Journal for the SATA workshops
Yip Kai Chun

0.

Prompt: Six media art practitioners from China, Indonesia, Mongolia, Singapore and South Korea conducted six workshops in two mornings in Hong Kong joined by local artists.

1.

Humans have built worlds with drawings, texts, objects, images, animation, game engines and other latest technologies. In his workshop, Ziyang Wu invited us to build a world not with the tools mentioned but with a schematic that incorporated fundamental parameters such as nature, language, and politics. The parameters were to be manifested through different sensorial experiences, such as sound and video, apparently directing towards the creation of digital worlds, similar to the artist’s practice.

2.

Unlike the artist’s usual technology-based projects, the workshop envisaged a potentially technology-powered world without technology, which I actually quite enjoyed. Or perhaps the workshop was more like a preliminary step of the artist’s whole tech-based creative process? Taking a glance at the table, there were certain parameters that I would not consider in the beginning if I were to create a world, e.g. sound and video. It reminded me that technology was not only a medium like acrylic and wood but could also be more fundamentally a way of thinking. A film director or enthusiast might be able to discern the cinematic quality in everyday life; creators with and users of technology might view the world as data, pixels, prompts, and feedback loops — a technological gaze.

3.

How does this technological way of thinking affect the conception and ideation of our world? Thinking about the generations who grow up with smartphones and AI.

4.

The table Wu deployed was akin to an empty, grey, infinite space with grids defined by the axes of x, y, and sometimes z; they were all tools for development. A tool is both enabling and limiting; it channels and restricts. The table and every other tool have their presumed ways of mediation that appear to be neutral. To be able to see behind the apparent neutrality of the tool and notice its empowerment and limitations is imperative for critiquing and creating with technology.

5.

Defects of technology as a source of creation.

6.

Smartphones and similar devices have become our arguably most intimate companions in life. They know secret preferences that our partners and friends don’t. They are so ubiquitous and permeable that they are seemingly invisible. They have always taken note for/of us, with or without our acknowledgement. Eldwin Pradipta’s workshop drew our attention to the forgotten corner of our closest companion: the app that has not been opened for a longest time.

7.

I found out that the application that I haven’t opened on my device for the most extended period was Angulus, an app for measuring angles. I was introduced to this app to measure the angles of my splits, but it remained untouched for a long time due to inconsistent practice. The phantom of Angulus symbolises an abandoned endeavour. Actually, I thought the various tracking apps during COVID-19 for my stay in Singapore and Malaysia would top the list, but I soon recalled they were on an older device and had already been deleted to make space.

8.

Everybody seemed to, like me, have a personal story to tell about their long-forgotten apps, which all of a sudden unravelled unexpected, seldom discussed but intriguing topics. Smart devices are personal not only because of privacy concerns but also due to emotional connection.

9.

Occasionally, I contemplate the fate of my devices and social media accounts after I pass away. They probably know too many things I don’t want anyone else to know. After a quick search, the standard options for their fate include self-deletion, being taken care of by an authorised person, and memorialisation. While I will probably choose self-deletion, I am perplexed by the need to handle the afterlife of the technologies around me, like how I hold my own body.

10.

Scrolling through the photo album on my device often brings up a lot more forgotten memories. The increasingly capable technology seems to promise that it can preserve our memories and experiences. Departing from her own work using AI imaging to reconstruct the lost memory of her grandmother, Jooyoung Oh’s workshop invited us to reflect on the limitation of photos and images: what do they fail to capture? I immediately recalled numerous moments when photos were unable to fully capture the majesty of a place, the undercurrent of a scene, or the bonding between people. Yet, images also capture things that often go unnoticed.

11.

From petroglyphs to writing, painting, photography, video and now virtual reality, documentation and representation of memory have evolved to encompass more dimensions, including visual, audio, and tactile. As a proxy of memory, do new(er) media with more dimensions do a better job than old(er) media? If that were the case, why do I feel text — a medium without the visual, audio or other senses directly taken from reality — sometimes does a better job at capturing a memory than other more ‘realistic’ media?

12.

One way too common perception brought up in the workshop was the lack of humanity in technology. Is it so? If yes, why is humanity missing from technology? Can there be humanity in technology? Just by considering the works of Oh and many other media art practitioners who convey complex emotions, I am convinced the notion that technology lacks humanity is a myth or a careless choice. The question then becomes: Why is technology often perceived as lacking humanity?

13.

Children born in the 2020s have parents who are well-equipped with smartphones. Their lives, from birth, will be under the lens and up on the net, much better documented than those of all previous generations. Looking at the massive images and videos of a distant childhood could be heartfelt and astonishing. Would they still feel something is missing in this personal archive? What would that be?

