Category Archives: Other

Maybe nothing matters, maybe everything matters – On the value of things, 方丈記, and the weight of hardships

Words by Oliver Cheung

I have a buddy named Wren in my Japanese class. She’s a master’s student in Classical Japanese Literature. Even as somebody who’s studying the language, I have no idea why you’d want to look into an infinitely more difficult version of this language that’s already kicking my GPA down the road like a rusty can. I guess the difference between myself and her is the fact that she’s actually good at speaking, I’m just some bum who’s in too deep to quit. Still, one day she brought up the topic of her own field of study, and she sent me the EPUB for Anthology of Japanese Literature, translated to English, of course. I gave it a read, I was a fan of Rashomon so I figured I would like this, and I did. I highly recommend it. But there was one short story that popped out to me, being An Account of My Hut, which was a tale by an old man writing on how the world around him had gone to smithereens and he had retired to renounce all his worldly possessions in the name of being a monk and lived alone in a hut on the side of a mountain. 

Ten square feet, at the end of the world

Also known as Hōjōki (方丈記), the story was written by Kamō no Chōmei in 1212, during the early Kamakura period. It regales the life of the author as he watches the current kingdom rise and fall, the changing of human values, and eventually his quiet life on the side of Mt. Ohara. It opens with the following quote:

The flow of the river never ceases,
And the water never stays the same.
Bubbles float on the surface of pools,
Bursting, re-forming, never lingering.
They’re like the people in this world and their dwellings.

This has become a significant passage in Japanese literature for being an embodiment of the concept of mujō (無常), referring to the impermanance of things, which is a key component of Buddhism. Things in our human life never stay as they are, and are never as they seem. We exist in fleeting pockets of space, only ever briefly affecting and sometimes never at all. Just as bubbles and pond scum will simmer to the surface of the lake, they burst and disappear all the same, and Chōmei ascribes this quality to people as well.

The story opens with Chōmei recounting his time in the old capital of Kyoto. He writes of the old ages of prosperity, but also just as quickly shifts the tone to that of disaster. A great fire rips through the city, followed just as soon by a whirlwind that causes the city to vanish near overnight. The values of people change, old samurai families are brought to indignity, and beggars tear apart the gold-inlaid pillars of temples for firewood. All the treasures in the world have been laid low as the war between the Minamotos and the Tairas (one of the biggest conflicts in Japan’s medieval history, but a story for another time) persist through the decades. Eventually, the capital was relocated to Fukuhara for a time.

“The mansions whose roofs had rivaled one another fell with the passing days to rack and ruin. Houses were dismantled and floated down the Yodo River, and the capital turned into empty fields before one’s eyes. People’s ways changed completely—now horses were prized and oxcarts fell into disuse. Estates by the sea in the south or west were highly desired, and no one showed any liking for manors in the east or the north.”

As they say in latin, sic transit gloria mundi, “glory fades.” That much isn’t new, however, everyone knows of the empires of old. Camelot, Rome, Alexandria, everything returns to dust one way or another. As living beings on this Earth, we are cursed with impermanence, and everything we are is what we bury. But the significance of Hōjōki and Chōmei’s retelling is how it ends.

As I mentioned earlier, Chōmei would live through this and renounce the world, living as a monk “into his sixth decade” and building himself a ten-foot-square hut of mud on the mountainside of Mt. Ohara, located in what is now Tochigi City. That’s where the story ends. But what does this have to do with media theory? I didn’t think much of it either, until I came to understand that Chōmei’s concept of mujō and our understanding of subjective value are actually quite similar.

Nothing good was built to last

Tim Ingold was onto something actually very Buddhist in his recounting of value, being that real value is shown in decay and in desolation, through usage and lived experience. Items take on new lives of their own in human hands, a love taken miles to forge. I found this concept extremely compelling as I reread Hōjōki again with a media theorist’s lens.

Chōmei treats objects as Ingold would, as possessions that ebb and flow and exist as the companions to people, for better or for worse. And yet, within the desolation, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief through the tragedy as these manors and mansions of old, treated as travesty by Chōmei, were repurposed by survivors or retaken by nature. For their purpose in one life had ended, and they have found different meaning in the constant movement of life, time itself had given them new value. Oxcarts were abandoned to moss, giving way to the admiration of the equine, and Buddhist artifacts that had sat collecting dust were sold and circulated for survival’s sake. In wordly pain, the movement of objects, the foundation of new value became necessary. Is this just a long-winded way of saying that human beings are resourceful and will do anything to secure their continued existence? Yes. That’s exactly what it is. But that’s what also drove me to become so interested in Ingold’s theory of value and creation.

Buddhism is centred around the concept of everything. Everything exists in context of everything else and everything is just as beautiful as everything else. If you wanted to be media theorist-y about it, you could say that all objects exist in relation to materials within a space. But that space must exist in time, and different times require different objects that then carry that memory of usage. And that’s the true humanity that lives in Chōmei’s story – the world can go to ruin however many times over, through fire, wind, and by our own hand. And yet, we do whatever it takes, making value out of anything to get our way, live another day.

The story closes with Chōmei commenting on how his own method of escape, his ten-square-foot hut, has become precious to him. He had inititally used it as a form of temporary seclusion, angry at the state of the world, but in his time on Mt. Ohara, he came to love his tiny hut for it had become more like a home than any other residence he had before. Bollmer would account this to Ahmed’s definition, but it’s far more poetic to say it how it is.

When we use something, we come to love it. When we live somewhere, we come to feel like we belong. We live in relation with everything else, and everything else is beautiful.

By Oliver Cheung

Keene, Donald. Anthology of Japanese Literature: From the Earliest Era to the Mid-Nineteenth Century. Grove Press, 2014.

Ingold, Tim. Making: Anthropology, Archaeology, Art and Architecture. Routledge, 2013.

Gestures as mediational means

In October, I gave way to the cyclist, and they showed me their palm as a sign of gratitude. A split second before they cycled away. I’ve heard that drivers also do that – they lift their fingers off the steering wheel to thank the driver across. Maybe they let you know there’s a police car with a speedometer nearby. You just do it, and you feel connected without speaking a single word. I thought about it a lot, for some reason – about those little ways in which we connect with people in a busy city and how sometimes no words are needed to understand each other. And then we discussed mediational means in class.

Writing this post feels very LinkedIn-coded: here’s what giving way to a cyclist taught me about b2b sales kind of premise. But for this whole semester, we’ve let media studies grow roots in our real lives, reading Ingold instead of Tolkien, watching “Library of the World” instead of “Muppet Treasure Island” and citing Plato in our comments instead of just saying “me fr fr XD”. So I hope you forgive me for bringing media studies into the act of being a human and showing a fellow human your palm before cycling away.

Gestures as everyday media

Try noting how many gestures you use throughout the day. Do you shrug when asked how you’re doing? Do you wave at your friends when you see them from afar? Do you move your hands around aggressively when describing the most annoying event of the day to your family?

Flusser attempts to define gestures and comes down to this: “a gesture is a movement of the body or of a tool connected to the body for which there is no satisfactory causal explanation.” (2) There is no “scientific” or “logical” reason to raise an index finger when somebody’s bombarding you with questions while you’re clearly on the phone. The gesture becomes the symbol, it carries and mediates meaning: silence, in this case. (Flusser, 4)

Often, we don’t even notice a slight hand movement, a head tilt, a wave of a finger. Don’t be fooled – gestures are very intentional, it’s how we think through our bodies. Ever gestured something while talking on a phone only to realise your interlocutor cannot see what you’re doing? This is because gestures help us process complex information and spatial data: gestures are not simply performative.

