2. Upload a photo or a short video that reflects your mood today, with a brief description.

2. Leave at least one comment on a work you like.

3. Deadline: September 16, midnight.

(KIM TaeGyeong(Department of Military Digital Convergence))

It is primarily made of colored paper, plastic, and a little metal, but its title is 금귤(Golden Tangerine). A tangerine. And even though it contains not a single bit of fruit, as the title suggests, anyone can easily recognize it as a fruit.

Expressing the artist's intent—that, I believe, is art.

202420202 SimSeungTae / 202420222 KimSeoHoe / 202420166 LeeSeoYu

2. Write a brief reflection on what it means to erase.

I think this relates to erasing. When we decide not to draw something that's already there, we can erase it. I see that as a form of the artist's expression, a kind of choice.

202521526

But in this work, erasing became a way of revealing.

By rubbing away the black surface, the word "Media" emerged from underneath.

Erasure here is not destruction. It is creation, showing that absence can also uncover new presence.

To erase a tree means to erase life itself. It reminded me how human actions slowly destroy nature.

2. Please create and upload a photo or video work that surprises the audience.

3. Include a title, a one-sentence description of the piece, and the names of all team members.

4. Deadline: By midnight, September 30th

202420166 이서유

202420207 박한별

202420161 신지연

-Chemistry 202221270 Park Chaeyeon, 경제정치사회융합학부 202521526 Choi innyeong, Business 202221436 Kim Donghyuk

Altantsetseg, Sjoerd Schmieman, Otto Lehikoinen

(we express our pure and bright sides of ourselves.)

201821047 Kang Daehee

202421210 Lee Yohoon

202522258 Chung Jihun

202128088 심리학과 이석주

202321422 영어영문학과 손어진

202520270 환경안전공학과 이채영

202520997 강승민 Business, 202127513 이예슬 Business

202420222 김서회

202126876 백민우

202221165 김태경

-202421667 박지윤 / 202320557 이자현 /202420224 백혜원

Angélina SIHACHAKR / 202532530

Anastasija Zalomajeva / 202532620

Jeong Seoung Hyu / 202127167

Sarah Riddima Sohan (202522562)

Ghale Yujin (202522578)

Mariia Skoblikova (202522656)

even if it is the underside of the chin of a grand statue seen between its legs.

202220350 Oh Jiyeon

202421707 Lee Suin

Tran Anh Duc 202522783

Tran Ngoc Anh Vy 202421727

202420202 SIM SEUNGTAE [Industrial of Eng]

Deadline: 10/14 by midnight.

Note: Go beyond simple impressions — describe your concrete sensory experience and connect it to your personal feelings or any changes in your perception.

Sound is more attentive, and the sound of this video makes all this situation mysteriously and artistically.

202521526 Choi innyeong

As I experienced the Alter Van Hof video walk with my earphones, I felt as if the boundaries between reality and video were gradually disappearing. The sound heard through the earphones perfectly matched the surroundings, giving me a strange and immersive feeling. Sometimes I couldn't tell if what I was listening to was part of the recording or heard in the real world around me.

What impressed me the most was how the video connected space, memory, and time. Walking there, listening to voices and surrounding sounds, made me feel as if I had become part of a story that once existed there. It was both mysterious and thought-provoking.

Through this experience, I realized that it could completely change the way sound perceives familiar spaces. In the future, I will try to pay more attention to the sound and atmosphere around me when I walk in ordinary places.

202020110 김 명 규

Myeonggyu kim, 202020110

What's truly amazing about this piece is how it uses that sense of confusion to layer painful memories of the past onto the present space. Listening to the vivid story of a bombing from an old man's voice or the sad history of Platform 13, the station I was just walking through suddenly felt like a place full of historical pain. In the end, it feels like the artwork intentionally blurs the line between what we perceive and what we remember. In that confusion, with the voice in my ears feeling like my own thoughts and the scenes on screen feeling like my own memories, I had this totally unique experience—as I followed the shadows of the past, my own solid reality started to feel like the ghost!

What's truly amazing about this piece is how it uses that sense of confusion to layer painful memories of the past onto the present space. Listening to the vivid story of a bombing from an old man's voice or the sad history of Platform 13, the station I was just walking through suddenly felt like a place full of historical pain. In the end, it feels like the artwork intentionally blurs the line between what we perceive and what we remember. In that confusion, with the voice in my ears feeling like my own thoughts and the scenes on screen feeling like my own memories, I had this totally unique experience—as I followed the shadows of the past, my own solid reality started to feel like the ghost!

When i followed the video, i started to notice small details in my own surroundings that i would normally ignore, like the sound of air or the feeling of the floor under my feet. It made me realize how media can change the way we see and feel our environment.

There were moments when I instinctively turned around, unsure if the sound came from my surroundings or the recording. That confusion created a strange sense of presence, almost like being part of a story that continued to live in the space itself. The experience blurred the line between seeing and remembering.

When the video ended and I removed my earphones, the station felt changed. Quieter, yet somehow heavier. I realized how sound and narrative could transform an everyday place into something layered with history and emotion. It wasn't just a walk anymore; it was a moment of discovering how deeply places can hold time within them.

This experience showed me that technology is not only a visual tool,
but something that can quietly reshape the way we perceive space.
When the boundary between reality and media begins to blur,
we stop being mere observers and become true experiencers of space.
That was the deepest resonance this work left within me.

I believe the greatest appeal of this work lies in its sound. The footage itself holds no meaning because it doesn't align with the viewer's reality. I watched this video at an outdoor bus stop located on a major road. Comparing the video to my actual surroundings resulted in almost no match, which broke my immersion. However, focusing on the sound through noise-canceling earphones made me feel as if I were walking alongside the locations in the video. In other words, it was a piece that allowed me to feel how providing sensory experiences beyond visual information can draw out a work's appeal.

The binaural sound created a vivid sense of space. Every echo and movement surrounded me, and I instinctively turned my head, expecting to see someone beside me. This confusion between reality and fiction made me realize how powerful sound can be in shaping perception. It wasn’t just listening to a recording that it was feeling the space through sound.

When the video ended, I noticed how much my perception had changed. The sounds of daily life that is footsteps, wind, even silence felt more meaningful. I became aware that sound itself can create emotional and spatial awareness. Through this experience, I learned that art is not simply about technology or visuals. It’s about how art can reshape the way we sense and experience the world.

The mixture of recorded footsteps, echoes, and distant noises created a powerful illusion that merged past and present. It made me realize how much our sense influence perception. In the end artwork left me feeling reflective— as if I had visited a memory that didn't belong to me but somehow felt like my own.

The calm voice and layered sounds made me notice how sound can completely change the way we perceive reality. This experience made me more aware of my environment and how easily our senses can blur the line between imagination and reality.

202420224 백혜원

At one moment, I even forgot that I was just watching a video; it felt like I was part of someone’s memory. This experience made me realize how sound and space can work together to blur the line between reality and imagination.

It feels like hypnotized.

2. Leave a comment on the photo you like.

3. Deadline: by midnight on October 30.

This is a photo of two tools to put fire out. With these tools this classroom is fire-proof.

The overlapping frames reveal shifting perspectives within a single space, creating the illusion of the world revolving around a fixed observer.

When I watched Alter Bahnhof Video Walk through earphones, I felt an unusual overlap between the world on the screen and the world around me.

The voice in my ears guided me like an invisible companion, leading me through time and space. As I followed the instructions, I started to question whether what I was seeing belonged to the past or the present. The recorded footsteps blended with my own; the sounds of trains, echoes, and whispers made the station feel alive, even though it looked quiet.

The experience was more than just watching a video — it was like stepping into someone else's memory. I could almost feel the air in the old train station, hear the faint hum of history behind the walls, and sense the presence of people who were no longer there. The sound of Cardiff's calm voice made me feel both safe and unsettled at the same time, as if she was revealing a secret only I could hear.

Personally, this work changed the way I think about seeing and listening.

Usually, I separate what is "real" from what is "recorded," but in that moment, everything overlapped. The past and present coexisted; the screen and reality merged. It made me realize how fragile perception is - how easily sound, memory, and imagination can alter the meaning of a place.

When I took off my earphones at the end, the world felt strangely empty, as if the magic had faded but left a quiet echo inside me.

People expect a chair to be something you sit on, but upside down it looks different, so they pause and look again.

2. Include a title, your name, and one image or a short video.
Your own title and your name are required.

3. Leave a “content-based comment” on another student’s post.
(Not a simple reaction—write thoughts or opinions based on the content.)

4. Deadline: December 13, by midnight.

1. Please upload images or videos of your work.
   Deadline: By midnight on November 25.

2. For all students, Please leave a comment on the piece you like.
   Deadline: By midnight on November 26.

Running Time: 2m 48sec

Additional Info: VLLO(Edit APP), Pixa Bay(Video Source)

Running time : 1 minute

Notes : Video Screening and Interact Art

Used : iMovie

Reference : Animal forest

Running Time : 1m 8s
Software / Tools Used : CapCut

This piece reflects how my world widened when I left my hometown, Cheongju, and moved to a university in a completely new region. Through this work, I wanted to express how coming to college changed the shape of my world—how the range and depth of what I could experience expanded, and how I grew internally through that process. I chose the stop-motion technique because I wanted to capture both the temporal and spatial flow of the moments in which I grew.

Running Time: 1m 21s

Software Used: CapCut, Instagram

Running time : about 2 minutes

Notes : video using AI

Used : Kling AI, DaVinci Resolve

“Between” stems from a true story from the artist’s school days, when they were serving as the class president. One day, the homeroom teacher sent a KakaoTalk message saying,

“Don’t approach him too quickly. Please go slowly, very carefully.”

This gentle request marked the beginning of a slow and hesitant journey toward a reclusive classmate—one that eventually grew into a friendship lasting over ten years.

