Author: desiree.steigerwald

On a recent trip to Bolzano, I visited the permanent exhibition “Wir und die Autonomie” at Silvius-Magnago-Platz — an immersive public installation exploring the history, meaning, and everyday impact of autonomy in South Tyrol. What fascinated me most was not only the content, but how the entire exhibition was designed to be interactive, multisensory, and deeply human. It blended architecture, sound, reflection, and data visualization so naturally that the experience felt less like reading history, and more like stepping into a living narrative. 

The exhibition is organized into a parcours of nine stations — each one representing a letter in the word “AUTONOMIE”. This clever structure immediately signals that autonomy is not a single concept, but a composition of many parts, each contributing to the region’s unique identity. As I moved from station to station, I could listen to different local dialects through audio installations, read statistics that were visualized through engaging and clear diagrams, and interact with mirrored screens that reflected both information and my own presence back at me. 

The use of mirrored surfaces was particularly striking. They served as a reminder that autonomy is not just a political framework — it is personal. It involves human perspectives, lived experiences, and emotional connections. Standing in front of the screens, seeing myself within this historical and cultural context, I felt the exhibition quietly ask: What is your position within this story? What is your relationship to identity, language, and belonging? 

South Tyrol’s autonomy is deeply intertwined with questions of cultural preservation, multilingualism, and political negotiation. The exhibition made clear how autonomy protects minority languages such as German and Ladin, while balancing coexistence with Italian-speaking communities. It also reflected on the struggles that led to today’s agreements and on how autonomy continues to evolve. 

What impressed me was how the exhibition managed to translate these complex historical and political layers into forms that were easy to engage with: emotional storytelling, sound, spatial design, and accessible data. It is a reminder that design can make even heavy subjects feel approachable, that facts and feelings can co-exist without contradiction.

This experience influenced how I think about my own master’s thesis. My topic revolves around understanding why younger generations increasingly distance themselves from religion and the Church. 

But I have been struggling with one part of my thesis: How can I translate this topic into interaction design? 

I see fragments of possibilities: narrative spaces, reflective installations, projections, sound — but I still don’t have a fully developed concept. The connection between research and interactive output is not yet clear to me. 

Visiting the autonomy exhibition helped me recognize what might be missing. It showed me how data, personal stories, emotion, and design can be merged into an interactive experience without becoming overwhelming or didactic. It demonstrated how abstract topics — identity, history, political agreements — can be made tangible through sensory engagement. And it reminded me that interactivity doesn’t always need to be loud or playful; it can also invite reflection, self-awareness, and dialogue. 

Seeing how the exhibition translated complex themes into accessible formats gave me confidence that my own topic, too, can be transformed into an interactive installation. Perhaps not through literal symbols or religious imagery, but through emotions, perspectives, and the invisible distance people feel. 

The “Wir und die Autonomie” exhibition started as a normal cultural visit, but ended to be a small design lesson for me. It showed me how identity, data, and personal experience can coexist in one space, and how interactivity can help visitors engage with delicate or complex topics. It also reminded me that good design doesn’t deliver answers; it opens space for questions. 

This insight is something I will carry into my thesis process. Even though I’m still searching for the right interactive form, I now see more clearly how design can help make intangible issues visible — and how experiences can spark reflection where words alone sometimes fail. 

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Links:  

https://autonomie.provinz.bz.it/de/dauerausstellung-wir-und-die-autonomie

https://www.uibk.ac.at/media/filer_public/05/55/05550982-9ba9-4aa1-8167-246071537252/texte_mit_luecken_und_schraegen_interpretationen.pdf

https://www.meinbezirk.at/wieden/c-politik/eine-stele-erzaehlt-die-geschichte-der-suedtiroler-autonomie_a7736332

Dissclaimer: AI was used here for a better wording 

In the end of october, we had the opportunity to take part at the Klanglicht festival. Very interesting for me thinking of my master theses, because it is an art installation, addressing the theme “rush” inside sacred architecture. I thought: Is this even accept or does it offend people because of the architecture that hold already layers of meaning, history, and emotions? 

I think it’s a great way of letting young artists have the opportunity of showing their artwork in a place that is mostly unused. Maybe also a way to let people rethink their relationships with the church overall. 