There’s a joke about an Italian soldier who was captured during the war and, when released by his fellow soldiers, was asked: they tortured you, did you tell them anything? To which he replied “how could I have told them anything, my hands were tied?”. While it’s a silly joke, it underlines our understanding of gestures as cultural transistors of meaning that are integrated into speech. Gestures and speech synchronize to express similar meanings, yet do so in vastly different ways (McNeil, 11).

Gestures as self-sufficient mediators

We might be inclined to see gestures as “sides” to our “main meals” that is speech. Gestures can seem decorative, adding emotions to the story rather than telling it.

This is probably as wrong as assuming a tree doesn’t make a noise simply because we aren’t there to hear it or that mommy disappeared because you can’t see her. That is to say: grow up.

David McNeil describes at length the unity between speech and gestures (23-24). They are, he argues, two sides of the same cognitive process, manifesting differently through different media: both equally valuable and significant. A conversation held with gesturing will feel different in both emotional and meaningful sense from a conversation held with no gestures. Because, ultimately, not every meaning is expressible through speech: that is why we use them, after all. Spatial and temporal thinking are often better expressed though gestures, containing meanings separate from words.

Gestures as mediational means

In his “Mediated Discourse”, Ron Scollon suggests shifting attention from language as text to language as social action. In his view, meaning is produced through actions in a given context rather than simply being embedded in words. He therefore defines mediational means as cultural tools: material objects that carry out the mediated action (4). Scollon specifies that mediational means include embodied practices, be it posture or movements.

Social action is always mediated: there can be no action without tools that shape how said action is performed. No omelette without a stove and a pan, no late night calls without phones, no ratting out your country’s military plans without free hands movement. This, again, makes bodies function as sites of mediation, allowing social actors to perform in socially recognized practices, mediating whatever is required at the moment.

Scollon goes on to describe five main characteristics of mediational means as follows (121):

Dialectical – there is a dialectic between the external aspects of the mediational means as an object in the world and the internal structures of the person using the mediational means. Some gestures can feel more or less fitting this characteristic, mainly because, in my opinion, Scollon does a poor job of explaining what he means.

Historical – in both global and local ways: there can be a global history of blowing a kiss, and your favourite memory of receiving such a kiss for the first time, for example.

Partial – mediational means never fits one action exactly, only some of their characteristics being useful at a time. By being both more and less than called upon, they transform the action being performed.

Connective – mediational means link both many purposes and many participants. Today, you show me your palm when I give you way on the road. Tomorrow, somebody else does, so you do that to another person. I’m not jealous, no. It’s the connective nature of mediational means.

Representational – mediational means are not specific and concrete objects, but representative tokens of a class of objects.

“So what?” says the media studies student

In media studies, we recognize meaning as being produced through so many more things than simple semiotic representation. Gestures produce meaning through embodied actions, and understanding it is what we get from reframing them as mediational means. They translate convoluted cognitive processes into socially understandable actions. Media analysis doesn’t need to focus solely on technologies and texts, I believe we need to also pay attention to the embodied practices: they are the basics of enacting media, they are the basic of human life and cultural interaction.

If anything, this post is a nice reminder that mediation and meaning can be happening away from award-winning films, away from scrollitelling websites and complicated research papers. Sometimes it is literally right in your hand.


Work cited:

Mcneill, David. 1992. Hand and Mind : What Gestures Reveal about Thought. Chicago: University Of Chicago Press.

Scollon, Ronald. 2009. Mediated Discourse : The Nexus of Practice. London ; New York (N.Y.): Routledge.

Vilém Flusser. 2014. Gestures. U of Minnesota Press.

When the Body Disappears: Data Doubles and the Future of Fashion Media

The Image Is Not What It Appears

We often assume that an image is something simply there, a visible object presented to our eyes. Yet, as Hans Belting argues in An Anthropology of Images, an image is never identical to its material support. Images occupy a paradoxical position: they rely on a medium to appear, but they do not belong to that medium. They must be activated by the viewer’s imagination, which draws the image “out” of the opaque material and turns the medium into a transparent conduit. In Belting’s formulation, the image exists in a state of suspension between presence and absence, between embodiment and disembodiment, between materiality and mental projection. It is not the medium that ultimately “holds” the image, but the viewer who gives it perceptual life. 

From Mediation to Substitution

This instability becomes newly consequential in the age of datafied bodies. Once the medium of the image becomes databases, model weights, and computational systems rather than celluloid or canvas, the separation between bodies and their images does not simply expand, it is structurally transformed. The “image” of a person may no longer require a person at all. A digital model can be generated, iterated, and deployed without ever having stood before a camera; a dataset can circulate long after the human it references has withdrawn, aged, or refused consent. In this environment, images no longer merely detach from bodies, they begin to replace them.In contemporary conversations, terms like multimedia and mass media appear so frequently that the word medium risks losing any real conceptual depth. If we want to use the term in a meaningful theoretical way, we have to clarify what we mean when we say it. McLuhan famously describes media as extensions of the human body, technological forms that recalibrate how we sense and navigate time and space, rather than neutral channels that deliver information. Art history, meanwhile, tends to define a medium either as an artistic category or the physical material an artwork is made from. But neither of these definitions fully captures what is at stake when we talk about images today. Across media theory, a recurring insight is that the medium operates as the technical and material condition that makes an image perceptible at all. A medium is not simply a conduit; it is the condition of the image’s visibility, the material and technological ground that turns a visual event into something perceptible. The medium, therefore, is neither external to the image nor subordinate to it; it is the ground through which the image becomes thinkable, legible, and real.

The Fashion Data Double

On the surface, an AI-generated fashion model image looks simple enough: a glossy figure posed against a studio backdrop, clothes hanging perfectly, skin without pores or fatigue. It could be a screenshot from any luxury campaign, until you realize there was never a body in front of the camera. No model booked, no lights adjusted to her height, no stylist pinning fabric to her spine. Instead, what stands in for “her” is a composite built out of scans, datasets, and models that can be rendered in endless variations without ever asking for rest or consent. Data & Society’s research on “fashion’s data doubles” names this shift: the fashion model is no longer only a person who works in front of a lens, but also a datafied proxy, a version of her body extracted, stored, and redeployed through computational systems. The report shows how models’ measurements, images, and movements become training material for virtual lookbooks and automated try-on tools, and how these digital stand-ins can appear in campaigns the model herself never participated in. Her “image” moves on without her.