Created with Arduino, an ultrasonic sensor, and Processing, the installation features a heart that reacts to the viewer’s movements. Depending on how the audience approaches—gently, abruptly, or hesitantly—the heart expands or contracts, revealing the fragile emotional rhythm of building a connection.

1. Please upload images or videos of your work.
   Deadline: By midnight on November 27.

2. For all students, Please leave a comment on the piece you like.
   Deadline: By midnight on November 28.

Running time: about 1 min

Tool: VLLO (Edit)

About my work: <WHAT YOU THINK YOU SEA exposes the instability between what is seen and what is said, asking: Are we truly reading the scene itself, or Are we reconstructing an image inside the emotional frame that the text.

artist: Chaeyeon Park

I feel like people are losing the charm of film cameras because developing them takes time and carrying them around is inconvenient. So I wanted to remind everyone of the importance of waiting, and how that waiting can make a memory feel more meaningful.

It simply grew out of my everyday life. Drone filming&video editing is something I naturally do, as a work or hobby. so I brought those familiar moments into the context of media art and looked at them from a different angle. By reframing the places We see and pass through daily, I wanted to share how ordinary landscapes can feel new when viewed from a slightly elevated perspective.

This work visualizes that gap using the crochet. In the exhibition, viewers see only the tangled backside of the crocheted Instagram logo, while the clean front is accessible exclusively through a QR code. This structure mirrors our collective digital experience—consuming only the polished surface while remaining unaware of the complex emotions beneath it.

The thread is intentionally left uncut and allowed to knot and overlap, symbolizing the recurring cycles of comparison, heaviness, and emotional fatigue many of us experience through social media, even as we continue to return to it. While certain colors reflect personal preference, they also operate as subtle representations of the emotional tones shared by many.

Ultimately, this work reveals the “backside” that each of us carries yet rarely shares, inviting viewers to reflect on the distance between the lives we display online and our actual life.

The Joan Jonas: Beyond the Human exhibition felt unfamiliar, confusing, and strangely magnetic from the very first moment. As I entered the space, I did not immediately understand what I was seeing, and at first this uncertainty made me slightly uncomfortable. There were no clear instructions on how to look, what to focus on, or what meaning to extract. Yet, instead of pushing me away, this confusion slowly pulled me in. The longer I stayed, the more I felt myself drifting into Joan Jonas’s world, leaving behind the need to fully understand and simply allowing myself to experience.

The combination of moving images, layered sounds, and repeated gestures created a hypnotic atmosphere. It felt almost ritualistic, as if I had stepped into a space outside of ordinary time. The repetition was not boring; instead, it was calming and meditative. I noticed how my pace naturally slowed down as I walked through the exhibition. Rather than quickly observing and moving on, I found myself standing still, watching carefully, and listening more deeply. At one point, it even felt as if the artwork was observing me, not the other way around.

Animals, elements of nature, and unfamiliar symbols appeared again and again throughout the exhibition. I could not always explain their meaning, but that did not matter. Their presence sparked curiosity rather than frustration. These images felt ancient and timeless, as if they belonged to a language older than words. They invited me to feel instead of analyze, to sense rather than interpret. The visuals were simple, quiet, and gentle, yet deeply beautiful in their restraint. Nothing felt excessive or loud; everything existed in a calm balance.

What stayed with me most after leaving the exhibition was the realization that art does not always need a clear or direct message. In a world where we are constantly expected to understand, define, and explain everything, this experience felt like a relief. Joan Jonas’s work reminded me that art can simply exist as an experience. The emotions it evokes, the thoughts it gently stirs, and the state of mind it creates can be more meaningful than any single explanation.

After the visit, I felt an unexpected sense of peace and mindfulness. For the first time in a long while, my mind felt quiet. I was fully present, grounded in the moment, and deeply thankful for that feeling. This exhibition did not give me answers, but it gave me something far more valuable: stillness, reflection, and the freedom to simply feel.

If you smile, you are happy, if you look firm, you are anxious, and if you are expressionless, you are not emotional.

But does that expression really mean that feeling?

There was pressure on me to match my expression 'like the answer'.

I'm happy, but I don't know what kind of expression to make

There were many moments when they laughed awkwardly or showed completely different emotions.

Every time, I was like, "Am I wrong with my expression?"

"Does it make you misunderstand your emotions if you don't read your expressions well?"

I kept asking myself questions.

This work begins with that question.

Does the expression show the emotion accurately?

Do the expressions we see really match the emotions we feel?

Or maybe we're too easily concluding someone's expression?

While the audience stands in front of the work and faces themselves

I hope you can think of this question together.

It's not the answer, it's a moment to look at the ambiguity itself.

1. Please upload images or videos of your work.
   Deadline: By midnight on Dec 2.

2. For all students, Please leave a comment on the piece you like.
   Deadline: By midnight on Dec 3.

3. If you already shared your thoughts in class, please post them here as well.

The artist’s deliberate spacing created the impression of an “empty room” despite the presence of many objects. In contrast, my installation unfolds in a darker and more confined area. Yet, by using a doorway as a central element, I similarly used spatial conditions to articulate my situation and emotions, sharing with the artist the intent to let the environment shape the work’s meaning.

One of the most memorable works was <The Moon is the Oldest TV>. This installation displayed the phases of the moon on thirteen monitors. Paik created these images by manipulating the internal systems of televisions, turning what used to be a machine for watching broadcasts into something that looked artistic and peaceful. The work was placed near the entrance, and it immediately changed the mood of the exhibition. In the dark space, the screens looked less like televisions and more like glowing moons floating in the air. I found this interesting because it made me see television in a completely different way. Instead of being something loud and distracting, it became quiet and calming. It felt as if Paik was suggesting that even modern technology could have emotional depth.

Another work that stood out was <Participation TV>. In this piece, visitors could speak into a microphone, and their voices would change the images on the screen. This made the audience part of the artwork, instead of just observing it. I enjoyed this interaction because it felt more engaging than simply watching a screen. Seeing my voice turn into visual patterns was both surprising and fun, but it also made me think about how media works. Normally, people just receive information from television, but this piece showed that communication does not have to be one-sided.

What I found most meaningful about this exhibition was its overall message about technology. Paik did not treat machines as something dangerous, but as tools that humans could live with creatively. His works expressed the idea that technology and humanity do not have to be separate. Instead, they can exist together in balance. This message felt especially important in our current society, where media plays a big role in everyday life.

Overall, the exhibition helped me see Paik Nam-June not just as a media artist, but as someone who asked important questions about how we live with technology. The Paik Nam-June Art Center was not only a place to view artworks, but also a space that encouraged reflection about media and communication in modern life.

Tools: Sony A7m4, Photoshop, Lightroom

I wanted to show the world some of the portraits that I've took over the years that no one has seen before by cutting out the people composing them. As someone who loves portrait photography this is my way of showing the people that I care about without really showing anything at all.

The moment the viewer believes they have achieved everything, the dazzling augmented shadows vanish, and only the void white space remains on the display.

This work visually expresses the fundamental human deficiency that inevitably results in emptiness, even after achieving every worldly desire.

I wanted the audience to immerse themselves in artwork through contradiction and remind their daily moments. I wanted to remind precious day moments that  could easily passed

1. Please upload images or videos of your work.
   Deadline: By midnight on Dec 4.

2. For all students, Please leave a comment on the piece you like.
   Deadline: By midnight on Dec 5.

3. If you already shared your thoughts in class, please post them here as well.

The first door shows the life I used to have, which looked easy and beautiful.

The second door shows the real challenges I face after coming to Korea, such as working part-time and studying hard.

The last door is a symbol of the future that I have not reached yet.

Through this artwork, I want to express that life is not always perfect, but every door we open helps us grow and understand ourselves more.

It is about change, self-discovery, and the courage to keep moving forward.

Materials: Glass, threads, glue

It's a very personal project for me about how we feel when something is missing in our lives-that feeling of being a little bit incomplete.

You can see two glass cups, both broken, and then put back together. The important part is that I mixed the pieces. The dark cup has light pieces, and the light cup has dark pieces.

The core idea is that even when we are broken, people who are different from us can help put us back together. For me, this artwork is deeply about my family and me. I see the cup on the left, which is almost full of dark pieces, as my family—they are strong and filled with their own life, experiences, and history. The cup on the right, which has many more gaps is me right now.

I am studying far away, and this separation creates those empty spaces. But notice the light pieces from my family's cup are helping to hold my structure together. Even though I am far from them, their love, support, and encouragement fill my soul. Their presence is what keeps me from falling apart. The beauty of this work is that while my connection is to my family, the message is for everyone. It reminds us that whether it’s a friend, a partner, or a relative, there is always at least one person—a "soulmate"—who is ready to help you fill those gaps and mend those broken feelings.

This piece originates from my personal experience with COVID-19.

A few years ago, I attended my cousin's daughter's first birthday party without knowing I was infected, which led to intense guilt over the possibility of spreading the virus. Afterwards, while I was recovering, the way even my own family treated me—almost like a germ—made me acutely feel emotions like sadness, helplessness, and wretchedness.

So, I wanted to bring these very feelings into the exhibition space, which is why I chose the universally relatable theme of the 'COVID experience'.

Before explaining the expression method, I set two key points.

First, personal experiences that anyone can easily relate to.

Second, art that anyone can easily understand.

The artwork contrasts two opposing images.

First, the cat figurine, symbolizing my infant niece, creates a positive atmosphere using celebratory objects like birthday decorations, a birthday song, a cake, and bright lighting.

Conversely, the rat plushie, symbolizing myself, expresses feelings of uncleanness and isolated through objects representing Covid 19 such as a mask, hand sanitizer, visitor logs, and vaccine stickers.

Second, I visualized the negative images about a rat. Like phrases like “NO MOUSE!”, “MOUSE = PEST”, and “KEEP OUT!”

Third, I divided the space. The exhibition space is divided around the entrance door: the area outside the door is configured as a space of celebration, while the area inside the door is contrasted as a space of depression. Through this method, I sought to spatially express the emotional distance and disjunction I felt at the time.