Until now/then, I had been circling around themes connected to religion, especially the visual world that surrounds it. But the more I worked on my Klanglicht installation, the clearer it became that my real interest lies somewhere deeper: in the growing distance between younger generations and the Church, and in the complex reasons behind this shift. 

My team installation explored the theme of the forest and the ongoing tension between city and nature. So: how can we visualize the conflict between these two worlds? How can we make people feel the push and pull between the natural and the constructed, between chaos and control, stillness and noise?  

During our design phase, we had mainly positive reactions to our concept. Our idea explored the conflict between city and nature, movement and stillness, and how shifting perspectives can create emotional resonance. We used light, color, distortion, and distance to communicate that tension. For a long time, we felt confident in our approach, but during the preparation phase, we received critiques which were notably more critical. The comments weren’t unkind — just different. They challenged our assumptions about what the piece was communicating and how viewers might interpret it differently than we intended. 

At first, I must admit, it felt unsettling. After so much encouraging feedback, it’s easy to fall into a kind of creative comfort zone. You start to believe your concept is clear, your visuals strong, your message consistent. This moment reminded me how every perspective is shaped by personal experience, values, and expectations.  

It reminded me that design and art are never universal — every viewer, every participant, brings their own background, experiences, and beliefs into the interpretation. Especially in our context, showing our work inside a church, the meaning of light, distance, and color becomes even more layered. What might seem purely aesthetic to one person can carry deep symbolic or emotional connotations for another. 

The idea of conflict — not just between city and nature, but also between perception and intention — became something I kept thinking about afterward. It directly connected to the questions I’m exploring in my master’s thesis, where I deal with religion, faith, and representation. 

I came to the conclusion that I wasn’t interested in analyzing religious symbols themselves. What truly fascinates me is the underlying emotional and cultural distance that so many people my age experience toward religion have. I have noticed this in conversations with friends, in social debates, even in how faith is portrayed in media. Many young people seem to separate belief from institution, or they turn away completely. 

The contrast in feedback during our Klanglicht process helped me understand why this topic resonates so strongly with me. It showed me how multiple interpretations can coexist — none of them inherently right or wrong, but all influenced by lived experiences. This insight connects directly to my thesis: if I want to understand why young people distance themselves from religion, I need to approach the subject through dialogue, reflection, and openness, rather than fixed assumptions. 

Looking back, I’m actually grateful for that critical feedback. It disrupted my confidence just enough to make me think deeper. I could re-examine my intentions and had the reminder that no creative work will ever be interpreted the same way by everyone. Understanding these and the dynamics is essential for my thesis. Rather than studying religious symbols, my work will investigate the inner landscapes of young people today: their doubts, their values, their frustrations, and their hopes. Just like in the installation, the goal for me now is not to provide definitive answers, but to create space for reflection. 

Dissclaimer: AI was used here for a better wording 

Autor: Marius Lessiak 
Titel: Interaktionsdesign in Webapplikationen 
Jahr: 2007 
Institution: Technische Universität Wien, Fakultät für Informatik 
Betreuung: Ao. Univ.-Prof. Dr. Gerald Steinhardt, Univ.-Ass. Dipl.-Ing. Dr. Hilda Tellioglu 
Typ: Diplomarbeit 

Zugänglichkeit: Original in der Hauptbibliothek der TU Wien 

Oder 

https://repositum.tuwien.at/bitstream/20.500.12708/14588/2/Lessiak%20Marius%20-%202007%20-%20Interaktionsdesign%20in%20Webapplikationen.pdf

Struktur: 

1. Einleitung 

2. Usability 

3. Interface & Interaktion 

4. Entwicklung des Interaktionsmodells 

5. Implementierung 

6. Evaluierung 

7. Zusammenfassung & Ausblick 

Artefakt: 

Die Arbeit enthält ein eigenständig entwickeltes Interaktionsmodell für Webapplikationen, das mithilfe aktueller Webtechnologien (AJAX, DOM, JavaScript) in einer funktionierenden Anwendung („Zeitspur“) umgesetzt und technisch evaluiert wurde. 

