printing the same figurine of Mickey Mouse from a renowned Disney-branded Mold-A-Rama machine new, more compelling, figures are produced ,which are then advertised with satiric consumerist language on the accompanying website.
The 1960s and 70’s in the United States were the peak of popularity for a rare type of Disney vending machine called the Disneyland Toy Factory, which produced injection-molded Disney figurines on-demand at theme parks and zoos. DisneylandToyFactory.com is a satirical project in the lineage of these machines that instead allows the unpredictability of digital fabrication technology to reveal what Claudia Hart refers to as “expressiveness through imperfection”. The first part of this project is the objects themselves called “Mold-A-Rama Mickey”, a series of 3D printed replicas of an actual Toy Factory figure manipulated by a unique process of iterative 3D printing and scanning that produces sequential Mickey figures, in a way such that each is more deformed than the last. This morphing as a result of a theoretically lossless process reveals a more interesting, meaningful form as mediated by the idiosyncrasies of that process itself. The second component of DisneylandToyFactory.com is a website, serving as the contemporary replacement for the physical vending machine. The main page offers simplified and vague exaltations of “Mold-A-Rama Mickey”, claiming that, “thanks to the advancements of 3D printing” these collectibles can be printed on-demand and uniquely for every customer. The reality, however, is that each Mickey sold is actually just the latest iteration of the transformed figures from the cyclical 3D printing process. By framing this subversive concept in consumerist terms, it both offers a light jab at the emptiness of consumption as well as provides a stealthy way of bringing the resistance of this new more expressive object to more people. Finally, the artistic merit of the imperfections is further emphasized through the creation of high-quality resin versions of a selection of the figures, all glitches, and striations intact.
We all gotta get involved. As victims, participants, and spectators.
“Break the Silence” is a video installation that recreates the scenario of the seemingly harmless interactions with strangers in our life could have significant and pervasive psychological costs for women that they might not even be aware of.
That attempts to bring awareness of the concept that as a result of these seemingly harmless interactions, the sense of comfort and security of our daily life became the desperate needs for some people.
Shape of Memory is an introspective VR piece explores what shapes of memory your loved ones take and the stories that become entwined.
Shape of Memory is an introspective VR piece based around the events leading to my grandparent’s marriage. Central to this narrative is the act of dwelling, waiting, and patience in the face of the unknown – an act that has defined our lives within this global pandemic.
I chose to build out this narrative for two reasons, one as a homage to the past, and two, as a message for the future. My grandfather passed this fall and I developed a tiny ritual of holding this red jade necklace he gave me the last time I saw him. When I hold this necklace, our histories overlay, the conclusion of his illuminating my current state, what seems to be my intermission.
You start this experience by entering my room and sitting at my desk, making sure not to hit your head on the frame of my lofted bed, under which you will sit. Once seated, you turn to face the wall, the headset on a thin white desk that spans the width of the room. To your right, from the undercarriage of my bed frame, hangs the red jade necklace. You put the headset on and the room transforms into it’s virtual self, the majority of the clutter and detail absent. What does remain is the necklace. You go to pull it, both virtually and physically. As you hold onto the necklace, the wall in front of you begins to shift to the side, revealing a long hallway with cloth draped on either side. The narration begins, and you begin to glide slowly down the memory lane of my grandparent’s story, as remembered by my mother in loving detail, and virtually reconstructed and distorted by yours, truly. Although I don't ask you outright, I am curious to know what shapes of memory your loved ones take and the stories that become entwined.
In our increasingly time-sensitive and quantified lives and societies, clocks have become smaller and embedded themselves in the fabric of our society through their presence in all manner of objects and infrastructure, big or small. From the pacemakers to refrigerators to satellites, their quiet ticks govern the contours of our lives and we, humans have internalized their logic into the self-management of our lives. But most of us forget that clocks are a measure of *a* system of time, not *the* system of keeping time. Humans construct most of their meaning in the world qualitatively rather than quantitatively. While clocks give us numbers that give us equally spaced markers in a day, we still relate it through the lens of the changes in the surrounding phenomena like the environment, our human rhythms, and social/personal rituals. Even though clocks stare at us from the corner of almost every digital screen all around us and yet, they are woefully inadequate in communicating a ‘sense’ of time. The number 3.30 PM makes sense only if we relate to its relative position in a day or the position of the sun in the sky or the activities that are associated with that hour or the specific needs our bodies have during that time of the day. And in case, the environments, rituals, and rhythms are disrupted, we lose our sense of time completely as evidenced by most of us during our current corona life. My thesis began as a rumination around my fractured sense of time that has evolved into a journey through a written article, built experiments that I have lived with, and where I seek to construct a sense of time for myself that is instinctive rather than quantitative. For my final thesis, I have built a collection of timepieces that create a ‘sense’ of time by qualitatively displaying time as interpretive changes in natural and digital phenomena in my personal environment. By exploring this space of abstracting and creating qualitative phenomena out of data and living with it, I wish to reexamine our relationship with quantification and what it means to have a sense of data and how we live in the world.