Thank you.

Tool

l  Canva

l  Powerpoint

l  climpchamp

Source

l  Rat: https://www.britannica.com/animal/bandicoot-rat

l  Germ: https://www.flaticon.com/free-icon/germ_5282283

l  Vaccinated: https://lchcommunityhealth.org/ask-me-why-i-got-the-covid-19-vaccine/

l  KEEP OUT: https://www.accuform.com/safety-sign/keep-out-MADM974

l  Visitor Form: https://blog.naver.com/kel1124/221181566495

The artwork discusses topics around data privacy in todays world. In the artwork the text stays on the screen and doesn’t dissapear, just like your data won’t dissapear in the internet. Usually in the web, we don’t think about what things are really happening when we press the ”I’ve read and accept the terms and conditions” -button. The visual style is green and black to look like raw computer code and the goal is to show that we are not just users, we’re data.

Leaving a data trace everywhere I go makes me feel exposed. But, it’s the price we pay for the connection. Afterall, we cannot stop using internet.

Title: You will leave a trace.

Artist: Otto Lehikoinen

Made with: VScode (JavaScript, p5.js), AI (Google Gemini, 3 Pro)

Yet even within such inhospitable landscapes, flowers find a way to root, grow, and eventually bloom. The flower represents resilience: a quiet but persistent strength that survives despite the weight of its surroundings. In this piece, the blooming flower becomes a visual reflection of young adults who strive to adapt, endure, and ultimately achieve their own form of growth amid social and professional challenges.

Through this work, I hope viewers will recognize their own journey within these metaphors, and find encouragement in the idea that even in the toughest conditions, the possibility of blooming remains.

Floriography

Chamomile: Energy in Adversity

This work is the result of drawing my fragments floating in an invisible digital space into a physical space. In the prison of data, the audience will think of a question. "Am I really using my technology or is my technology using me?"

This art piece is consisted of my search data pasted all around the box, and the box is considered to be my brain and heart. The reasons for the bars, also made up of my data, is because of the feeling that I'm being captured by my own technology. The endless text going on in the background is live data feed of my search data being updated.

1. Please upload images or videos of your work.

Deadline: By midnight on Dec 9.

2. For all students, Please leave a comment on the piece you like.

Deadline: By midnight on Dec 10.

3. If you already shared your thoughts in class, please post them here as well.

"fade" is to gradually disappear, to become faint and dim. Humanity, from the moment of birth, walks toward death. In the inevitable flow of time, everything that once existed loses its light and eventually vanishes. This is the undeniable providence of nature.

However, in today’s world, we witness and experience far too many deaths long before our physical lives cease. Under the cold shadow of "anonymity" in modern society, we perpetuate cycles of social, political, and psychological slaughter. We attempt to erase one another, and at times, we drive ourselves to the edge, killing our own spirits.

What is the root cause of these recurring tragedies? I believe it lies in the deficit of "Love" and "Respect." It is because these essential human values have "faded" within us first.

We lay flowers before the deceased to honor their souls. If that act is a profound expression of mourning and respect for those who have departed, do we not, the living, need such flowers even more desperately?

This exhibition is a proposition to all of us living in this era of loss. I invite you to offer a single "rose of respect and love"—for others, and for your own crumbling self. Perhaps this small gesture is the way to restore the vibrancy of our fading colors.

But most of the time, that picture isn’t real.
We usually share only the brightest moments - the parts that look good, safe, or “perfect.”

I wanted to show this through my own experience as well. I share my life on social media, and I often cut out the difficult moments. I don’t film myself when I feel low, anxious, or overwhelmed. Those parts stay invisible - just like they do for many people.

For example, within the larger rule of “being quiet,” small complaints—like the sound of someone clicking a pen or footsteps being too loud—can cause someone to drift away from what they originally intended to do, such as studying. Instead of focusing on their own work, the complaints and discomfort from others can end up staying in their mind even more strongly.

Through this work, I hope people can become a little more generous and understanding toward rules, and I wish for a world that is a bit freer and a bit kinder.

Another work, Empty Rooms, remained particularly memorable. The installation of white boxes scattered across the gallery and the thin, skeletal tree drawings aligned on one wall created an atmosphere that felt simultaneously fragile and overwhelming. The sparse arrangement suggested cycles of fading and renewal, but it also emphasized how space itself can produce a sense of tension or anticipation without a single word being spoken. The room’s emptiness felt like a form of pressure, a quiet presence that subtly dictated how one should move, look, and even breathe. It revealed that a room does not need explicit rules to control experience, its design and atmosphere already participate in governing the body.

This perspective directly influenced my own project, The Double Edge of Rules. In recreating a study-room environment and writing complaints such as “your breathing is loud” or “your pen is too noisy” on the desk partition, I wanted to show how the rule of silence begins as a supportive structure but quickly becomes an oppressive force. Much like the wind in Jonas’s work or the charged emptiness of Empty Rooms, the silence rule creates an atmosphere that shapes behavior more strongly than its original intention. Instead of enhancing concentration, it generates anxiety, hypersensitivity, and a sense of constant surveillance. Through this, I aimed to explore how rules can both support and undermine the very purpose of a space.

This approach became especially clear in Empty Rooms, a recent installation by Jonas that layers paper sculptures, soft lighting, video fragments, and ambient sound. The room felt simultaneously empty and full, filled not with objects but with traces. Absence, memory, and the lingering presence of lost relationships appeared through delicate visual cues rather than direct explanation. Jonas allows viewers to complete the artwork through their own internal movements, treating interpretation as an active and sensory process. This openness made me reconsider how structure, restraint, and ambiguity function within an artwork.

The spatial layout of the exhibition deepened this insight. Instead of directing visitors along a predetermined path, the galleries encouraged individual pacing. People moved freely, pausing where they felt drawn, bypassing what did not resonate, and returning to moments that lingered. It was a cinematic experience, but one edited by the viewer rather than the artist. This curatorial attitude, which trusts the audience’s capacity to construct meaning, challenged my own assumptions about control and clarity in artistic communication.

Although my project had already been completed before seeing the exhibition, Jonas’s approach allowed me to look back at it from a renewed perspective. I realized that meaning often emerges not from what is fully presented but from what is intentionally withheld. Silence, space, and subtle gestures can shape emotional understanding as profoundly as explicit narrative or visual density. The exhibition made me think about the role of “less,” not as a limitation but as a deliberate artistic strategy that can open new interpretive possibilities.

In the end, the exhibition did not change my project directly, but it shifted how I imagine future work. I now think of art not as something to explain, but as something to invite, to open, and to hold lightly so that the viewer’s presence becomes part of the artwork’s unfolding.

1. Please upload images or videos of your work.

Deadline: By midnight on Dec 11.

2. For all students, Please leave a comment on the piece you like.

Deadline: By midnight on Dec 12.

3. If you already shared your thoughts in class, please post them here as well.

Sharing your artworks and thoughts allowed me to experience art more deeply as well. I hope this class helped you understand yourselves better and take a step toward new challenges. I truly appreciate having the chance to share this journey with you through your works.

As we wrap up the semester, feel free to share anything you feel you’ve grown in. Your personal experiences, what you enjoyed in the class, or anything you think could be improved — all kinds of feedback are welcome.

The intention is not to give a fixed answer, but to highlight this uncertainty itself.
What feels 'real' depends on each viewer’s perception, their trust in images, and their own experiences with technology.
The work’s core message is that in an age where AI can convincingly recreate our world, 'reality' is no longer a simple or singular concept.

The figure in the video never settles into a clear identity. It shifts between human shape and something more abstract. This reminded me of how my own presence in the lab can feel reduced to small actions. Mixing materials. Setting up a test. Waiting for a current that does not appear. These gestures repeat without any guarantee of clarity. The performer in Jonas’s work also repeats movements that do not explain themselves, yet they feel meaningful because of that uncertainty.

Around the projection, sheets of paper and other materials hang in the space. Light falls on them and creates additional shadows. These shadows overlap with the figure on the screen. Sometimes they hide it. Sometimes they blend into it. In that moment I thought about the hidden factors in my experiments. The variables I cannot see. The reasons why a sample works once and fails the next time. Jonas allows all of this uncertainty to remain visible. She does not try to solve it.

What stayed with me was her attitude toward ambiguity. The work does not guide the viewer toward a single meaning. It asks you to stay in a state where nothing is fully explained. This is close to my own experience of research. I often stand in front of results that make sense only halfway. I leave the lab unsure of what went wrong or what small detail I overlooked. Jonas shows that this space of not knowing can still be productive.

Because of this, the installation felt less like an artwork I was analyzing and more like a reflection of the rhythm of my daily work. The shadows on the wall reminded me of the unresolved data on my desk. The figure in the video felt like a version of myself attempting to navigate many unknowns. Jonas suggests that uncertainty does not have to be something we rush to eliminate. It can also be a place where new understanding slowly forms.

“Young, Wild & Free” is the story of my life right now — a life built through independence, discipline, and courage.

Every page reflects a moment of my reality: studying, working, meal prepping, teaching, traveling, and constantly improving.

The artwork shows that freedom is not accidental. It is shaped, created, and earned.

1. Young

Being young in my story doesn’t mean careless or lost.

It means having limitless energy, learning fast, and refusing to let circumstances define me.

When I am young, I am willing to try, fail, get up again, and chase the things I want.

My “young” is powerful — it is the foundation of everything I’m building.

2. Wild

“Wild” represents my inner fire:

• the courage to take risks,

• the desire to live fully,

• and the refusal to accept a small or predictable life.

Even through long shifts, late-night studying, or hard training days, that wild part of me keeps pushing forward.

It reminds me that life is bigger than fear.

3. Free

“Free” is not something I was given — it is something I created.

I worked, studied, earned, saved, and made decisions on my own.

