Carrión’s essay is a thought-provoking critique of how Mail Art is commonly misunderstood. Rather than seeing it as simply postcards sent between artists, he reframes it as a method of artistic resistance, using the postal system as a medium for challenging centralized power over communication and art distribution. One of the most striking points in the essay is the metaphor of the "Big Monster." Carrión sees the postal system as both a tool and a battleground, where Mail Artists are attempting to bypass institutional control over artistic expression. This resonates with modern debates about digital art distribution—today’s equivalent of the "Big Monster" might be social media algorithms, corporate control over digital platforms, and censorship in online spaces.
The concept of curating knowledge networks rather than passively consuming content stood out. Instead of being led by platform algorithms, Édouard U. suggests that users intentionally build connections between ideas, much like hyperlinking in a personal archive. This concept aligns with decentralized knowledge-sharing, where learning is driven by curiosity rather than commercial interests. Overall, this reading pushes for a more human-centered, creative, and autonomous internet experience. It raises important questions about how digital spaces shape identity, creativity, and knowledge consumption in an era dominated by large tech corporations.
Olia Lialina’s writing reminded me of a yahoo blog I used to write diaries with that got shut down a few years ago. It was popular back when I was in middle school. Everyone used it for public and private blog posting. When they declared they were shutting down the site, everyone was urged to log back in and save all their teenage memories. I forgot my password. No surprise. Though I was ashamed to make an effort to see what my teenage brain was writing about so I didn't save any, but I wish I still had access to these digital memories if I ever wanted to dig out my history.
I usually prefer a physical book for reading because blue light really is damaging our eyes, especially for kids whose eyes haven't grown completely for enough protection. But I think incorporating Augmented Reality is giving traditional books a new dimension of how mixed reality/media could work. Say, projecting a T-Rex with a phone from the code printed on the book can help children learn both in words and visually. So I definitely agree the future of printing is a combination of both physical and digital but not one or the other.
One of the most compelling aspects of the workbook is its recognition of alt-text as a form of translation—a process where visual details must be carefully transformed into words, considering what is most important for the audience. This aligns with broader conversations about how accessibility should not be treated as an afterthought but as an integral part of design and communication. I only knew of alt as a marketing tool. People always talk about having as many relevant keywords in the alt section on a website as possible. But now reading this article, I have a deeper understanding of what alt text can really do. There's a wider and deeper meaning to it.
Nasser’s argument challenges the assumption that technology is universally accessible by highlighting the deep-rooted English bias in programming and digital systems. His critique of OLPC’s linguistic contradictions resonates with broader discussions about the gap between intention and implementation in global technology initiatives. One of the most striking aspects of the essay is the failure of digital systems to properly support non-Latin scripts. The idea that Arabic text is frequently rendered incorrectly in major products, from Google Ads to video games, exposes how non-Western languages remain an afterthought in software development. This failure goes beyond inconvenience—it reflects a systemic issue in the prioritization of cultural accessibility in tech.
I've taken psychology classes previously so it's interesting to actually think about how graphic design leverages the Gestalt theory instead of just intuitively using it in design. In relation to web design, it helps to understand how principles like proximity, similarity, and closure shape our perception of visual information, offering ways to design more cohesive and intuitive experiences rather than focusing solely on individual elements. A part that I liked a lot was the discussion of apparent movement and how we fill in the gaps between discrete frames to create a sense of motion. I think there's possibilities to explore this further in web design to possibly make smarter designs for things like animations and transitions.
ibendum. Vivamus nec enim mi.Dot Tuer argues that while String Games was prescient in its incorporation of rules, interactivity, and networked communication—traits that would later define new media—it goes beyond the digital frame by engaging with a "poetics of absence." The ephemeral, improvised gestures and the lack of a material string become metaphors for the gaps in memory and history, especially in a world increasingly mediated by screens. The later work Body Missing builds on this, transforming the virtual thread into a mourning archive of loss and historical trauma. What stands out is how Frenkel consistently anticipates and critiques the evolution of media—seeing technology not just as a tool for connection, but as a space where memory, displacement, and archival silences are deeply entangled. Her work encourages viewers to consider not just what is present on the screen, but what is missing—what has been lost, obscured, or forgotten.>Discussion Questions:
One of the most powerful insights in Paul's writing is how today’s publishing is less about singular, meaningful interruptions (like books, posters, or articles), and more about continuous flows — livestreams, algorithmically generated content, chat bots, and social feeds. These are not events; they are ambient presences. Soulellis connects this to a kind of “new boredom,” where we watch not because the content is inherently interesting, but because others are watching too — and we’re afraid to miss something. It also pushes readers to question their own roles as watchers, participants, and creators within these feeds. Rather than rejecting digital media, Soulellis proposes that we need new forms of resistance: archiving, printing, disrupting, and seeing feeds differently. He encourages us to look for breaks, leaks, and gaps in the smooth stream — to develop new perceptual tools for navigating a media environment shaped by algorithms and automation.
Beyond Dark Matter is a poetic and speculative allegory that uses science fiction to critique the hidden architectures of power embedded in computing systems. Through the journey of Gem—a young Black student navigating both the pressures of school and the mysteries of her computer—the authors reveal how contemporary technologies often replicate historical systems of control, particularly through the use of terms like “master/slave” and the narratives embedded in software. As Gem is drawn into a strange software update called "The Way," she embarks on a disorienting but enlightening journey through her own digital memory, learning about the legacy of computing, systemic surveillance, and the erasure of Black political history. What starts as a malfunction becomes a deeply emotional and historical reckoning with how algorithms and interfaces can both empower and alienate.
Boris Groys examines how the digital shift has radically altered the production, distribution, and perception of art. He argues that the Internet has dissolved the traditional boundary between the space of art creation and the space of art exhibition, making the creative process immediately visible and surveilled. Unlike the museum or gallery, the Internet is not a neutral, contemplative space but one of exposure, data tracking, and algorithmic framing. Artists are no longer hidden creators but public participants whose every click is recorded, quantified, and commodified.