Disturbing Belting’s Triangle

This transformation presses on a question that has been hovering around our course all semester, and that Hans Belting formulates sharply in his anthropology of images: what exactly is an image, and what kind of body does it require? For Belting, images are never just things “out there.” They exist in a triangle: body, medium, image. The body is the living site where images arise and are perceived; the medium is the material support that makes them visible; the image itself hovers somewhere between the two, inner and outer, psychic and material, always dependent on imagination to “lift” it from its medium. We do not simply control images; they occupy us, inhabit our memory, and help us make sense of the world. If we take Belting seriously, then AI fashion models are not just a technical novelty. They represent a disturbance in this triangle. Here, the “image” of a person is produced without a living body in front of the camera. The medium is no longer film or sensor but a computational system. Yet these images still land in human perception; they still cling to our ways of seeing bodies, beauty, gender, and race. The question, then, is not only what data doubles are doing to the labor conditions of models, as Data & Society carefully documents, but what they are doing to the very definition of images and embodiment

What Belting helps us see, then, is that images are never just “out there” in the world; they are always routed through living bodies that remember, fantasize, and perceive (Belting 2011). Yet this anthropological focus on perception also has a blind spot. It tells us a great deal about how images inhabit viewers, but less about how images extract from those who are pictured, or from those whose data underwrite the image in the first place. When the fashion model’s likeness becomes training data, what kind of “occupation” is taking place? The image does not just live in my memory; it also lives in a database owned by someone else. Belting’s triangle reminds us that images need bodies, but the data double forces us to ask a harder question: whichbodies, and on whose terms?

Black Boxes and Borrowed Authority

New media rarely establish credibility by announcing themselves as new. Instead, they tend to lean on the visual authority of older forms, adopting photographic conventions while quietly concealing their own mechanisms (Bolter and Grusin 1999).The AI fashion model is made to look as though it were photographed in a studio and the polished framing of editorial fashion imagery. The result is not merely an image that looks like a photograph; it is a medium that strategically disguises itself as the photographic, so that viewers inherit photography’s habits of belief without having to confront photography’s material preconditions. What emerges is a peculiar reversal of transparency. In Belting’s terms, the medium becomes “transparent” when the viewer’s imagination extracts the image from its support, treating the support as a conduit rather than an object (Belting 2011). With computational images, the conduit is transparent in a different sense: it is deliberately black-boxed. The viewer is invited to host the image while remaining structurally distant from the conditions of its production. This distance is not accidental; it is functional. It allows the medium to expand its role, from carrying to generating, without triggering immediate skepticism about presence.

Embodiment at the End of the Chain

Yet, if the initiating body is no longer required at the moment of production, embodiment does not disappear. It relocates. Hansen’s account of digital images is crucial here: digital mediation does not “free” images from bodies so much as it demands that bodies re-enter at the level of perception, affect, and sensorimotor completion (Hansen 2006). Even when an AI fashion model is generated without a photographed body, it still requires a perceiving body to be read as sensual, aspirational, racialized, gendered, desirable. The viewer’s body becomes the final site where the image comes to life, where the medium’s outputs are translated into lived sensation (Hansen 2006). The body is not erased, but displaced, arriving at the end of the process to authorize an image it never helped produce. This is where McLuhan’s idea of extension starts to feel uneasy. Media may extend perception, but they also change our sense of what attention should feel like, how fast it moves, how smoothly it flows, and what we come to expect from it (McLuhan 1964).Van Den Eede pushes the point further: every extension entails a diminishment, a redistribution of agency and awareness that often makes the extension feel “natural” precisely by making its costs difficult to perceive (Van Den Eede 2015). In computational imaging, the extension is not only optical; it is generative. The medium extends the image beyond the body’s presence, yet diminishes the body’s capacity to delimit, negotiate, or refuse what that image will become.

At this point, the “medium” is no longer simply the condition of visibility. It becomes an engine of substitution: a system that can model presence itself. And because it models presence in familiar photographic language, its substitution can be mistaken for continuity.If the medium can produce images without bodies, then the central political question becomes: whose bodies still pay the cost of visibility?  The answer is rarely “no one.” Instead, bodies are translated into resources, and the image becomes a site where extraction can continue under the sign of realism. The Data & Society account of “fashion’s data doubles” names a structural reconfiguration: the fashion model is no longer only a worker who appears before a camera but also a datafied proxy whose measurable attributes proportions, facial geometry, movement, skin texture can be stored, and redeployed across campaigns and platforms (Data & Society). The decisive shift is not simply that images circulate; images have always circulated. The shift is that circulation can now occur with a reduced need for participation from the original subject. The model can be absent, asleep, unwilling, or contractually excluded, yet the proxy continues to “work.”

John Berger’s account of reproducibility helps frame this mobility historically. Once images become reproducible, they loosen from the singular contexts that once anchored them and acquire a new social life (Berger 1972). In AI fashion systems, that “social life” takes on an industrial form: the image is not only reproduced; it is *iterated.* It becomes parameterized, tweakable, and scalable. This is why the question “What happens to mediation when images can keep working without bodies?” is not metaphorical. It describes a literal labor shift: the work of appearing can be separated from the worker who once supplied appearance. The concept of the data double becomes most politically legible when read through Belting’s claim that images are neither identical to living bodies nor reducible to inanimate objects. 

The deeper issue is that AI converts bodily work into a durable productive asset, a form of labor that can outlive the worker’s presence (Data & Society 2024). McLuhan’s extension thesis clarifies why this can feel strangely normal. Extensions do not announce themselves as domination; they present themselves as convenience, as “just how things work now” (McLuhan 1964). Van Den Eede adds the missing mechanism: when an extension becomes naturalized, its costs become harder to perceive; the body that made the extension possible is quietly erased from the story the medium tells about itself (Van Den Eede 2015). The data double is precisely this kind of naturalized extension: the model’s bodily labor is extended into a technical system, and the extension quickly becomes treated as the primary reality. The original body is reframed as merely the raw input.

This is why “endless labor” is not only metaphorical. It is structural. Tiziana Terranova’s argument about digital “free labor” helps explain how value extraction can persist without appearing as labor at all, because participation, capture, and circulation are built into the environment rather than enforced as discrete acts (Terranova 2000). Zuboff’s “surveillance capitalism” names an adjacent logic: systems thrive by turning lived experience into data that can be repurposed without reciprocal control (Zuboff 2019). Data doubles operate along this axis. What disappears is not work, but the conditions under which work can be recognized, negotiated, or refused.

A deeper anthropological question follows:

If images can be engineered to keep producing value after the body withdraws, what happens to refusal as a bodily capacity?

If image-making is understood anthropologically rather than purely technologically, then the current crisis of images appears less as a sudden rupture and more as a breakdown in correspondence.
From this perspective, the danger of AI-generated imagery is not that it fabricates images, but that it fabricates them without requiring continued bodily negotiation. Images no longer need to answer to fatigue, refusal, vulnerability, or time. They persist independently of the bodies that once grounded them. This is where image philosophy begins to slide, almost inevitably, into political economy. When images no longer negotiate with bodies, they become ideal vehicles for extraction. The data double exemplifies this shift. A likeness captured once can circulate endlessly, generating value without requiring further participation from the person it resembles. What is lost is not only labor compensation, but the body’s capacity to intervene in its own representation. The image no longer responds; it simply continues. In this sense, the problem is not that images misrepresent bodies, but that they no longer depend on them.

A Crisis of Relation

Anthropologically, this marks a profound transformation. Images have historically functioned as sites of exchange,between life and death, presence and absence, self and other. Funerary images, mirrors, shadows, paintings, and photographs all required the body to remain meaningful. Even when images abstracted or idealized, they retained a trace of bodily limitation. AI images, by contrast, risk becoming images without consequence. They do not age. They do not resist. They do not withdraw. And because they circulate with the visual authority of older media forms, they are often accepted without question.
Yet the issue is not simply deception. As Flusser warns, the true power of technical images lies not in their capacity to lie, but in their capacity to reorganize perception until their conditions of production disappear from view. Once images feel natural, their authority becomes difficult to contest. Over time, bodies that cannot match the smoothness, efficiency, and availability of synthetic images begin to appear excessive or insufficient by comparison. The image no longer reflects cultural values; it quietly installs them.