I balanced everything:

• being a student,

• being financially independent,

• working part-time jobs,

• improving my health,

• planning my future,

• and still daring to dream big.

My freedom comes from responsibility — from knowing my life is mine to shape.

In high school, she always moved on her own terms.

As if “your time is mine, and my time is yours,” she took over my schedule and emotions without hesitation, yet never really asked how I was or tried to be considerate.

Even when we were together I felt strangely exhausted; while I was busy taking care of her, the feeling that I myself was being pushed aside kept piling up.

When I entered university, that kind of relationship became too heavy to carry, and I slowly began to distance myself.

I delayed replies, turned off notifications, avoided meeting up, and kept convincing myself that “being alone is easier.”

Instead of relationships, my room, my desk, videos and chat windows on my phone, and small self-comforting routines started to fill up my time.

On the outside it may have looked quiet and stable, but in reality it was a period of growing isolation and emptiness.

Then, at one of the hardest moments in my life, without me explaining the situation in detail,

the first person to contact me and actually show up without asking many questions was that same friend.

After that, I could no longer describe this relationship only as “someone who made things hard for me.”

It is still awkward and rough in many ways, but I came to realize, belatedly,

that the energy which once burdened me was also the energy that made her “the one who would run to me first.”

The video divides this process into four symbolic scenes.

In the first act, the way my friend’s belongings gradually creep across the desk and a schedule packed tight with plans show the time when my time and space were slowly being occupied.

In the second act, images of an empty chair, a bare desk, and a firmly closed door express the period when I cut off the relationship myself and chose isolation.

In the third act, a chat window with a notification, and a hand that writes “I was really tired because of you,” then erases it and instead types “...but thank you for coming,” reveal the mixed feelings of unspoken resentment and gratitude.

In the fourth act, new notes that say “It’s okay,” “Thank you for coming” are layered over torn scraps reading “Don’t contact me,” “Let’s stop this now,” visualizing the process by which old emotions are not erased, but covered and reinterpreted.

Instead of directly showing faces, dialogue, or specific events,

the work uses familiar objects—desks, chairs, doors, chat windows, and notes— together with short phrases, leaving room for each viewer to recall their own relationships.

This piece does not attempt to present a “perfect friendship,”

but rather quietly reminds us, through the way we hate someone, avoid them,

and eventually make a little space next to us again,

that we are still clumsily practicing intimacy.

There is only one thing I ask of the viewer:

while watching this video, let yourself at least once think of

who that person is for you—

someone who made things hard, but for some reason has stayed until the end.

This small mismatch reminded me of living in a new country. Many foreign students — and even Korean students who have lived abroad or will go abroad — know this feeling. No matter how long you stay, you might never fit in 100%, and that’s okay.

Even if you only fit 98%, it doesn’t define your worth or success. Things don’t need to be perfect to be meaningful. You are still you, no matter the environment.

The video reflects how starting over shapes who we are, while we still hold onto important parts of home. I included friends’ perspectives to show that even from different cultures, we share the same feelings of searching for belonging and freedom.

This piece captures the beauty and vulnerability of change, and the strength found in not going through it alone.

Throughout the course, I feel that the greatest growth I experienced was gaining a new perspective on art. I especially remember the anti-retinal art assignment, which allowed me to rethink my ideas and experience a shift in perception. Through that task, I realized that the act of shifting one’s perspective is itself a form of art.

While creating my final project, I found myself deeply engaged in thinking about how to express my own thoughts and how to shape the meaning of the work. This process made me truly enjoy the act of creation. Sharing our works with one another was also extremely helpful. I learned how to articulate my ideas in English and experienced what it means to view my own artwork through someone else’s eyes. Through this, I came to understand more deeply that art is a form of communication between the artist and the audience.

Lastly, during the exhibition assignment, I first explored the space without a docent’s explanation and then viewed it again with the commentary. This experience taught me that moments of emptiness, silence, or even minimal captions can encourage the viewer’s imagination and allow them to interpret and complete the artwork themselves. Overly detailed explanations, on the other hand, can sometimes hinder the audience’s independent interpretation. I realized that art begins with the artist’s intention but is completed through the imagination of the viewer.

Going forward, I hope to continue exploring how to translate my experiences and emotions into artistic expression. Thank you sincerely for the meaningful class and for helping me feel the warmth of art throughout the semester.

One of the biggest changes for me was how I started to notice small moments as potential artworks. During some of the assignments, I caught myself thinking, If I frame this differently, is this already an artwork? That feeling was especially strong when we shared our own projects. Instead of thinking, Is this good enough to be called art?, I began to ask, What kind of story or question is this work trying to hold?That shift made me a lot less afraid of making something imperfect.

Working on the final project was also very meaningful. I spent a lot of time asking myself what I actually wanted to say, and how to translate that into form, material, and space. It wasn’t just about finishing an assignment, but it felt more like having a long conversation with myself. Presenting the work in English and hearing classmates interpretations helped me see that my piece can have meanings I didn’t even consciously plan. That experience made art as communication feel very real, not just like a phrase from a textbook.

Seeing everyone’s works together in the exhibition was another big moment. Walking through the space, I realized how different personal experiences, homesickness, pressure, relationships, identity could all be transformed into something visual or spatial. I also noticed how much the atmosphere, silence, and even the distance between works affected my perception. Sometimes, not explaining everything immediately created more room for the audience to feel and think for themselves, and I really liked that.

If I could suggest one thing to improve, it might be to have just a little more time for open discussion after each presentation. Listening to others react to a work often helped me understand my own ideas better too, and I felt we could have talked even more if time allowed. But overall, the balance between learning concepts, making our own pieces, and sharing them with the class felt very thoughtful.

To summarize, this class didn’t just change how I look at art. It changed how I look at myself inside different environments. I feel less pressure to fit perfectly and more curiosity about how to express that gap through creative work. Thank you for creating a space where our thoughts and experiments were taken seriously. It made this semester feel very warm and memorable for me.

In the piece I photographed, red circular and vertical lines are roughly drawn over trees and rocks, while a figure moves in and out of the projection. It felt like the person was both inside the landscape and writing on top of it at the same time. The marks were simple, almost like doodles, but because they were enlarged and looped on the wall, they started to feel like a ceremony or a spell. I realized that meaning was not only in symbols themselves, but in the repeated gesture of making them.

My final project also uses very ordinary marks. Neatly written to-do lists on the left wall and crumpled, failed plans piled on the floor. Before seeing Jonas’s work, I thought of them mainly as evidence of 20 somethings who over plan and then give up. After the exhibition, I began to see these lists more as traces of a ritual we repeat every day, writing, believing for a moment, then abandoning. In that sense, my plan zone and Failed box are like two sides of the same ongoing performance.

The multi channel video and immersive sound in Jonas’s installation also made me rethink my use of sound and space. Her overlapping images and subtle audio didn’t explain anything directly, but they created a mood where I could project my own thoughts. In my project, I used pen sounds, paper rustling, keyboard typing, alarms, and messenger notifications. After the exhibition, I felt that these sounds are not just background but, they are the incantations of our planning ritual, just like Jonas’s drawing gestures are for hers.

Overall, the exhibition helped me see that my work is not only about failing to keep plans, but about how humans keep trying to inscribe themselves into their environment, whether on a forest rock or on a small sticky note.

While observing this installation, I was reminded of my final project The Doors, which explores personal transition and the emotional journey between past, present, and future. In my video, each “door” represents a stage of my life—from a comfortable past, to a challenging present, and finally to an uncertain future. The way Jonas’s installation used light to reveal some areas and hide others made me reconsider how I use contrast in my own work. The brightness in my past scenes and the darker tone of my present scenes suddenly felt more meaningful; they became emotional cues rather than just visual choices.

The spatial composition of the hanging structures also influenced the way I thought about my project. The floating shapes created a sense of movement, almost like different paths suspended in mid-air. They reminded me that transitions in life are rarely simple or linear. Just like the shapes, they can feel fragmented, overlapping, or open-ended. This connected strongly with the symbolic idea of doors in my project. Each door suggests a choice, a change, or a part of myself I am stepping away from or toward. The installation made me realize that “doors” are not only physical objects but emotional thresholds.

Finally, the gentle soundscape and soft shadows in the installation helped me reflect on how atmosphere affects the viewer. In The Doors, I intentionally use silence and slow pacing to express uncertainty and introspection. Seeing Jonas’s work confirmed that simplicity and subtlety can create a deeper emotional impact than complexity.

Overall, the exhibition helped me strengthen the conceptual and emotional meaning behind The Doors, and encouraged me to think more carefully about how space and light can shape the narrative of a personal journey.

This exhibition was a great chance to understand media art through actual experience, rather than just as a theory. Before seeing Joan Jonas’s exhibition, I visited the Nam June Paik Art Center’s permanent exhibition on the first floor. When I only saw his works as video materials in class, they felt a bit vague to me. But facing them in a real space, they finally felt like real, living objects. Seeing how he creatively connected technology and art with my own eyes became a great foundation for understanding Joan Jonas’s world later.

Joan Jonas’s exhibition stood out for how it combined expert knowledge of nature with artistic forms. What I found interesting was that "nature," a key theme in her work, is something my final project has in common. However, I noticed a big difference in how we expressed it. While I focused on creating visually pretty and clean images for my final project, Joan Jonas’s work was extremely natural and rough. She didn't fix the camera shaking, and she didn't even cut out scenes that looked like preparation steps. I was chasing a "perfectly polished result" to deliver my message, but she focused on the form itself and the natural flow of the process. This contrast taught me that media art doesn’t always have to be technically perfect. I realized that depending on the artist's intention, even a rough texture can be a wonderful artistic language.