A social VR experience where you are challenged to identify if the interaction is with a human or with a pre-programmed robot .
Artifice uses virtual reality technology to explore human connection.
Two players are invited to participate in Artifice. At the beginning of the experience, both players put on their VR headset in separate rooms. A narrator explains their individual missions. Player One is asked to serve as the judge to observe three robots' movements with the goal of identifying the other human player. Player Two serves as a performer in one of the robot avatar's body. Their crucial task is to perform different activities in the hope of demonstrating humanness and distinguishing him/herself from other pre-programmed robots.Hopefully this experience will spark a conversation about the reasoning behind their decision-making and share their uncanny valley experience together.
Artifice invites two participants to explore an alternate reality that takes place in a post-epidemic world.. At Artifice lab, a tech company provides a service allowing human consciousness to be uploaded to a robot. This service is often utilized by family members of the deceased who are not ready to let go of their loved ones. After consciousness is uploaded to a new body, the person no longer has to worry about aging and illness. However, there are overwhelming demands for this service. In the beta program, the company could only select a few candidates to be uploaded. The candidates need to go through quality control calibration to make sure they are able to maintain their human movement with their new robot body. The company selects judges to observe their movement and make a decision on who is the most human human deserving to go out of this lab with a new body.
An ontological fantasy that surveys humans from non-human perspectives.An examination of the inter-relation between human’s phenomenal worlding and vision-based perceptual experience, which has been modernized through spectacle and media.
A look at looking (through not looking) is an artistic research project that consists of three experiments that defamiliarize users’ predominant way of perceiving familiar contexts with other animals’ perceptual mechanisms.
Episode I. How does a dog understand a map?
A physical map of the ITP floor made from smells. Users sniff around the map to feel the spatial relation.
Episode II. How does a digital interface feel to a mole?
An AR application in which users are invited to experience the haptic texture of a digitally rendered blanket from artist’ childhood.
Episode III. What does /Apple Logo.jpg/ mean to a bat?
A VR experience in which users are embodied as a bat wandering in Time Square, trying to understand humans through echolocating.
While modern technology is making remote communication easier, senior people like my grandma still don't have many choices. Even learning how to use a smartphone is challenging enough for her and she still prefers to use a flip phone and she’s only doing phone calls with it. But phone calls are far from enough for our communication.
My thesis project aims to explore a more accessible way to strengthen the bonding and create better companionship for elder people like my grandma. The end goal is to create an easy-to-use product that can show my daily life visually and auditorily to my grandma.
An interactive website features typography animation that inspires audiences to review why and how certain birds in modern urban life aren't living as birds but being objectified as food or products.
Vince MingPu Shao
Birds are everywhere in our cities. We eat chicken as food, keeping parrots as pets, and we see sparrows flying across the streets. Between all the living beings, birds are such a unique group of which that's so close to urban humans as three distinct roles: food, pets, and neighbors.
Though humans' needs for birds as products might never be gone, I hope one day all birds could just be flapping their wings as they're born to do. To achieve this wild goal, this interactive website – Chicken, Parrot, and Sparrow – is created to intrigue audiences to review and rethink why and how some birds are objectified as products, compared to the ones living as our neighbors, despite the fact that all of them are all birds born with wings.
Designed to target graphic design lovers, the backbone of this interactive website is a series of hand-coded typography animations consisting of the typeface Helvetica to visualize the processes of objectifying birds. In addition to the animations, the interactions and information on the website are designed and curated for audiences to keep thinking about our relationships with the birds after experiencing the website.