Seen this way, the crisis of AI imagery is not a crisis of realism, but a crisis of relation. When images stop corresponding with bodies, they cease to function as mediators and begin to operate as autonomous systems. They no longer translate human experience; they overwrite it. And because images structure how the world becomes intelligible, this autonomy carries real consequences,for labor, for aesthetics, for gender and racial politics, and for the very concept of embodiment.
The task, then, is not to abandon image-making nor to nostalgically recover a pre-digital past. Anthropology teaches that images are unavoidable. We live in them, think through them, and remember with them. The question is whether images can still be made to correspond—to materials, to bodies, to lived limits. Without this correspondence, images risk becoming a runaway cultural force: endlessly productive, endlessly circulating, and increasingly detached from the human conditions that once gave them meaning. In the end, the problem is not that images have gained power, but that they have lost negotiation. And once images no longer need to negotiate with bodies, it is no longer clear how bodies can negotiate back.

Works Cited

Belting, Hans. An Anthropology of Images. Princeton University Press, 2011.

Berger, John. Ways of Seeing. Penguin, 1972.

Bolter, Jay David, and Richard Grusin. Remediation: Understanding New Media. MIT Press, 1999.

Data & Society. Fashion’s Data Doubles. Data & Society Research Institute, 2024.

Flusser, Vilém. Towards a Philosophy of Photography. Reaktion Books, 1983.

Hansen, Mark B. N. Bodies in Code: Interfaces with Digital Media. Routledge, 2006.

McLuhan, Marshall. Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man. McGraw-Hill, 1964.

Terranova, Tiziana. “Free Labor: Producing Culture for the Digital Economy.” Social Text, vol. 18, no. 2, 2000, pp. 33–58.

Van Den Eede, Yoni. Tracing the Medium: Technological Mediation and Postphenomenology. Lexington Books, 2015.

Zuboff, Shoshana. The Age of Surveillance Capitalism. PublicAffairs, 2019.

We’re All Born Naked and the Rest is Performative Materiality: Drag, Gender, and Audiences.

In Materialist Media Theory, Grant Bollmer argues that media are not passive carriers of meaning but material processes that act upon bodies, shape subjects, and generate the conditions through which identities can emerge (Bollmer). Media, in this sense, does not simply represent; it performs. It intervenes in the world. It exerts force. It structures what bodies can do and how they appear.

The art of drag is a productive lens for understanding Bollmer’s notion of performative materiality. Rather than treating drag as an exceptional or marginal cultural form, I use it as a case that makes visible the broader media-ontological operations Bollmer attributes to all mediated identity. Drag helps us see, in concrete terms, how gender emerges from interactions among bodies, objects, technologies, and audiences. Drag exemplifies Bollmer’s core argument: Identity is the outcome of material practices, not an interior essence, and media such as prosthetics, language, and audiences participate in performing identity alongside us.

The Body as Medium

If media is performative, then the body is one of its primary sites of action. Bernadette Wegenstein describes the body as “our most fundamental medium,” a surface continuously shaped, rewritten, and extended through material practices (Wegenstein 2010). Drag performers make this process visible.

Egner & Maloney’s study documents performers who articulate gender not as a fixed inner truth but as something produced through embodied technique: padding, contouring, binding, layering, staging, and stylizing. These techniques are not superficial decorations; they are operations that actively reorganize the performer’s physical and social presence.

In Egner and Maloney’s study, performers consistently describe drag as something that operates beyond fixed categories of sex or gender. Performers move fluidly between masculine and feminine embodiments, sometimes within a single act, and anatomical exposure does not necessarily disrupt the gender being performed. What matters is not the visibility of the body’s “biological” markers, but the larger assemblage of gesture, costuming, movement, and audience orientation through which gender becomes legible.

Image Credits: BobTheDragQueen.com

Bollmer’s framework is useful here because these transformations are not simply symbolic gestures layered over an already-existing identity. They are material operations that actively reorganize how the body functions in space. Wigs, makeup, padding, and prosthetics act as media technologies that exert force on perception, movement, and social recognition. Drag performers, therefore, exemplify Bollmer’s argument that what we call “identity” is inseparable from “the material relations that allow subjects to be produced at all”. Gender is not expressed through media; it is generated through media.

Drag as Material Performance

Drag’s power lies not simply in its visual transformation, but in the convergence of materials, practices, and infrastructures that produce a performative body. As Egner and Maloney note, “acting in a way that disrupts expectations of how ‘normal’ people do gender allows drag performers to subvert gender expectations for both their everyday and on-stage gender presentation” (Egner and Maloney, 2016, p. 877). This disruption does not occur only at the level of meaning or representation. It happens through specific material actions such as costuming, makeup, bodily stylization, movement, and staging.

This is where Bollmer’s idea of performative materiality becomes especially useful. For Bollmer, media do not simply communicate identity after it already exists. Media are part of the process that brings identity into being. When drag performers alter their bodies through makeup, padding, wigs, and gestures, they are not expressing a pre-existing gender that lives inside them. They are using media technologies to actively produce gender as something that becomes visible and legible in the world.

From this perspective, the subversion that Egner and Maloney describe is not only cultural or symbolic. It is material. Disrupting how “normal” people do gender works because drag physically reorganizes bodies in space and changes how those bodies can be seen, interpreted, and responded to. What counts as masculine or feminine shifts because the material conditions that support those categories are being altered in real time. This is exactly what Bollmer means when he argues that identity emerges from material relations rather than from an inner essence. Drag does not represent gender. It participates in making gender possible in different ways.

Video Credits: RuPaul’s Drag Race

Audience as Medium: Interaction as Material Process

One of the most significant contributions of Egner and Maloney’s study is the claim that audience interaction is not supplemental to drag performance but constitutive of it. Performers report that their gender presentations shift depending on the audience present, the reactions they observe, and the boundaries they attempt to breach. What is being performed is therefore not a fixed gender identity but a relational process that only takes shape through response.

This is where Bollmer’s concept of performative materiality becomes especially clear. For Bollmer, media are environments that shape what actions can occur and what forms of identity can emerge. The audience functions as part of this media environment. Their reactions operate as material forces that influence how gender is performed in real time. Laughter, discomfort, silence, and shock are not just interpretations of drag. They actively condition what kinds of gender expressions become possible in that space.

Egner and Maloney show that performers adjust their performances depending on the setting. When performing for mixed or university audiences, performers often wear more clothing and reduce sexual content because less is required to breach dominant gender norms (Egner and Maloney, 2016, pp. 897 to 898). In queer venues, performers intensify their gender transgressions in order to generate the same disruptive effect. This demonstrates that subversion is not located in any single costume, gesture, or body. It is produced through a dynamic interaction between performer and audience.

From Bollmer’s perspective, this means that gender is not performed by an individual subject alone; it emerges from a media system composed of bodies, space, sound, attention, and reaction. Identity forms through ongoing material feedback rather than through internal psychological intent. Drag makes this process visible by showing how gender must be constantly adjusted in response to the media environment in which it appears.

Fluidity as a Media Condition

Drag performers in Egner and Maloney’s study frequently describe gender as fluid, shifting, and multiple. Rather than explaining this fluidity as a psychological experience or an inner truth of the self, Bollmer’s performative materiality allows us to understand it as something produced by media conditions themselves. Gender becomes fluid because the material relations that generate it are fluid.