The most impressive work was <Double Lunar Dogs>, which I watched wearing a headset. The space was separated by a wall, which helped me focus deeply. This work asked philosophical questions about memory and time. Lines like “Memory is stronger than time” and “Forgetting is happiness” stayed in my mind the whole time. Especially the part saying, “Do you remember us? There is no past. It’s an object I’ve never seen. I don’t remember,” vividly conveyed the fear of being trapped in "the Absolute" while denying the past and memory. At this point, I discovered a deep connection between this work and my project. My work also warns against being trapped in "absolute things" and criticizes getting stuck in fixed ideas. While Joan Jonas expressed this caution through memory and time, I tried to do it by showing the pros and cons of both nature and the city. I wanted viewers to think for themselves and realize there is no single absolute answer. This visit gave me a chance to check my final project again—to see if I am too tied to "clean visuals" and if I am truly expressing my theme properly.

Especially while conceptualizing the final project, I had to think deeply about what theme to convey, what message to deliver, and through which media. This process allowed me to reflect on everything I'd learned and provided another opportunity to reconsider what media art truly is.

It was very interesting looking at how the exhibition did not feel like a mere presentation of artworks; it operated as an “environment” where sounds, screens, and spatial emptiness questioned how we experience inner worlds.

For me I had my final project exhibition, where I also made a video art titled "The Freedom of Starting new and the Comfort of Holding In.”where I showed and explored personal emotional journey of beginning a new chapter abroad while still feeling connected

to familiar moments.It had different clips and videos of my daily life in Korea and how it all started and I also included my friend's clip, then expressing how they felt, what they hold onto and what was the hardest part for them?

Asking questions like this helped them express the unspoken emotions and feelings that they couldn't speak of which really connected to one of the exhibition artwork from the Nam june center, The TV Garden.The screens glowing from inside the plants felt strangely alive, almost like hidden emotions trying to push through; the things they hold inside until they feel safe enough to share, same as my friends in the video.

Then I saw the stacked TVs on top of the piano, and for a moment it felt overwhelming. All the screens were showing different moments, different movements, but together they created one chaotic but beautiful image. It reminded me of how my mind feels when I’m starting over — all the memories, fears, and hopes playing at the same time. I liked that the piece didn’t try to “fix” the chaos. It just let it exist. And I think that’s what I tried to do in my project too: let people speak honestly without forcing a solution.

The part that touched me the most was Empty Rooms. The idea that every person who leaves creates an empty room felt painfully true. I thought of my own experiences — how some people disappear, how some stay, and how those empty spaces still shape who I am. In my project, the interviews were also about the things people carry quietly. Seeing Jonas turn absence into art made me feel less alone in my own emotions.

Overall the exhibition really made me look at my own project more openly and how we can express our ideas in several ways which really touches the audience heart.

So , I decided to present a very personal project. I wanted the audience to be able to capture the mix of emotions that I felt. That's why I chose the contrast between my first day alone and my moments as an exchange student.

I changed the color tones and filters to clearly contrast the “present moment” with the future that was actually waiting for me, and which has now become my present.

There was one memory that came to mind while I was standing in front of the work. A while ago, I had a situation where I thought I fully understood what someone was feeling. I was convinced that I had read the atmosphere correctly — the person seemed upset, and I assumed it was because of something I said. I carried that discomfort with me for days. But later, when we finally talked, I realized that my assumption had been completely wrong. They weren’t upset with me at all; they were stressed about something entirely different. In that moment, I felt like the “mirror” I had been using to look at the situation was tilted the whole time. I was only seeing a small slice of the truth.

That memory came back to me while looking at Mirror Piece I. The way the mirrors reflected some things clearly while hiding others felt very similar to how my understanding works in real life — partial, shifting, sometimes misleading. The artwork made me aware of that fragile space between what I think I’m seeing and what’s actually there.

As I continued exploring the exhibition, I appreciated how Jonas’s works constantly questioned the act of seeing. Mirror Piece I wasn’t loud or dramatic, but the quiet way it challenged my perception stayed with me. It reminded me that my viewpoint is never fixed; it changes depending on where I stand and what I expect. That realization was personal, almost uncomfortable, but meaningful — and it made the artwork feel more alive to me.

Joan Jonas’s exhibition felt very different from my approach. Instead of looking inward at her own identity, she turns outward. Her videos include animals, landscapes, children’s stories, and quiet images of nature. In one installation, placed inside a simple wooden box, flowers move in the wind while a calm voice speaks about rabbits, wolves, and a young girl. Watching it feels like the world itself is talking. Jonas does not try to define who she is. Instead, she shows how a person is connected to many other beings and stories around them.

Because of this, I began to see the difference between her work and mine more clearly. My project focuses on the changing idea of “me,” but Jonas widens the frame and looks at everything beyond the self. Where I tried to understand the limits of identity, Jonas shows identity as something that grows through relationships—with animals, with nature, with myths, and with sound. She does not ask “Who am I?” but rather “What am I a part of?”

The space of the exhibition also affected me. The rooms were calm and a little dark, with screens placed in ways that made me slow down and pay attention. Instead of pushing one clear message, the atmosphere encouraged me to simply experience the images. This made me wonder if my own work could also allow more open space—less explanation, more feeling.

In the end, the exhibition did not change the message of my project, but it changed how I think about it. Jonas reminded me that the self is hard to know not only because of time, but because we are always shaped by the world around us. Maybe knowing myself also means noticing everything that touches, changes, and surrounds me.

Because it was an English course, I constantly felt the limits of my own expression. There were many moments when I understood the concepts deeply or had something I genuinely wanted to share, but the words didn’t come out the way I hoped. Sometimes I felt frustrated or even quiet because I wasn’t sure how to express everything in another language.

But strangely enough, that challenge became one of the reasons this class felt so special.

Instead of avoiding the difficulty, I found myself trying to express a little more each week. Even if my sentences weren’t perfect, I felt that my thoughts were still being welcomed. That experience alone gave me a kind of confidence I didn’t expect to gain from an art class.

What I appreciated most was the feeling that the class was something we created together.

Sharing our works, discussing our ideas, and seeing how differently each person interpreted art made the space feel alive. Everyone’s perspective opened a new window for me — sometimes showing a feeling I had never considered, sometimes reflecting something I had quietly experienced myself. It reminded me how deeply personal art can be, yet how universal our emotions often are.

Even though it was not always easy, I’m grateful for the moments where I stepped outside my comfort zone.

I feel like I learned not only about art, but also about patience, communication, and how differently people see the world. This class gave me the rare chance to observe others’ artistic perspectives and, at the same time, reflect deeply on my own.

The piece that struck me the most was Beautiful Dog. Watching it allowed me to revisit my own final project from a completely new angle. Jonas’s Beautiful Dog reconstructs the world through the eyes of an animal rather than a human, shifting away from a human-centered perspective. This approach broadened my understanding of the concept of “expansion.” In my project, I explored how my world expanded when I left my hometown and began studying in a new place. But Jonas’s work made me realize that expansion can also mean stepping outside familiar viewpoints altogether and embracing an entirely different way of seeing. The low camera angle, the shaky movements, and the instinctive changes in direction reminded me of the unstable sensations I felt when navigating an unfamiliar environment.

Jonas’s “non-human perspective” also resonated deeply with my own experience. My world expanded in college not simply because I entered a new place, but because I began to understand and accept perspectives different from my own. Even though they were still human viewpoints, they were significantly different from mine. The dog’s-eye view in the video didn’t merely lower the camera; it symbolized the act of seeing the world through the eyes of another being—one fundamentally different from myself. This idea echoed the essence of growth I tried to express in my project: that expanding one’s world means embracing new perspectives and learning to coexist with others whose ways of seeing differ from mine.

In the end, this exhibition was more than a viewing experience—it was a meaningful moment that made me reflect on how I see myself. Beautiful Dog, in particular, helped me understand my project’s theme of “expanding the world” in a deeper and more layered way. It reminded me that expansion is not only about entering new spaces but also about widening the perspectives I accept and learning how to coexist with those who see the world differently.

By turning my concerns into a piece of work, I was able to look back at myself from a bit of distance and understand my feelings more clearly. The final piece became not just an assignment, but also a record of this time in my life—a kind of memory that I can return to later. Thanks to this class, I now see media art as a powerful way to reflect on myself and to preserve my experiences in a meaningful form.

The final exhibition was also a special experience for me. I was able to visualize ideas that had only existed in my mind, and I truly felt the joy of creating something of my own. Completing a piece from start to finish gave me a strong sense of accomplishment and pride.

Communicating with other classmates was another meaningful part of this course. At first, it was difficult to talk to people I didn’t know well or to share opinions, but as we exchanged thoughts and viewed each other’s works, I naturally learned, connected, and built moments of understanding. Through this, I realized how important communication is and developed a more open and willing mindset.

Overall, this class wasn’t just about completing assignments—it felt like a process of gradually expanding myself. I hope to carry these experiences forward into my future learning and challenges.

This realization allowed me to see my project, <Shadows of Desire>, from a completely new perspective. My work utilizes the immateriality of digital media to express the fleeting nature of human desire. In my installation, when the animation fades and the screen turns white, it represents a deleted emptiness and shows that nothing remains after desire is fulfilled. It is a cold and blank state that purely focuses on disappearance.

On the other hand, Empty Rooms uses the materiality of paper to express the loss of loved ones. Since paper is a highly analog medium, it contrasts heavily with my digital approach. For Jonas, emptiness is not about things disappearing. Instead she builds the space left by departed friends using paper structures and steel frames. While my void was about demonstrating a state of nothingness, Jonas’s void was about proving the volume of presence itself. Her work shows that even an empty room has weight and substance.

The presentation methods and spatial elements also highlighted a sharp contrast between our works. I focused on a system where images appear and vanish instantly through a web server and mobile interaction. In contrast, Jonas physically occupied the space with crumpled paper hanging from the ceiling, forcing the audience to walk through it. This comparison made me realize how light and temporary the digital void in my work feels. Furthermore, the artist’s attitude of transforming personal grief into physical shapes inspired me to add more emotional depth to my work. Through this exhibition I learned that being empty does not necessarily mean containing nothing. It left me with a deep reflection on my method of expressing emptiness solely through the deletion of data.