1. Overall Presentation Quality 

Die Arbeit ist klar gegliedert, sauber formatiert und sprachlich konsistent. Tabellen, Abbildungen sowie Diagramme werden sorgfältig eingesetzt und mit Quellen belegt. Grundsätzlich eine gute wissenschaftliche Aufbereitung, wenn auch mit älterem Layout-Standard. 

2. Degree of Innovation 

Wenn meine Recherche richtig ist, war zum Zeitpunkt der Verfassung (2007) AJAX ein relativ neues Paradigma. Die Verbindung von Interaction Design Principles mit der technischen Realisierung einer Webapplikation ist innovativ und interdisziplinär gedacht. Eine Arbeit die einen hohen Innovationsgrad durch theoretisch fundierte Modellbildung und experimentelle Umsetzung aufweist.  

3. Independence 

Marius Lessiak zeigt deutlich Eigenständigkeit in der Entwicklung des Interaktionsmodells und seiner technischen Umsetzung. Die Arbeit geht über eine reine Literaturstudie hinaus und verbindet Theorie mit einem realen Prototyp. 

4. Organization and Structure 

Die Arbeit folgt einer klaren, nachvollziehbaren Logik: Von den theoretischen Grundlagen über Usability und HCI bis zur Entwicklung und Evaluation. Querverbindungen zwischen Theorie und Praxis sind deutlich erkennbar, wenn auch stellenweise etwas textlastig. 

5. Communication 

Sprache und Stil sind präzise und sachlich, mit hohem wissenschaftlichem Anspruch. Englischsprachige Fachliteratur wird korrekt eingebunden. Die Formulierungen sind klar, teilweise etwas technisch-nüchtern. 

6. Scope 

Die Arbeit bewegt sich in einem angemessenen Umfang (~65 Seiten Text + Visualisierungen). Sie deckt sowohl theoretische Tiefe (HCI, Design Patterns) als auch praktische Breite (AJAX, DOM) ab. 

7. Accuracy and Attention to Detail 

Quellen sind sorgfältig zitiert, Fachbegriffe korrekt verwendet, Diagramme (UML, Hypertext-Strukturmodelle etc.) präzise ausgeführt. 

8. Literature 

Die Literaturbasis umfasst zentrale Arbeiten aus der HCI-Forschung (Cooper, Shneiderman, Beaudouin-Lafon) und relevante technische Quellen (AJAX, DOM, W3C). Für 2007 ist der Stand aktuell und wissenschaftlich solide. 

Beurteilung des Artefakts 

Dokumentation: 

Das Artefakt („Zeitspur“) ist detailliert beschrieben, mit Diagrammen. Die Dokumentation erlaubt ein gutes Verständnis der Funktionsweise. 

Zugänglichkeit: 

Das System war als funktionsfähige Webapplikation umgesetzt, die Interaktionsprinzipien konkret veranschaulicht. Zugang erfolgt theoretisch über TU Wien-Bibliothek (kein Link zu Live-System). 

Theorie–Praxis-Verknüpfung: 

Sehr stark. Das entwickelte Modell wird nicht nur theoretisch erläutert, sondern praktisch umgesetzt und technisch evaluiert. 

Qualität des Artefakts: 

Für mich wirkt es sehr anspruchvoll, sowohl technisch als auch gestalterisch niveauvoll für den damaligen Stand. 

Gesamturteil 

Stärken: 

• Exzellente theoretische Fundierung (Verbindung HCI ↔ Webtechnologie) 

• Eigenständiges Interaktionsmodell 

• Klare, logische Struktur 

• Fundierte Evaluation 

• Solide wissenschaftliche Sprache 

Schwächen: 

• Begrenzte empirische Evaluation (Fokus auf technische, nicht auf Nutzerstudien) 

• Text teilweise zu detailverliebt in technische Aspekte 

• Gestaltung/Visualität des Artefakts könnte stärker diskutiert werden 

Marius Lessiak liefert eine inhaltlich und methodisch überzeugende Diplomarbeit, die den Stand der Webentwicklung Anfang der 2000er-Jahre reflektiert und ihn mit HCI-Theorien verbindet. Das Werk zeigt, wie Interaktionsdesign strategisch und technisch zusammengedacht werden kann. Ein Beitrag, aus dem man heute noch methodisch relevantes Wissen beziehen kann. 