Bodies become sites of repeated inscription through costume, makeup, gesture, and movement. Audiences function as interpretive infrastructures that change what kinds of gender presentations become legible or disruptive. Performance spaces shape how far gender can be pushed and in what direction. The result is that gender is not simply flexible in a personal sense. It is procedural. It is continuously built and rebuilt through interaction between bodies, materials, and environments.

Egner and Maloney describe this process as “gender bending,” rather than “gender acting” (Egner and Maloney, 2016). This wording emphasizes process over representation. Gender shifts within performance as performers respond to audience reaction. In some cases, new understandings of identity emerge through drag itself. Identity is therefore not something that exists first and is later expressed through performance. It takes shape through the material act of performing.

This directly mirrors Bollmer’s claim that identity is always produced through performances composed of material relations (Bollmer, 2020). Drag makes this visible by placing gender into a system where it must respond to bodies, media technologies, spatial conditions, and social reaction all at once.

Image Credits: RuPaul’s Drag Race

Gender as a Media Event

When viewed through Bollmer’s concept of performative materiality, drag becomes more than a genre of entertainment or a symbolic critique of gender norms. It becomes a system in which the material production of identity can be seen in real time. Gender does not appear in drag as an inner truth that is later expressed outward. It takes shape through concrete media operations such as makeup, costuming, bodily technique, spatial staging, and audience reaction. These elements do not decorate identity. They actively generate it.

Drag makes visible what Bollmer argues is always happening across media more broadly. Bodies become media surfaces through modification and stylization. Audiences become part of the media environment through their responses, which shape what kinds of gender expressions become legible, disruptive, or acceptable. Repeated performance turns gender into a process that must be continually recalibrated rather than a stable essence that simply endures. Identity, in this sense, is not located inside the performer and later communicated outward. It emerges through the material relations that connect performer, body, object, space, and audience.

Because drag requires constant adjustment to audience response, it makes clear that gender is not produced by individual intention alone. It is produced through feedback. The meaning and force of a performance change depending on who is watching, how they react, and what norms are already in place. This directly enacts Bollmer’s claim that media do not merely transmit meaning but operate as environments that shape what subjects can become. Gender in drag is therefore not just represented. It is materially organized through circulation, response, and repetition.

What drag ultimately reveals is that identity itself operates as a media process. The instability of gender in drag is not an exception to how identity normally works. It is an intensified version of the same material dynamics that structure identity in everyday mediated life. Drag shows with unusual clarity that subjects are not formed in isolation, but through ongoing interaction with media systems that exert force on bodies, perception, and social recognition. In this sense, drag does not only critique gender. It exposes the media conditions that make gender possible at all.

Works Cited

Bollmer, Grant. Materialist Media Theory: An Introduction. Bloomsbury Publishing, 2019, https://www.bloomsburycollections.com/monograph?docid=b-9781501337086. Accessed 5 December 2025.

Egner, Justine, and Patricia Maloney. ““It Has No Color , It Has No Gender , It’s Gender Bending”: Gender and Sexuality Fluidity and Subversiveness in Drag Performance.” Journal of Homosexuality, vol. 63, no. 7, 2016, pp. 875-903.

Wegenstein, Bernadette. “Body.” Critical Terms for Media Studies, edited by W. J. T. Mitchell and Mark B. N. Hansen, University of Chicago Press, 2010. Accessed 5 December 2025.

Header Image by Fernando Cysneiros (Taken at UBC!)

Ways of ‘Telling’ and ‘Knowing’: How We’re Able to Communicate ‘Tacit’ Knowledge

In the second-to-last chapter of Tim Ingold’s Making: Anthropology, Archeology, Art and Architecture, Ingold centres around the idea of ‘the hand’ and brings up philosopher Michael Polanyi in his opening statements to highlight ideas of ‘telling’, ‘articulating’, and ‘knowing’. Ingold believes that while everything can be told, not everything can be articulated, and to strengthen his argument he uses one of Polanyi’s notable pieces of work, the book The tacit dimension, as a framework for what Ingold believes about knowledge and how it is communicated.

Background on Michael Polanyi and his work

Michael Polanyi was a physicist, chemist, and philosopher who was born in 1891 and passed away in 1976. He lived through both world wars, even migrating from Germany when Nazis took power (The Polanyi Society), and his philosophical work that he developed later in life was heavily influenced by living through those global events, being introduced to philosophy via Soviet ideology under Stalin (Polanyi 3). The book that Ingold refers to, The Tacit Dimension, was originally published in 1966 and introduces Polanyi’s idea of “we know more than we can tell” (Polanyi 4). 

Formal vs. Personal Knowledge

Polanyi’s view on thinking and knowledge was that ‘we know more than we can tell’ (Polanyi 4) and he classified knowledge into two camps: personal and formal. Formal knowledge is knowledge that can be specifically articulated and explained clearly to someone else, whereas personal knowledge cannot. Personal knowledge, to Polanyi, is the type of ‘know-how’ that only comes from the experience and practice that an individual goes through, whether it be perfecting a craft or learning how to hunt, which he also described as tacit knowing (Polanyi 20). It is not able to be articulated and thus, it cannot be taught. Ingold very much disagrees with Polanyi’s sentiment about personal knowledge being ‘untellable’ and argues, for example, that the idea that the age-old example of a craftsman being suddenly unable to explain how they do what they do when asked, is unfounded (Ingold 109). Ingold argues that people are absolutely able to communicate and “tell” others what they do, no matter how innate or personal it may seem. However the telling is not necessarily verbal, but it can be shown and demonstrated. This ties into Ingold’s belief that people correspond with the world and think through making. Polanyi’s perspective doesn’t make sense through Ingold’s lens, because if unspoken stuff or lessons couldn’t be taught since they were ‘personal’, then no one could learn through making, and learning through doing is a well-established fact of life. Polanyi’s view on knowing is also a bit confusing, as when he describes it in detail when describing an experiment involving a frog, he seems to assume that knowing what a frog is and knowing to do an experiment is tacit knowledge (Polanyi 21), despite the fact that a frog very much can be taught about. The ‘otherness’ of a frog might be innately human and ‘tacit’, but to suggest that that cannot be described makes me agree with Ingold.

Ways of Telling

To further help prove his point, Ingold in this chapter highlights the different forms of ‘telling’ to both debunk Polanyi’s ideas, and set up Ingold’s overall argument, which is that everything can be ‘told’. Ingold talks about storytelling, which is a form of telling where a narrative is told that includes lessons and patterns, and then there is ‘telling’, which is the more discernible approach where people search for ‘tells’ in others. For example, studying someone’s face while playing poker is a ‘tell’, since you are using environmental clues such as the furrowing of their brow and the tapping of their fingers on the table to make a judgement for yourself about what is really going on. Ingold brings up an example of being able to tell the tone in which a handwritten note was meant (or not meant) to be received, based on the inflection marks on the letters (Ingold 110). These two methods of telling come together in storytelling as well, but if Polanyi’s method of thinking on ‘tells’ were accurate, Ingold states that that would mean all stories would have the same exact meanings or lessons because of how rigid Polanyi’s ‘formal’ and ‘personal’ knowledge perspective functions. Stories do not work that way though, as they are purposely told with a degree of open-endedness so that the audience can bring about their own meaning and takeaways from it. As an example, Little Red Riding Hood is a classic tale that, in effect, teaches children about stranger danger. The story does not set out to literally warn children of actual wolves that can eat one’s grandparent, but it is close enough to a real example of a wolf being a shady stranger that readers can figure out the lessons behind the words. For Ingold, the lessons that stories give are less of an ‘answer’ and more of a path or trail that one can follow (Ingold 110), and from there everyone gets something unique out of it.