At the same time, observing other students’ projects taught me a lot. I was inspired by the variety of ideas, approaches, and creative solutions that everyone brought to the class. There were many moments when I wanted to ask deeper questions or join the discussions more actively, but because the class was in English, I sometimes held back. My limited English skills made it difficult to fully express my thoughts, and I regret not pushing myself a bit more in those moments.

Even so, this class changed the way I approach art. Visiting exhibitions and discussing artworks—even when it was difficult—helped me realize that art is something I can actually enjoy and learn from, not something distant or unfamiliar. Through the process of creating my own piece and engaging with others’ work, I began to develop curiosity and confidence. Now I feel motivated to visit more exhibitions, explore different styles, and experience art with an open mind.

Overall, although this semester was challenging, it was also meaningful. I learned how to observe more carefully, how to express my ideas visually, and how to appreciate the artistic choices of others. Most importantly, I discovered a new interest in art that I want to continue exploring beyond this class.

Everything changed when I stepped into the last room. Several room shaped paper structures were suspended from the ceiling, softly illuminated from within. The warm yellow lighting blended beautifully with the fragile texture of the paper and felt extremely intentional. Considering the heavy and somewhat cold subject of loss that the work addresses, the lighting softened the atmosphere and balanced the emotional weight of the installation. The warmth of the light seemed to gently hold the viewer, making it easier to approach themes of death and absence without feeling overwhelmed.

When I learned that Jonas created this piece after many of her friends passed away, imagining each loss as leaving behind an empty room in the world, the metaphor touched me deeply. The paper structures resembled shells someone had shed, traces of a life that once filled the space. On one wall, drawings of plants growing upward suggested new beginnings quietly emerging after an ending. In the video projection, Jonas scattered powder into the air, resembling a ritual of returning what remains back to nature.

What struck me most was how separate this room felt from the rest of the exhibition. Entering it felt like stepping into an entirely different emotional space, calm, reflective, and strangely comforting. People often say that nothing remains after we die, but Jonas’s work made me rethink that idea. It suggested that the traces of our lives continue to exist in the memories of others, in the rooms we leave behind.

Empty Rooms was the first Joan Jonas work that I understood immediately and personally. Before the exhibition, I felt confident about my own final project because it was intuitive and easy to understand. However, this work surprised me by showing how something intuitive can also contain rich layers of meaning. Themes of loss, memory, and the quiet continuation of life were clearly present within its simple form, encouraging me to pursue greater depth in my future work.

Through the UMA class this semester, I was introduced to many artworks and artists. I believe that simply appreciating art and interpreting it in one’s own way is meaningful. At the same time, I think it is also very valuable and enjoyable to analyze an artwork by looking at the artist’s life, social background, and culture, and to understand their intentions. Through this course, I learned about various art techniques and art history, and I was able to reinterpret artworks that I had seen before.

Also, in my daily life, I rarely had time to reflect on my own emotions and values. Instead of expressing my true thoughts, I often focused on how to fit into social norms and rules, and what kind of thoughts and values society expected from me. However, through the assignments in this UMA class, I had time to think about what values are important in my life and what kind of person I am.

In particular, the conversations I had with the professor while working on the final project left a deep impression on me. I realized that I had only criticized my mother’s actions without trying to understand why she behaved that way. I felt that I was kind and good only in words. Through the final project, I was able to grow as a person, and while looking at other students’ works, many old memories came back to me. I am truly grateful for the valuable experience of sharing thoughts and stories with people who have such diverse perspectives.

One small regret was that sometimes students from the next class came in before our class had finished, which made it a little difficult to stay fully focused until the end. Still, I could always feel the professor’s consideration and sincere love for art, which made every class enjoyable and meaningful. I also wanted to say thank you for the tangerines and sandwiches—I really enjoyed them. Thank you for making my final semester such a happy and memorable one.

This experience made me reconsider my own final project, Hard to Love, First to Show Up, which begins from a painful but persistent friendship. My installation reconstructs the desks and seats where I spend most of my time, and places unsent letters to that friend on the table. After seeing Empty Rooms, I no longer see this as simply “moving my room into the gallery.” Instead, I want the space to become a stage where layers of absence and emotion can quietly accumulate, just as Jonas allows paper, light, and sound to testify to the existence of someone who has disappeared.

The slow rhythm and generous emptiness of Empty Rooms also influenced my working method. The lighting is never overwhelming, and the piano does not demand attention. As viewers walk slowly through the room, they are invited to notice subtle shifts in shadows, textures, and sound. From this, I learned that I do not need dramatic confessions to talk about a difficult relationship. Rather than forcing emotion, I can design the reading speed of my work: arranging the letters along the visitor’s path, placing certain sentences where you must sit down to read them, and letting everyday objects like chairs, notebooks, or crumpled memos quietly carry my voice.

Ultimately, Empty Rooms encouraged me to treat my own wounded relationship not as private gossip, but as shared territory. I hope my exhibition can become a small “empty room” where viewers recall their own hard-to-love people while standing among the traces of mine.

Image: Installation view of Empty Rooms at the Nam June Paik Art Center (photo by the author).

As I look back on this past semester in the “Understanding Media Art” course, I can confidently say that it has been a pivotal chapter in my artistic and academic journey. When I first enrolled, I expected a general overview of technology in art, but what I gained was a profound shift in how I perceive the relationship between reality, media, and human expression.

The theoretical component of the course was both challenging and deeply inspiring. Studying pioneers like Nam June Paik and Joan Jonas opened my eyes to the limitless possibilities of video and performance. Paik’s ability to humanize cold technology and Jonas’s intricate layering of time and space challenged me to rethink the materials I use in my own work. Furthermore, delving into the concept of Simulacra was a mind-opening experience. Understanding Jean Baudrillard’s theories about the copy having no original helped me analyze our modern, image-saturated culture with a sharper, more critical eye. It provided a necessary philosophical framework that I had previously lacked.

However, the absolute highlight of the semester was the opportunity to organize and present a personal exhibition. For a long time, I have been internally exploring complex themes such as survivalism, love, and the inevitable conflict that arises between them. These are heavy, abstract concepts that I often struggled to visualize through traditional mediums. This class provided the perfect platform to finally manifest these ideas. Using the techniques we learned, I was able to translate my personal philosophy of "survivalism"—the raw instinct to endure—and contrast it with the softness of "love," creating a visual representation of "conflict." The process of curating this space was not just an assignment; it was an act of catharsis and self-discovery.

I am incredibly grateful for the freedom and guidance provided throughout this course. It is rare to find a class that balances rigorous academic theory with such an enjoyable, practical creative process. I genuinely had fun experimenting with new media, and I appreciated the supportive environment where I could take risks. I leave this class not only with a better understanding of media art history but with a clearer vision of my own identity as an artist. Thank you for a semester filled with learning, creativity, and meaningful growth.

Visiting the exhibition "Joan Jonas: The More-than-Human World" at the Nam June Paik Art Center became a critical moment of reflection for my recently completed final project, "Fade." Having already defined my project’s core message—exploring the erosion of human values amidst modern anonymity—viewing Jonas’s work, particularly "Empty Rooms," allowed me to re-examine the relationship between my symbols and the space they occupy.

First, regarding perspective, the exhibition deepened the context of my original intent. In "Fade," I had firmly established the "rose" not as a symbol of emptiness or mourning, but as a beacon of "Respect and Love" intended to revive fading humanity. Standing before Jonas’s Empty Rooms, I realized that the "void" she depicts is not a negative vacuum, but a "space of potential" filled with resonance. This offered a powerful validation of my work: it confirmed that my Rose of Respect was the essential element needed to fill such a profound void. Jonas’s work did not change the meaning of my rose; rather, it amplified the necessity of placing that symbol of love into the empty chambers of the modern heart, transforming the void into a space of restoration.

Second, in terms of presentation methods, a distinct contrast illuminated the strength of my chosen medium. Jonas layers intangible media like video and sound to give shape to the invisible. In contrast, my project relied on the tangible, visceral presence of a physical flower. This comparison highlighted the importance of the "negative space" in my installation. I realized that the vast emptiness surrounding the rose was not just background; it was a physical representation of the psychological distance caused by anonymity. Jonas’s mastery of space taught me that this emptiness was the perfect stage for my Rose of Respect to stand out, making its message of love more urgent and visible against the stark backdrop.

Finally, the atmosphere of the exhibition—deeply ritualistic and contemplative—mirrored the emotional landscape I strove to create. Jonas treats the non-human world with extreme care, inviting viewers to pause and listen. This resonated with the "sanctuary-like" environment of "Fade," where I asked the audience to confront their own fading emotions. Her attitude reassured me that creating a solemn space for the Rose was the correct approach to evoke a sense of reverence.

Ultimately, this retrospective viewing taught me that my artistic direction was aligned with a master’s insight. Just as Jonas fills the void with echoes of memory, I successfully planted a flower of "Respect and Love" to bloom within the empty rooms of the viewer's soul.

