Lili Maya

I began mixing traditional/physical art forms with digital media because I needed the contact with the physical act of drawing and making. It is how I think and orient myself. What I once thought was a desire to mix these worlds was really a necessity if I was to continue working with digital media.

Over time, I stopped making a distinction and I think of my work as art that incorporates different materials and processes. Expanding on that notion, my practice is now an interdisciplinary collaboration involving sound, performance, site-specific installation and music.

Claudia O’Steen

Transcripts: 2/5

It’s snowing right now. I’m on the way to the beach in Little Compton. It’s snowing and my windshield wipers are not working.

I originally came here because I was interested in documenting the lighthouse everyday. I was interested in this because it’s a structure that is operated by one person. It is a form of communication across a vast space—the sea. It is a type of communication where you don’t know who you are reaching out to, and you never actually come in contact with the person.

I’ve been bringing my binoculars out every day to look for the lighthouse and to write notes about it, because I thought that I could see it in the distance. Then, one day I got lost coming out here because my phone wasn’t working. I met a man on the beach named Tom (his dog is named Max). He showed me around the city a bit and told me where the lighthouse actually is (so I’m not sure what I’ve been looking at).

Is this us (I’m looking for the turn)?

I think part of what has been exciting about this process is that every time I get to the sea it’s completely different than the time before. I never know what to expect.


Sometimes I get there and it’s beautiful and pleasant, and sometimes it’s freezing with hurricane winds.

Something else that has been interesting about this process is that not only does it change when I’m there, but the process of getting there changes, and the way that I feel while driving changes.

It’s a long drive with lots of back roads, and I had to use my GPS the first several times I drove here (until I got lost). It was because of this that I was forced to learn my way. Now when I drive here I zone out and just end up there. I know the curves of the road. I know the sounds my car makes when I go around the curves—how it responds.

We’re getting closer now. I realize that I need to be alone during this process, because when I’m not, I’m more aware of how long it takes to get here. The drive is a period of reflection. I think about what will happen when I get there, why I’m doing this and what I’ve discovered.

When I’m not alone I lose that.


Visible Limit of the Sea

Mary Burge

Looking back I think I was a crazy masochist to build a house I couldn’t keep and had no experience in making. The party line is that I wanted to tell a story about my own culture and memories because I knew if I didn’t, someone else would do it for me.

The nature of digital video, sound, and other types of digital documentation is like the scorpion in the river. It may give you a ride on its back, but if it bites you on the opposite shore, you shouldn’t be surprised since that’s its nature.


The piece was about living with plurality of representations—photo, video, etc., and what it does to your own sense of self and memory to be constantly reminded of who you were or are as interpreted via a camera. I took this psychic split to be hostile at times, and interpreted through my own experiences growing up in the South.

I’ve lived in Yankeeland for so long, and heard so many different ignorant and negative views of my own culture, that I wanted to explore that feeling of otherness—whether the otherness was female, or queer, or just going it alone. Especially since I was the other when I was growing up, but in different ways. So I was forcing myself to sort through my own feelings and other people’s, while knowing I am a media maker and that’s a responsibility.

Paulina Sierra

In this desire for translation is where Appropriation in my creative process begins. It is activated by what has been assimilated from our heritage and cultural background, a background that has already become divergent by the multiple interventions of otherness we have had in the past.

I want to acknowledge that centuries later we still concoct new interpretations of the old world, just as we have also been able to apply old understandings to the new. Our parameters are modern and traditional, crafted and mass produced, exogenous and indigenous, cosmic and technocratic.

Eye I & Eye Us

Lisa Iaboni

I bought my first digital camera in 2004.

It was a Canon PowerShot digital point-and-shoot. After carrying around a large format camera and a tripod, this was much easier. Slip it in my bag and go. When holiday events came around my relatives wanted to compare my camera with theirs.

“How many megapixels you got?” —Uncle Silvio

“Oh, that’s a nice camera. How many megapixels?” —Grandpa

“5 megapixels? I just bought a Nikon that has 6 megapixels” —Aunt Kay

The flurry of questions that accompanied having a digital point-and-shoot camera in the early aughts was similar to the novelty of the iPhone when it was introduced in 2007. Unlike the iPhone though, I wasn’t totally impressed with the quality of the image and I didn’t have a printer.

What used to take a day or two had collapsed into less than a second:

• Waiting to agitate film during the development process
(5 seconds every 30 seconds for 7 minutes, depending on water temperature)

• Waiting for the film to dry (overnight)

• Waiting to pick up film from the color lab (usually about two days plus the 40 minute trip to and from Manhattan)

• Waiting 5 minutes for fiber based paper to soak in the Fixer bath before it could be exposed to light

• Waiting for a c-print to run through the processor (5 minutes)

• Learning how to color balance c-prints so you never see MAGENTA again (6 months)

There was something important about the waiting time between taking a picture and seeing it.

Finding Photo Gold

Liat Berdugo

I ask what the boundary is between machine and non-machine; I ask what devices can and cannot do in the physical world. I find cracks in the seemingly flawless veneers of digital objects and technology as a whole, and I pry these cracks open, revealing where cords tangle, where devices break, and where machines leave us waiting endlessly for things to load. I find delight in these momentary messes.

Sleight of Hand

Monica Ong

I am a maker of meaning who engages images and objects, surface and sound, striving for a compelling conceptual experience that balances form and content.

Hardly monogamous when it comes to courting a specific medium, my process calls on a range of processes, and regards digital media as a tool, another flavor of fabrication. When initiating my process, I do not set out to be digital. I am not an artist in service to digital form.



Sophia Brueckner

Singing Code

Inspired by John Baldessari singing the instructions of Sol Lewitt, I sang the instructions that I knew: C++ code. C++ is made up of two files, the header file and the body file. This simple C++ program layers the videos of me singing the C++ files.


Enraptured && Encoded

Monica Ong

While the social climate at home upheld the need to save face and indirect communication, the social climate at school and in the public American sphere emphasized individuality, self-expression and assertiveness as qualities that contribute to success and are even considered noble.

Many American-born Chinese like myself are often balancing dual identities and exist in a constant state of translation, not just linguistically, but in terms of social behavior and self­ evaluation. It is the observation of this cultural overlap that bred my speculation about how social values are negotiated in the drama of human life, and specifically in the crucial moments of facing illness, aging and death. The tension between the various generations, family dynamics and self-perceptions offers the rich ground where my art takes root; the stage where my stories unfold.


Evelyn Eastmond

Having taken three introductory-level design and painting courses by now, and currently being enrolled in a Junior-level painting studio, I am learning that this system for solving paintings on the canvas (through a set of predetermined design rules) is not the way artists think about or teach painting.

I always expected the “system” to come from the outside, to be taught to me in almost a textbook fashion, where I could then take what I had been taught and apply it systematically to achieve successful paintings.

Instead what I am finding is that painting (and every other form of art-making) is about taking your intuitions, ideas, impulses and urges and manifesting them through a discourse with a material that can help the artist get these very human intuitions out.

Things like natural artistic ability, talent and any foundational rules are all “nice-to-have,” but are all meant to be internalized in the maker and then used accordingly through the process of making.