Ways of Thinking

To close out his argument regarding Polanyi’s words specifically, Ingold talks about ‘articulate thinking’, which is the process of thinking about one’s words before speaking them, organizing them in the brain all in advance before sharing the thoughts with anyone else. He argues that if every time people thought it were ‘articulated’, no thinking or ‘making’ would happen because everything would have to be thought of in advance, which goes against the learning-through-doing that Ingold has mentioned in the past. While Polanyi sees the ideas of formal and personal thinking as an iceberg nearly completely submerged in water, with only the formal tip of the ice peeking out of the water (Ingold 109), Ingold sees it as a series of islands that water flows freely around, knowledge being a mix of the two (Ingold 111), instead of a cut-and-dry one or the other. Ingold highlights the fact that in Chapter 1 of Making, he also talks about the idea of ‘knowing’ and ‘telling’ being the same thing, and he argues now that Polanyi is wrong because to know is to tell (Ingold 111), and so to suggest that people possess knowledge that cannot be conveyed is preposterous. Once again, this is not to say that everything ‘told’ will be in a neat verbal package, but rather that everything a person does is telling something in some way. So while not every scholar can articulate their knowledge, they can all tell it (Ingold 111). 

Polanyi in The tacit dimension draws upon Plato’s theories to try and explain how someone can’t search for an answer (if they know what to look for they’re fine, and if they don’t know what to look for then they don’t know) as support for Polanyi’s arguments about how knowledge cannot be ‘explicit’ (Polanyi 22). This is an interesting perspective that Ingold does not write about, since if you break it down you can find a sort of through-line for all knowledge, like how you go to school to learn, ask teachers questions for more information, and so on. Despite this, it still does not address Polanyi’s flawed claim that personal knowledge cannot be taught, giving Ingold the more compelling argument.

In short, Ingold uses Polanyi’s ideas on ‘telling’ and ‘personal knowledge’ to highlight how his own perspective is correct, because to know is to tell, and even if it’s something as simple as a mechanic tuning up a car or a person knitting a sweater, even without step-by-step instructions they are wholly able to tell what they are doing to others.

Works Cited

Ingold, Tim. Making: Anthropology, Archeology, Art and Architecture. 1st ed., Routledge, 2013, https://doi.org/10.4324/9780203559055. Accessed 4 December 2025.

Polanyi, Michael. The tacit dimension. Edited by Internet Archive, Gloucester, MA, 1983. Internet Archive, https://archive.org/details/tacitdimension0000pola/page/4/mode/2up. Accessed 4 December 2025.

The Polanyi Society. “Michael Polanyi.” The Polanyi Society, https://polanyisociety.org/michael-polanyi/. Accessed 28 October 2025.

Why We Fight Online: Environmental Polarization in Digital Media

Introduction

Even though everyone has come to realize that internet has always been a medium of chaos and conflict, but it has always been mildly confusing for us that while verbal sparring in reality is a relatively mild and civilized form of exchanging viewpoints, online it becomes a genuine battlefield—strangers clash fiercely over differing opinions, or sometimes simply to provoke, with conflicts erupting openly for all to see. I’ve also seen many ordinary content creators who share their daily lives eventually forced to turn off private messages after gaining attention, because clearly, many people use such channels like random assailants, aiming only to wound without reason. 

If aliens studying Earth were to witness the spectacle of online discourse, they might be astounded by the stark contrast with the polite and respectful demeanor most people display in real life. What causes such a clear divide in behavior between the online and offline worlds for the same individuals? Does the digital environment inherently make people more irritable, less tolerant, and unwilling to understand others? In this article, we will explore this very question—specifically, the causes of environmental polarization and the role the media plays in it.

Network Polarization and the Online Environment 

Network polarization refers to the phenomenon where issues that might be understandable in real life are continuously amplified and fixated upon by online communities to the point of harsh criticism. People become less tolerant of differing viewpoints online, while growing increasingly exclusive within their own labeled groups—even if their so-called “allies” might struggle to hold a two-sentence conversation with them in real life. Environmental polarization makes everyone more sensitive and defensive. In this climate of pervasive insecurity, individuals seek solace in groups, yet this very process only deepens the divides between people. While cooperation and understanding thrive offline, online, certain opinions are immediately branded as heresy worthy of burning at the stake—judged with absolute, uncompromising harshness.

If we look back at the online environment around 2000, although media technology was far less efficient and accessible than today, the atmosphere of communication was generally much healthier than the current state, where a single comment can rapidly poison a community. Does this mean the advancement of media technology is not truly a positive development? Perhaps, as Umberto Eco wrote in Chronicles of a Liquid Society (2017), “Progress doesn’t necessarily involve going forward at all costs.” While Eco was mainly discussing the unnecessary “diversification” of physical inventions that replace what already exists, I suspect he would also disapprove of today’s digital landscape.

Potential Reasons Behind Network Polarization and the Influence of Media

To understand why online environments intensify conflict, we can turn to Gibson’s ecological perspective, which helps explain why digital environments intensify conflict and relies on what the environment makes available to us. Applied to online usage, this suggests that when people use social and online platforms, they shape the exact platform they are using while the platform itself simultaneously shapes them. 

In The Ecological Approach to Visual Perception, Gibson emphasizes that the “animal and the environment make an inseparable pair” (p. 8). Gibson writes that the perceiver is always surrounded by “the medium in which animals can move about (and in which objects can be moved about) is at the same time the medium for light, sound, and odor coming from sources in the environment.” (p. 13), meaning that perception is shaped by whatever information the environment supplies.

One major factor of polarization is selective perception. Our online feeds are not a neutral environment, as algorithms curate and amplify content that they assume the user appears to be “looking for.” This makes polarization feel natural and unavoidable because the environment reinforces the observer. Online, this means users often search for confirmation validation that aligns with existing emotions and beliefs.

Gibson also reminds us that perception is active, not passive. He states, “we must perceive in order to move, but we must also move in order to perceive. ” (p. 213). Online, there is constant “movement” in scrolling, liking, and reposting, which affects what the users perceive next based on the algorithm. The environment is always refreshing, adjusting to user behaviour. This repeated cycle then boosts reactions and reinforces patterns, making it easier for polarization to become a way of interacting.

Looking into Media: a Tool or an Amplifier?

Concluding from Gibson, we can say that the internet we are looking into is not a neutral environment, and media does not only act as a tool for our voices. Depending on algorithms, the pages shown to everyone are different, designed for our own taste. By manipulating what people perceive, media and the internet can easily influence the opinions of people, and the information cocoon will naturally feed towards the minds of the opinions already there, making the opinions increasingly polarized and entrenched. People use the internet to voice themselves, but the internet will also amplify what they are saying to other people’s ears. 