At the World Usability Congress, I attended the talk “When Responsibility Meets Reality: Strategies for Making Inclusive Design Happen” by Nina Hundhausen. The talk explored an issue that feels very relevant. It’s not only a think in designing products but also in how we design experiences, visuals, and even conversations around complex social topics. 

Hundhausen spoke about the gap between responsibility and reality. In theory, we all want to create inclusive, responsible, and sustainable solutions , the thing all call “Design for All.” But in practice, daily pressures, business KPIs, and limited resources often win. What struck me most was how she framed inclusion not only as an ethical demand but also as a strategic one: inclusion is not just “the right thing to do,” it’s also a smart investment in the long term. 

Listening to this, I started thinking about what “inclusive design” could mean within the context of religion, specifically, in relation to my master’s thesis. Religion is often about belonging, but it can also be deeply exclusionary. Visual and spatial expressions of faith (like churches, rituals, or symbols) are powerful, but they can also send subtle messages about who is welcome, and who is not. 

Therefore I asked myself what an inclusive design approach to religion would look like?Maybe it’s about creating spaces — physical or digital — where belief and doubt can coexist. Maybe it’s about representing religious symbols in ways that invite dialogue rather than define boundaries. And maybe it’s about acknowledging the non-believers, those who still seek meaning and connection outside traditional institutions. 

Inclusive design asks us to look closely at who we design for — and who we might be leaving out. Applying that to my work means asking: who am I designing for? What do I want to achieve? How can I use projection and light to open up conversation, not close it down? 

Hundhausen’s talk reminded me that inclusion doesn’t happen automatically. And that maybe, the most responsible form of design is one that leaves room for everyone — even those who don’t fit neatly within the frame. 

Dissclaimer: AI was used here for a better wording 

Yesterday in class, we did a simple, yet for me, annoying exercise: write continuously for seven minutes, starting with the phrase “I am writing my master’s thesis about…” No stopping, no editing, no thinking too much … just writing. 

What began as a stream of random thoughts quickly turned into something more revealing. I switched from English to German almost instantly, because it felt more natural — and maybe also because the topic touches something personal. I found myself writing about how religion, especially Catholicism, still influences me, and how my relationship with it has changed over time. 

I realized that my thesis isn’t just about “religion and millennials” in an abstract sense. It’s about the tension between belief and institution, between faith and church. I wrote about how many of my friends have turned away from religion, how the Church has lost credibility, and yet how my personal faith still gives me strength. That contradiction — being supported by something that many reject — feels like the heart of what I want to explore. 

During those seven minutes, I also wrote about my uncertainty: How can I make this topic interactive? How can I visualize something as internal and emotional as belief? I imagined a projection inside St. Stephen’s Cathedral, a space that already carries so much symbolic weight. But what would I actually project? What is the question behind the light? 

By the end of the exercise, I was exhausted and a little frustrated. Seven minutes can feel endless when you’re forced to confront your own thoughts without a filter.  The writing helped me see that I don’t need to have all the answers yet.  

This small exercise reminded me that creative research isn’t only about collecting data or designing interfaces. It’s also about listening to yourself, about noticing what questions keep returning, even when I tried to avoid them. Question like: Can faith exist without the institution of the Church? But my topic includes the topic of distance as well. Maybe something i should focus more on and something i can work with in my interactive part. 

Dissclaimer: AI was used here for a better wording 

I’m thrilled to share that I’ve completed my final prototype! The journey wasn’t without its challenges, especially when connecting my laptop to the projector, but I managed to get everything up and running in the end.

For this prototype, I utilized Zig Sim, Max and Resolume Arena to create an interactive layer. The key feature is that the projection changes color based on the movement of the projector. When you move the projector, the image shifts from full color to black and white, emphasizing the theme of perspective.

My aim was to not only enhances the visual experience but also invites viewers to interact with the projection in a unique way.

I won’t lie, I wasn’t sure if I could implement what I had created in my head. However I’m even more excited to see how this concept evolves.

I finally got a mini beamer and tested it for the first time. Until now, I had been working mainly with candlelight and flashlights to project my cut-out patterns, but having a proper projector opened up an entirely new range of possibilities.