Visiting Joan Jonas: Beyond the Human World at the Nam June Paik Art Center offered a timely pause in the midst of developing my final project. While my current work focuses heavily on the technical aspects, Jonas’s retrospective demonstrated that the power of media art lies not in high-tech precision, but in the poetic layering of materials and meanings. Her seamless blending of performance, video, and simple props challenged my perspective on how to construct a narrative within a digital environment. The most striking element was how Jonas utilizes the "mirror" as a device to fracture and reconstruct space. In works like Mirror Piece, the mirror is not just a reflective surface but a tool that disrupts the viewer’s perception of reality. This resonated deeply with my final project, which functions as a real-time interactive installation processing the viewer’s image. I have been struggling to ensure a clean, perfect video. However, seeing Jonas use handheld mirrors and paper masks to create mysterious, fragmented visuals made me realize that distortion and ambiguity can be far more engaging than high-resolution clarity. Furthermore, Nam June Paik’s Three Camera Participation, displayed alongside Jonas’s work, provided a crucial insight. The installation captures the viewer and separates their image into RGB layers, turning the audience into the artwork itself. this exhibition celebrated them as aesthetic elements. The unpredictable overlapping of colors in Paik’s work and the shaky, handheld camera movements in Jonas’s videos suggest that the "human touch" within technology creates a stronger emotional connection. Reflecting on the artist’s quote on the wall “When I saw an empty room… I began to arrange forms” I decided to shift the direction of my project for the remaining time. Instead of simply documenting space, I chose to reconstruct my everyday environment through “Reveal the Unseen,” a drone project that captures the school from unfamiliar angles and reshapes it into new visual compositions. By intentionally introducing visual delays and layering effects inspired by Jonas’s multi-layered storytelling, I aimed to make the interaction feel less like surveillance footage and more like a fluid, artistic dialogue. This exhibition taught me that the medium is merely a vessel; the true art lies in how we invite the audience to look beyond the screen.

In <Organic Honey’s Visual Telepathy>, Jonas uses a video camera you can carry around that gives you live views—something that was very new back in the 1970s. Watching her play around with the camera, seeing her actions show up right away on the screen, made it obvious how she was checking out the quickness of the picture(immediacy). Through the character “Organic Honey,” Jonas made another version of herself, a new identity made right by the camera’s view. The thing that impressed me most was how she used “instant showing” to look into the space between what’s real and what’s shown. This connected right away with my project, which shows the differences between pictures you get right away (polaroids) and pictures you can't see taken on throwaway film cameras. While Jonas pushed quickness to look at how we see ourselves and acting, I use the lack of quickness—the wait, the doubt, the holding back—to show how memory gets stronger when the picture can't be seen yet. Her artwork helped me realize that the difference between seeing right away and seeing later is not just about the technology but also about ideas and feelings.

On the other hand, Empty Rooms had a much calmer, more thoughtful feeling. The hanging paper sculptures, gentle lights, soft shadows, and peaceful layout made me feel like something was missing, still there, and had emotional importance. This space made me think of the “in-between time” of taking pictures with film—the time right after I take a picture but before the picture exists. The paper shapes, with light coming softly from inside, seemed like symbols for memories that are here but still coming together.

Seeing Empty Rooms let me rethink what waiting means in my own project. The setup showed that being slow is not just about not being fast; it's a situation that makes space for understanding, imagining, and deep feelings. Also, in my show, the film pictures you can’t see let people remake the moment in their minds, often more clearly than a picture you can see. The show reminded me that waiting is not a bother with technology but a key part of making meaning.

-Chemistry 202221270 Chaeyeon Park-

One of the first works that caught my attention was the installation of wrinkled paper shapes hanging from the ceiling. With the soft lights glowing inside, they created a floating, dreamlike space that felt warm and delicate. It was simple but incredibly beautiful, and it made the whole room feel alive.

The three-camera participation installation was also unexpectedly fun. Seeing my own silhouette appear and move across the different screens made me feel gently pulled into the artwork, as if I was temporarily part of the space rather than just a viewer. It was playful and slightly surreal.

Among the objects, the wooden whale was my absolute favorite. I was amazed at how leftover pieces of wood and bits of metal could be turned into something so charming and full of character. It didn’t feel like “scrap” at all — it felt alive, almost as if it belonged to a small story of its own. The little water-squirt from the whale’s head made it even more delightful. It was playful, unexpected, and honestly just fun to watch.

One moment that stayed with me was the reconstruction of Nam June Paik’s old studio. Seeing his cluttered working space placed inside a clean, modern museum felt strangely intimate. The old walls, tools, and scattered objects didn’t perfectly “fit” the polished gallery environment, yet they still held their meaning. That quiet sense of not fitting exactly, but still belonging, resonated with me and gently connected to the idea behind my own final project.

Overall, the exhibition didn’t give me one clear message, but it gave me a feeling—of calm, curiosity, and quiet beauty. It reminded me that things don’t need to be perfect to have value, and even when something feels slightly out of place, it can still be meaningful.

One thing that stood out in the exhibition was the way video was presented in the space. Small television monitors and large projections were placed around the room, showing different scenes at the same time. This made me feel surrounded by images and forced me to actively think about what I was watching. It reminded me of how people consume social media content every day, constantly moving from one image or video to another. In my project, I also show attractive and exciting moments from my vlogs, but I explain that these moments are carefully chosen and do not represent the whole experience.

The atmosphere of the exhibition was calm, dark, and immersive. The slow pace and soft lighting made me stop and reflect instead of quickly scrolling, as we usually do on platforms like Instagram. Joan Jonas’s work does not try to be perfect or entertaining in a typical way. Instead, it leaves space for uncertainty and encourages viewers to question what they see. This approach influenced how I think about my own project and its message. I want viewers to understand that behind beautiful travel videos there are often hidden struggles, such as loneliness, stress, or pressure to always look happy.

Another important aspect of the exhibition was its acceptance of imperfection. The images were sometimes unclear, repetitive, or fragmented. This showed me that honesty in media does not mean showing everything, but being aware of what is missing. After seeing this exhibition, I feel more confident about revealing the contrast between the visible and invisible parts of my experience rather than trying to create a polished story.

Overall, Beyond the Human World helped me see my project as more than a personal vlog. It became a reflection on how images shape our understanding of reality and why we should be careful about trusting what we see online.

Overall, the exhibition felt very raw. There were video works featuring nude models, as well as countless drawings and images of birds filling the space. These elements created a sense of vulnerability and honesty, as if the artist was presenting her ideas without excessive refinement or explanation. Among the works, the video of flags moving in response to the seaside wind stood out the most. Watching the flags sway naturally felt like a direct encounter with Joan Jonas’s artistic spirit. The work allowed me to accept her art as it was—unforced, open, and deeply connected to nature and movement.

Despite this strong sensory experience, it was not easy to identify a clear theme or message that the exhibition aimed to deliver. Perhaps because I had just visited a participatory exhibition by Nam June Paik on the first floor, this exhibition initially felt static, and at times even somewhat dull. Compared to an interactive experience, the quiet and observational nature of this exhibition seemed less engaging at first.

However, as I spent more time in the space, my perception began to change. The atmosphere of the exhibition was undeniably calming, to the point where it felt as though time itself had slowed down. In particular, one dark room filled with geometric shapes covering the walls, along with the presence of a whale image, left a deep impression on me. In that space, I felt as though time had completely stopped, and that only the artworks and I existed in the world.

Although I still cannot clearly define the specific message Joan Jonas intended to communicate, I found myself genuinely appreciating the overall atmosphere and the exhibition space itself. It was an experience that emphasized feeling over understanding. By the end of the exhibition, I even found myself thinking that I would like to visit this exhibition again with children from my school, believing that they, too, could quietly immerse themselves in the space and experience art in a deeply personal way.

This experience strongly resonated with my final project, in which I exhibited photographs of my daily life alongside separately recorded sounds. My initial intention was to document ordinary moments spaces I pass through every day, small routines, and familiar scenes. However, after seeing Empty Room, I realized that absence itself can be a powerful presence. Joan Jonas does not fill the space with excessive imagery; instead, she allows silence, delay, and fragmentation to guide the viewer’s perception. This made me reconsider how my work communicates meaning not only through what is shown, but also through what is withheld.

One presentation method that stood out in Empty Room was the separation of sensory elements. The visual space felt restrained, while sound and memory seemed to expand beyond what was physically visible. This closely parallels my own approach of separating image and sound. By not synchronizing sound directly with each photograph, I wanted viewers to form their own connections between what they see and what they hear. After viewing the exhibition, I felt more confident that this disconnection is not a weakness, but rather a way to invite active interpretation.

The overall atmosphere of the exhibition quiet, contemplative, and slightly distant also influenced how I now view my working process. Joan Jonas’s attitude toward space felt patient and observant, as if she trusted the audience to slow down. This reminded me that everyday life does not need dramatic events to be meaningful. By allowing time, silence, and subtle sensory cues, my project can encourage viewers to listen more carefully to ordinary moments.

In this sense, Empty Room helped me understand that documenting daily life is not about filling space with information, but about creating room for perception, memory, and sound to emerge.

My project shows flowers slowly growing from cracks in asphalt. The flowers represent people in their twenties living in modern society, where pressure, competition, and uncertainty are common. Each flower grows at a different speed, reflecting how everyone develops differently depending on their environment and situation. While watching Jonas’s work, I noticed that her use of time felt similar to mine. Her videos move slowly, repeat scenes, and leave space for silence. This made me realize that my decision to focus on gradual growth rather than dramatic change was meaningful.

What stood out most in the exhibition was the atmosphere. The space felt calm and open, and the works did not demand quick understanding. Viewers were free to move around and experience the works at their own pace. This reminded me of how I wanted people to experience my project as well. I wanted viewers to focus on the image of growth itself and connect it to their own experiences.

Another part of the exhibition that stayed with me was Jonas’s attention to nature and non-human elements. Landscapes, animals, and sounds are treated as important, not just as backgrounds. After seeing this, I started to think differently about the asphalt in my own work. It is not only a symbol of society, but also something that actively affects how growth happens. The environment shapes the speed and direction of growth, just as real-life conditions shape people differently.

Visiting Beyond the Human World after completing my project helped me feel more confident about my work. The exhibition showed me that media art does not always need to be loud or fast to be meaningful. Slow, quiet growth can be powerful on its own, and sometimes simply continuing is already an important form of expression.