Sources:

Eco, Umberto. “Have we really invented so much?”. Chronicles of a Liquid Society. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. 2017. https://archive.org/details/chroniclesofliqu0000ecou 

Gibson, James. J. The Ecological Approach to Visual Perception. Psychology Press

. 2015. https://library.uniq.edu.iq/storage/books/file/The%20Ecological%20Approach%20to%20Visual%20Perception%20Approach/1667383098The%20Ecological%20Approach%20to%20Visual%20Perception%20Classic%20Edition%20(James%20J.%20Gibson)%20(z-lib.org)%20(1).pdf

Törnberg, K.P. (Petter). “Social media polarize politics for a different reason than you might think”. University of Amsterdam. 2022.https://www.uva.nl/en/shared-content/faculteiten/en/faculteit-der-maatschappij-en-gedragswetenschappen/news/2022/10/social-media-polarize-politics-for-a-different-reason-than-you-might-think.html?cb

Collaborators:

Siming Liao, Aubrey Ventura

Podcast Episode: Is AI Killing Creativity? Or Making It Better?

In this podcast, Siming, Eira, and Aubrey explore whether Gen AI should be considered a creative medium and whether it suppresses or improves creativity. Through different examples in video editing, 3D modeling, and design, we explore what AI mediates and reflect on how these technologies reshape both creativity and authorship in contemporary media.

Citations 

Adobe. (n.d.). Automatic UV Unwrapping | Substance 3D Painter. https://helpx.adobe.com/substance-3d-painter/features/automatic-uv-unwrapping.html

Bollmer, G. (2019). Materialist media theory: An introduction.

Maisie, K. (2025). Why AI Action Figures Are Taking Over Your Feed. Preview.

https://www.preview.ph/culture/ai-action-figures-dolls-a5158-20250416-dyn

Ingold, T. (2013). Making: Anthropology, Archaeology, Art and Architecture. Routledge.

Salters, C. (2024). The New Premiere Pro AI Tools I’ll Definitely Be Using. Frame.io Insider.

https://blog.frame.io/2024/04/22/new-premiere-pro-generative-ai-tools-video-editing/

Schwartz, E. (2023). Adobe Brings Firefly Generative AI Tools to Photoshop. Voicebot.ai

https://voicebot.ai/2023/05/23/adobe-brings-firefly-generative-ai-tools-to-photoshop/

Faribault Mill. (n.d.). The Spinning Jenny: A Woolen Revolution. https://www.faribaultmill.com/pages/spinning-jenny

Van Den Eede, Yi. (2014). “Extending ‘Extension’: A Reappraisal of the Technology-as-Extension Idea through the Case of Self-Tracking Technologies.” Design, Mediation, and the Posthuman, edited by Pieter Vermaas et al., Lexington Books.

UX Pilot. (n.d.). UX Pilot: AI UI Generator & AI Wireframe Generator. https://www.figma.com/community/plugin/1257688030051249633/ux-pilot-ai-ui-generator-ai-wireframe-generator

Loveable. (n.d.). Learn about Lovable and how to get started. https://docs.lovable.dev/introduction/welcome

The Night Face Up: An analysis of the Julio Cortázar’s short story, memory and the unconscious

The Night Face Up (2012) Based on the short story by Julio Cortázar. Directed by Hugo Covarrubias. Produced by Maleza and Zumbastico Studios with Filmosonido. © 2012 Maleza / Zumbastico Studios / Filmosonido

The Night Face Up (1956) is a short story included in the third section of Argentine writer Julio Cortázar’s book, End of the Game. It was a book that I read in high school and I still think about to this day for its incredible language and usage of perception as it explores the various themes of magical realism that marked Latin American literature during the epoch. More than a story that I enjoyed as a teenager, it is a story that has come up in thought various times while exploring concepts of media theory and memory. 

In summary, the story starts with a man riding down the streets of a modern town in his motorcycle. As he crosses an intersection he is distracted by the sudden appearance of a girl in the middle of the road. The rider breaks, collapsing his vehicle resulting in a visit to the hospital. The general progression of the story then becomes a parallelism between two alternating realities. The man as he is taken down the hallways of the hospital begins to hallucinate himself as an indigenous Moteca man in the middle of persecution during the Florida war in the period of the Incas. The Moteca runs through the jungle, fearing his life as the patient gets rolled through the hallways of a hospital. The patient lays face up in a dimly lit room on a hospital bed as his fever brings him to and from a past reality. As the patient continuously falls asleep he imagines himself as the Moteca, tied face up on the floor of a dimly lit cave. The elements of sounds and sensations continuously shift from experience and perspective. Elements like the knife of the Moteca, used for protection or the Inca’s sacrificial knife used for death, mirror the syringes and operating knives used for life and salvation that are used on the sick rider. As the story progresses, and in a sadly spoiling fashion for the benefit of this post, the Moteca finds himself face up on a sacrificial stone as the Inca warriors slice a knife through his heart. As the rider’s consciousness shifts he soon realizes that he was not a man feverly imagining a historic past, but a man of the past imagining himself in a future where he is free. The Moteca’s experience is reality and the creation of the future, coherent with the reader’s perspective, is a figment of imagination. 

Before examining aspects of truth, perspective and memory, I want to dive into the story’s unexpected twist. In a preliminary view the ending comes to quite a shock to the reader’s perspective and constructed rationality of what constitutes as truth. As readers we connect to the reality of the rider imagining the past as a probability of coherence to repetition and myths to what is more practical to our personal reality of truth. It is unfathomable to imagine a historical man imagining a reality that so closely resembles our present since we ourselves cannot possibly comprehend a future that resembles our current speculation. The effect works so well because of the textual mediation of time. The interpretant understands historical context as the object and can only refer to the sign as the past because of the logical chronology of time. If we reimagined the story with the rider imagining a far future where he is escaping an intergalactic war, then the effect and meaning of the story is lost. It is a shift in Eco’s pact of pretending, where we accept the reality that we are given as an irrefutable truth to later understand that our rational misconceptions can be malleable. 

Now if one analyses the text in depth one can figure out that the story itself has been revealing the twist all along. Throughout the text Cortázar is able to hint towards the story’s end through what I would constitute as a rendition of a sensorial unconscious. By sensorial I am alluding to what we have learned during the course as the Benjaminian conception of the optical unconscious and MacArthur’s adaptation to the auditory unconscious in her text The Siri Erfharung. Whether it is the ability for photography to unveil aspects of reality unseen by the human conscious or the ability for the auditory experience to reject conscious reflection and create an embodiment of internalisation in the unconscious, the senses have the ability for individuals to experience something beyond what is in the surface level. This text is highly elaborate in the creation of a sensorial environment. It dives deep into the emotions and associations of sight, touch and hearing with the key difference of smell. The text only associates smell with the experiences of the Moteca. It is a key aspect of understanding the true reality as humans do not have the ability of smelling inside our dreams. Smell reveals the hidden reality not through the sensorial experience but lack thereof. His consciousness is guarded by sensorial hallucinations that create an escape to reality and only penetrated by the disregarded sense that divides reality from dream. 