14.

‘The true picture of the past flits by. The past can be seized only as an image which flashes up at the instant when it can be recognised and is never seen again… For every image of the past that is not recognised by the present as one of its own concerns threatens to disappear irretrievably.
To articulate the past historically does not mean to recognise it “the way it really was”. It means to seize hold of a memory as it flashes up at a moment of danger…’
— Walter Benjamin

(Saw the quote in Ian Penman’s Fassbinder: Thousands of Mirrors)

15.

Stemming from the artist’s research on Southeast Asia colonisation and anti-communist tactics, as well as their relationship to the emergence of new technology, Ho Rui An’s workshop invited us to trace or imagine precursors of a technology and generate images of them using AI.

The team I belonged to had a difficult time rendering images that looked like our Hong Kong and South Korean cultures. To us, they resemble Japanese or an Orientalist depiction of Chinese. It is frustrating to realise the imbalance of cultural representation in the AI world, but when the technology we chose was Tamagotchi — a Japanese invention that ultimately spread worldwide — the difficulty of rendering images in a South Korean or Hong Kong setting suddenly made total sense. It is not even about Tamagotchi but a more universal, imbalanced portrayal of cultures. AI is just mirroring that.

16.

Although Tamagotchi is, strictly speaking, foreign to people outside Japan, it is not entirely so as it has been assimilated into different cultures. I still remember how Tamagotchis were smuggled into school and got confiscated when I was in secondary school, and how my brother, aged five or six, had perhaps his first experience of mourning when his dear Tamagotchi passed away. To me, Tamagotchi was totally part of my culture, just like dim sum and Gundam.

17.

Ho emphasises his practice takes ‘technology’ broadly, which includes non-digital or mechanical apparatuses. The workshop demonstrated this by showing what, throughout history, has been or can be considered technology. From the four great inventions and technologies of China, such as papermaking and gunpowder, to the anti-spy mechanisms discussed in the workshop, the thin and fluid boundary of the term ‘technology’ constantly shifts with its endless evolution.

18.

Two other workshops prompted us to consider various environments and occasions featuring technology-based works from a more curatorial perspective.

In Jeong Ok Jeon’s workshop, we were given some media artworks and a handful of unconventional scenarios for curating a media art exhibition: How do we show media art alongside craft-based art? How do we show media art in a village with a limited electricity supply? How do we show media art in wild nature? All these are challenging yet rewarding questions to ponder upon. In Bilguun Tuvshinbold’s workshop, we were put in the position of an experimental festival producer to strategise an event in terms of ticketing and sponsorship. How do we deal with sponsorships that do not really align with our mission? How can we attract our target audiences to buy a ticket and attend the show?

19.

While some of the challenges posed by the workshop are legitimate and unique for media art, e.g. the necessity to power the artworks with electricity, some others exposed the presumed boundaries and limitations of media art, e.g. media art is incompatible with crafts and primitive environments (‘new’ vs ‘old’).

20.

The two workshops also highlighted the role of society in media art. The technological progress, literacy and reception of society directly impact how a media art or experimental music event is executed and promoted. As Jeon emphasised, context and cultural value are two parameters when she curates a media art project — things that are indispensable to the culture in which technology is embedded. The various availability and restrictions of technologies across societies can lead to disparate reception and usage of technology, which encompasses the realm of media art.

21.

Speaking of society, it’s actually refreshing to learn about media art in the East and Southeast Asian countries through the workshop hosts. Mongolia, South Korea, China, Singapore, Indonesia, and Hong Kong — each has its own development and creative interpretation of technology that I wasn’t aware of. Each case is a mirror for reflection.

22.

Compared to a talk or sharing session, a workshop requires a practitioner to digest and reflect on their mode of seeing, thinking, and working — an often internal and solitary process — and transform it into something that can be shared and worked on with others. A workshop can be seen as a programme or model to generate various outputs and feedback loops. The six workshops, devised by practitioners with diverse backgrounds, allowed for a more entangled and profound exchange — of different modes of seeing, thinking, and working, as well as of different worlds segregated by geography and social-political circumstances. They are probably much more closely knitted to one another than we think.

23.

Wire the correlations across borders and charter a new terrain of technology and creation.

Yip Kai Chun is a Hong Kong-based artist-curator whose practice often concerns, takes place in and works with neglected or peripheral communities and localities. His recent works explore the Hakka and Teochew community in West Borneo, Chinese community in San Francisco, and Igbo and African community in Hong Kong. He got his first cellphone in high school (a Nokia 8210) and his first computer with Internet access at university. He never uses any devices with cellular data.

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