What truly got my attention in "Empty Rooms" was how Joan used paper, light, and suspended forms. Those paper structures looked like they could just dissolve or fall apart at any moment. And the shadows projected onto the walls added this whole other layer. In the explanation of Jonas herself, she describes each "empty room" as what's left behind when someone leaves your life, and that idea resonated so deeply with me. My own project, "Shards for the Heart," also dives into themes of absence and incompleteness, but I explore it through objects that have been broken and then carefully reassembled. I took two glass cups, shattered them, and then pieced them back together using mixed fragments. For me, they symbolize my connection with my family who are far away from me right now. I think that both of our works share this fundamental interest in what persists after a separation. In my creation, the visible, permanent gaps within the reassembled glass feel quite similar to how Jonas's empty rooms are never truly, completely filled.

The atmosphere of "Empty Rooms" really influenced how I’m now thinking about presentation and how I use space in my own art. Jonas skillfully lets emptiness, silence, and distance make a deep meaning, rather than relying on a lot of text or obvious visuals to explain everything. This made me realize that my project doesn't necessarily need to resolve the feeling of brokenness. Instead, it can just acknowledge it, showing how connections can subtly hold everything together. This exhibition was a reminder for me  that absence can be  gentle, painful, and significant, and that these are truly an important part of how we experience emotions.

Since this was an English based class, it also helped me gain confidence in using English. I recently started studying spoken English, but I rarely have opportunities to use it in real situations. Asking and answering questions about artworks during exhibitions made English feel more practical and approachable. I also enjoyed meeting people from different countries. Even though most of us were not native English speakers, everyone had slightly different accents, which felt refreshing and interesting. Overall, this course helped me grow both artistically and personally, and I am grateful for the experience.

Visiting the Nam June Paik Art Center to see Beyond the human world was a different experience for me than usual with museums. Before taking this course, I would often walk through exhibitions without thinking too much. However, this time was the first occasion where I truly intentionally analysed the artworks, using the knowledge I have gained about art works and the way they are presented.

The part of the exhibition that impacted me the most was the installation titled "Empty Rooms." I read that Joan Jonas is now 89 years old and that she created this work to process the loss of her friends and animals. Standing there, surrounded by the glowing paper sculptures and the drawings of leafless trees, I felt the weight of that statement. The atmosphere was incredibly quiet and heavy, which made it easier for me to take in the full artwork. It didn't feel like a typical museum display to me, it felt like I was entering the artists personal brain space.

This atmosphere connected unexpectedly with my final project, "2 Worlds." My personal work compares my current life as an exchange student in Korea with the life I have back home. I have been focusing mostly on the visual differences between these two lifestyles. However, Jonas’s work forced me to look at the emotional side of separation. Standing in her "empty room," I realized that being away in Korea means I am currently leaving an empty space back home.

The exhibition confronted me with a very specific sadness. My project is about a temporary separation, two worlds that I can travel between. But Jonas is dealing with a permanent separation. It made me confront the future and the reality that one day, the people I love won't be there.

While my project is very human-centric, focusing on my daily life, Jonas includes the "more-than-human" world, like trees and dogs, treating them as equal companions. This contrast made me realize that my "two worlds" are actually filled with people and living things that I shouldn't take for granted. The exhibition left me with a strong desire to stop analyzing for a moment and just appreciate the time I have with my close ones. It shifted my perspective from simply comparing cultures to cherishing the presence of the people who inhabit both my worlds.

The first artwork I want to talk about is Stream or river, Fight or Pattern 3. As I stepped into the room all the sounds from the videos hit me at once. There are three screens each playing separate videos. I tried watching each video individually first by standing in the middle of the space. However I quickly found out that there were specific spots that I had to stand in to fully experience the videos. The screens on either side each had a spot in front where the sound was being directed and standing in this spot made it feel like I was wearing earphones. It was really cool. It wasn’t that the outside sounds were getting smaller but the sounds from the video were getting closer to the point where it really felt like I was In the video. It made the whole experience so much more immersive. What I also found interesting was that only the two videos to the side had this effect. The video in the middle had regular speakers installed on the sides meaning regardless of where I stood in the room it would mostly sound the same. This means that as I was watching the other videos, I could still hear the sounds from the middle screen and they kind of mixed together to become an entirely different video on it’s own. It was a surreal experience. The way she traced multiple images from a projection with a marker to make an entirely new painting combined with the birds constantly chirping in my ears made me feel overstimulated. If I’m being honest I don’t think I fully understood the message she was trying to convey but I felt like I was closer to nature.

All in all I really enjoyed this experience and I will definitely try to visit more exhibitions around me.

One side of the room is densely covered with trees that have lost all their leaves, leaving only bare branches. They stand closely together, almost as if they are keeping each other company. Above, paper-made square structures hang from the ceiling, softly glowing with gentle light. The contrast between the dry, lifeless branches and the warm, subtle light immediately caught my attention. While the trees suggest aging, absence, and an approaching end, the light feels like a sign of birth, renewal, and quiet hope.

As I stood in the space, I felt that the work was not only about death, but about the entire cycle of life. Birth and death often feel like complete opposites, yet this installation made me realize how deeply connected they are. The branches and the light coexist in the same space, just as endings and beginnings coexist in our lives. At first, after reading the description of the work, I felt sadness and sympathy for the artist. However, the longer I stayed with the piece, the more a sense of calm and wholeness settled in. The work did not push me into despair, but instead allowed me to quietly accept loss as a natural part of living.

I experienced this artwork together with my mother, which made the moment even more meaningful. My final project this semester focused on the relationship between my mother and me, and how we often forget the value of those closest to us. We sometimes express ourselves poorly to the people we love the most. While viewing Empty Rooms together, we talked about how the time we share is not guaranteed, and how important it is to cherish everyday moments while we still have them. We agreed that respecting each other and enjoying the present is more important than we often realize.

If I had only spoken about the importance of relationships in words, my thoughts might have remained shallow. However, this artwork helped me think more deeply about the temporary nature of relationships and moments. Empty Rooms gave me a quiet but powerful reminder that absence and presence, loss and warmth, always exist side by side.

Several spatial elements and media choices stood out and provided a fascinating contrast to my work. Jonas utilized simple, tactile materials like wood, paper, and kites, which stood in stark contrast to the high-tech, digital nature of my subject matter. However, the way she layered these physical objects with video projections of herself created a multi-dimensional space that felt alive. This inspired me to rethink my presentation: experimenting with layering and using shadows to create depth. Seeing Jonas’s hand drawn lines on large screens taught me how to bring a human touch to a massive installation, suggesting that I should incorporate my own handwriting or physical marks onto the printed data to bridge the gap between the digital and the analog.

Furthermore, the exhibition’s atmosphere and Jonas’s persistent artistic attitude deeply influenced my working approach. The gallery was filled with a sense of organized chaos, a mix of sounds, flickering screens, and hanging structures that required the audience to actively wander and discover. This encouraged me to move away from a sterile, gallery like arrangement and instead create a more immersive, forest like, environment for my paper box. Jonas’s attitude of using repetitive movements and simple props to explore complex myths gave me the confidence to use my mundane, repetitive data as my primary medium. I now understand that the power of my project lies in the sheer volume and repetition of these small digital moments, which, when gathered, form a powerful modern ritual of self identification.

What struck me most was the way Jonas treats memory as something fragile and fragmented. In installations such as Empty Rooms and Memorabilia, absence is as important as presence. Objects, shadows, and spaces suggest moments that once existed but are no longer fully accessible. Walking through these works felt quiet and intimate, almost as if I was entering someone else’s memories. This resonated strongly with my own practice, as my project is also built from incomplete moments and emotional traces rather than a continuous narrative.

The exhibition also influenced my technical choices. Joan Jonas uses video not only as an image but as a temporal experience. Repetition, layering, and subtle changes in light transform simple visuals into emotional spaces. After seeing this, I felt more confident in using techniques such as long exposure, blurred imagery, and overlapping videos in my own work. I deliberately adjusted color tones and lighting, using darker and warmer hues to separate memories from the present moment. Instead of explaining emotions directly, I wanted them to be felt through visual atmosphere.

Another important aspect of the exhibition was its focus on interconnectedness. The More-than-Human World explores the relationship between humans, nature, objects, and time. While my project is centered on personal memories from my first semester in Korea, the exhibition helped me realize that these memories are not only personal. The uncertainty of arriving in a new place, the fear of the unknown, and the beauty of unexpected moments are experiences many people share. The opening scene of my video, filmed on my first day in Korea, captures this uncertainty before transitioning into layered memories that reflect how meaning slowly builds over time.

Overall, Joan Jonas’s exhibition encouraged me to trust fragmentation rather than clarity. It showed me that media art can communicate through emotion, atmosphere, and absence. This reinforced my decision to present a deeply personal work that invites viewers to recognize fragments of their own memories within mine.

My final projects message was about the data trace we leave on the internet. Using webcam and code to turn viewer’s movement into text on the screen, acting as a digital mirror. At the exhibition, Joan Jonas also used mirrors, videos and screen but in different ways. She often uses video to reflect nature, animals and sometimes even myths. Jonas tries to explore “More-than-Human World”. My project tries to show the “Data World”. Comparing those two my work could be seen as cold and machine-like. However, we both try to show things that are usually invisible. Jonas reveals hidden things in nature, I reveal invisible thing on the internet.

I was impressed by her installation Empty Rooms (2025). It had paper shapes hanging from the ceiling, creating shadows on the walls. This made me think, how I see my own project. At first, I only focused on the computer screen. After seeing how Jonas used the whole room, made me realise that my installation is also about physical space. The viewer’s body is very important in the piece since it creates the trace, just like the paper objects in Jonas’s room create the shadows.

The section “Revival and Transmission” made me think about memory. Jonas reuses her old works to keep them alive. My project is about how the internet remembers everything, forever. Her works show that traces can be a memory of life in nature. In the digital world, a trace is just a permanent data record.

Visiting the exhibition made me realise my project’s message more clearly. Jonas creates a world were humans and nature live together. In my project there’s a digital world where we humans are in control of the machines. The contrast between those two helps me understand that my project isn’t just about technology, but difference between human memory and digital storage.