Now understanding the sensory unconscious that comes into play, one can shift gears to the story as evidence of the embodiment of prosthetic memory. Clearly the Moteca does not have any way of acquiring a futuristic prosthetic memory, but the means by which the consumption of mass media create these experiences, and the effect they have on individuals clearly mimic the ways in which the Moteca escapes his reality. For Landsberg while quoting Blumer, prosthetic memories through their emotional possessive effect create a decentering of lived experience. They intertwine reality with the emotional connection of fiction to construct a sense of identity. In the case of the Moteca, his consciousness creates a world fiction to forge an identity and a reality based heavily in the emotional and sensorial environment to protect his subconscious as he deals with his dooming reality. This connects to Mitchell’s idea of the mind as a medium for reproduction where individuals internalize imagery as subjective mental processes. The creation of a better reality by means of prosthetic memory production in the protection of his psyche is internalized by the individual as objective truth since it resembles his reality in symbol form through parallelism, but resembles it to the point where it removes the hardship of his reality. This is again much like Mitchell’s conception of the image as having the power of resemblance. 

We can push another interpretation of the text connecting to ideas from the Frankfurt School. The idealisation of a future of freedom or a misinterpretation of a Utopia lies heavily on the reliance of progress. In this case we could refer to the progression of technological advancements as a false means to escape a devastating reality. But in the moment it is these technological advancements that hinder our existence. The reality of the Moteca is not particularly technological but the parallelism between the tools of salvation versus the tools of death reveal a basis of the idealisation of a future while the current reality hinders us. The knife of sacrifice and the hope of a knife for salvation. It is much like Benjamin’s Angel of History where progress leaves behind devastation or Horkheimer and Adorno’s criticism of enlightenment and progress as forms of domination. 

To conclude I want to shift gears to the genre of the text. Magical realism takes historical moments or established, mundane realities that resemble our own and places them through a fantastical, surreal scope. It in a sense mediates reality to process a sense of memory and tragedy in a way that is accessible without the continuation of trauma. In this same way, prosthetic memory creates and is created by the emotive responses in our memories to place experiences foreign to our own, to shift our realities, in an attempt to protect ourselves from ourselves. Magical realism becomes a prosthetic fiction to the realities and histories that are hard to experience or reflect upon.

THE WORLD OF MAKING: Coexistence With Environment

Tim Ingold

Introduction

In this MDIA 300 course, we continuously learned that media is not a tool we use unilaterally, but rather an environment in which we co-generate meaning. Tim Ingold’s “Making” offered a completely new perspective. It reminded us that academic research should not merely be about “analyzing objects,” but about understanding the world through interaction, action, reflection, and creation.”Making” made us realize for the first time that knowledge itself is a “generation,” not an “extraction,” and that research is a practice of co-participation with the world.

When we reread Ingold’s other works with this perspective, we find that they continue to deepen the same line of thought in different directions: the relationship between humanity and the world is not static, but constantly woven together through perception, movement, and response. “The Perception of the Environment” makes us realize that “living” itself is a collaboration with the environment; “Lines” re-describes the generation of life using “lines” and “network structures”; and “Being Alive” combines movement, knowledge, and description, pointing out that understanding the world is itself a form of participation.

Therefore, in this blog post, we hope to draw inspiration from “Making” and rethink, through these works, the role of the media in the co-creation of meaning with the world, and how we can form new paths, relationships, and understandings through our interaction with the media.

The Perception of the Environment: Essays on Livelihood, Dwelling and Skill

To understand how Ingold’s thinking begins to take shape, this book offers one of the clearest entry points.

Published in 2000, this book comprises 20 chapters and a compilation of essays published in the 1980s and 1990s, and it is often seen as marking the early formation of Ingold’s larger intellectual project. In this work, Ingold criticizes the worldview that separates humans from the environment. Instead, he explores the meaning of “being alive” through the daily lives of hunter-gatherers and pastoralists, arguing that the act of living is an interaction with the environment.

He reconsiders the modern human attitude of simply utilizing resources, emphasizes the importance of environmental perception, and underlines that humans (e.g., bodies and knowledge) are woven together in response to nature (e.g., environment). Furthermore, he adds a perspective that overlaps with Heidegger’s “Building, Dwelling, Thinking,” recognizing the world as “a place to dwell,” that is, a place where humans “live together.”

Ingold also suggests that skills are created in response to nature. Skilled practice is a concept proposed by Ingold, which clearly states that knowledge and the environment mutually generate a dynamic relationship. For example, the process by which hunters predict the movements of animals is not based on theory but is sensory knowledge experienced physically.

Lines: A Brief History / The Life of Lines

If The Perception of the Environment focuses on dwelling, this next shift toward “lines” shows how Ingold starts thinking through movement, pathways, and the forms that shape culture.

“Lines: A Brief History” is a six-chapter book by Ingold, published by Routledge in 2007. Ingold attempted to understand human lifestyles, ways of thinking, and culture as connected to “lines.” Ingold argued for two types of lines: traces and threads.

Traces refer to fixed signs such as maps, borders, and letters, and Ingold criticized modern society for placing too much emphasis on them. This is because fixation leads to a way of thinking that divides the world and severs dynamic relationships. Alternatively, Ingold advocated the concept of a living thread, woven fluidly. This idea opens up a different way of thinking: that thought and artistic practice begin not as fixed objects but as lines in motion.

In 2015, a philosophical sequel, “The Life of Lines,” was published, expanding on the theory of “Lines.” In this book, he proposed the concept of a meshwork, in which the world is made up of a dynamic network of lines, and life is a mesh of countless intertwining “threads.” Ingold emphasized that the entities in the world interact with each other based on this theory, creating a meshwork.

Being Alive: Essays on Movement, Knowledge and Description

By the time we reach Being Alive, Ingold’s ideas begin to converge, weaving together the themes of dwelling, lines, and everyday practice.

Published in 2011, this book explores life from a philosophical perspective through three major themes: movement, knowledge, and description.

Movement, as argued in The Perception of the Environment, refers to the constant movement required to live in the world. Knowledge, as argued in Lines, refers to practical knowledge that emerges through interaction with the world. Third, description implies that anthropology and science are not objective descriptions but rather the act of participating in and describing the world.

In this way, Being Alive brings together all of Ingold’s theories. It reads almost like a synthesis, a moment where his threads of thought come together. This book has had a profound impact on many fields, including anthropology, education, and art theory, and it offers an accessible way for us to think about how life and meaning emerge through interaction and movement.

Inviting Further Reflection: What Do We Notice When We Look Again at the Media?

In summary, Ingold’s work constantly reminds us that understanding the world is not about analyzing it from the outside, but about co-creating meaning with the world through action, perception, and participation. Putting these ideas back into MDIA 300, we begin to rethink: should media also not be seen as a fixed “object,” but rather as a line, environment, or path in a relationship with our continuous growth and development? If skills stem from our ongoing interaction with the environment, then do our daily media practices such as watching videos, searching, publishing content, forwarding, and clicking also constitute a kind of “skill”? If life itself is a process of many interwoven relationships, then what new connections and influences does media create within it?

In this blog post, we don’t aim to provide a definitive conclusion, but rather to open up more questions: In your daily media use, what content becomes fixed, like “traces”? And what is constantly changing, leading you on a journey of exploration? Are there moments when you feel that media is not just a tool, but something that truly influences you and accompanies you in understanding the world?

We hope to invite everyone to continue sharing their observations through this article. Whether it was surprise, confusion, interest, or frustration, these all allowed Ingold’s reflections to continue to extend in our classroom conversations.

Rai Yanagisawa, Mio Hashimoto, Saber Wang

Works Cited

  • Ingold, Tim. The Perception of the Environment: Essays on Livelihood, Dwelling and Skill. Routledge, 2000.
  • Ingold, Tim. Lines: A Brief History. Routledge, 2007.
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