The test went surprisingly well. The beamer worked smoothly, and I was able to project both my digital Illustrator pattern and the physical stencils I had created. What struck me immediately was how powerful the combination of the two approaches can be. The crispness of the digital projection layered with the soft, imperfect shadows from the cut-out patterns created a unique visual depth. At times the two aligned to reinforce one another, while in other moments they clashed, resulting in distortions and unexpected visual tensions.

Seeing the religious symbols I had cropped, resized, and transformed behave in this hybrid space was fascinating. Some appeared monumental when enlarged across the cube’s surface, while others dissolved almost completely into abstraction. This play between clarity and fragmentation ties directly back to my concept of questioning authority and representation in the visual language of the Church.

Overall, this first experiment confirmed that working with both analog and digital projection is a promising direction. The interaction of light, shadow, and symbol not only adds complexity but also reinforces the idea that meaning is never fixed—it shifts depending on context, scale, and perspective.

My next step will be to bring in ZIG SIM to explore the interactive dimension. By integrating sensor-based input, I want to see how projection can dynamically respond to movement or touch. The goal is to eventually merge all three elements—the beamer, the stencil projections, and interactivity—into one cohesive experiment.

In my latest step, I started to look more closely at the symbols I associate with the Church and Christianity. I didn’t want to only rely on my personal impressions, so I also did some research on Christian iconography. Very quickly, I came across recurring motifs: the cross, a particular style of fish representation, the Alpha and Omega, the dove, and, of course, the candle. These are all powerful, recognizable elements that carry centuries of meaning and interpretation.

I decided to collect these symbols and transform them into a pattern in Illustrator. Instead of keeping them whole and perfectly visible, I chose to crop them in different ways. This meant that some parts of the pattern are cut off, others are enlarged, and some are reduced to fragments. My idea behind this was to create a visual language where not everything is always visible in its entirety. Sometimes the symbols appear distorted, sometimes they seem larger or smaller than expected. This connects to my concept of questioning clarity and authority in religious representation—how symbols are never neutral, but always shaped by context and perception.

While working with the pattern, I also experimented with its size. At first, the motifs were too large, which limited the effect I was aiming for. By reducing them, I was able to create a denser composition that worked better both visually and conceptually.

After finishing the pattern, I cut it out and began experimenting by projecting it onto my cardboard cube. I was curious to see how the cropped symbols would behave on a three-dimensional surface, and what kinds of distortions or new combinations would emerge as the light wrapped around the edges of the cube. Already, the results were interesting: the fragments became more abstract, sometimes unrecognizable, and at other times they gained a new intensity by being enlarged or stretched.

The next step will be to introduce another layer to this experiment. I decided to get a mini-beamer in order to project not just with candlelight or flashlight, but also digitally. This way, I can explore the combination of analog cut-out patterns with digital projections. For example, I could project the Illustrator pattern directly, or use an image, and layer that with the shadows created by the physical stencil. I am especially curious to see how the two techniques interact—whether they will reinforce each other or create unexpected contradictions.

During the semester, I have been in many conversations with my colleagues about our projects and thesis ideas. These exchanges are always inspiring because they reveal how different our approaches are, and at the same time, they remind me that we all struggle with similar questions: Which topic really fascinates us? What feels relevant enough to dedicate months of research and experimentation to? And how do we make sure we do not just follow a trend but instead choose something that we personally connect with?

During one specific talk in the bitki cafe, we talked about churches. Not the institution but the building itself and how the atmosphere they create fascinates people no matter if they are religious or not. Whenever I enter a church building, I am struck by its dual nature. On the one hand, churches are impressive architectural masterpieces: the high ceilings, the stained-glass windows, the play of light and shadow. On the other hand, there is also something heavy and almost intimidating about them — a reminder of history, power, and traditions that do not always align with the values of today’s society.

This tension between admiration and critique made me rethink my thesis topic. I had initially focused on risk communication, a subject that is relevant and important, especially in the face of climate change and natural disasters. But at some point, I realized that while I find risk communication meaningful, it doesn’t excite me on a personal, creative level in the same way. Choosing a thesis topic is a long journey, and as one colleague reminded me: it has to be something you truly enjoy working on, because you will spend a lot of time with it. That advice helped me to accept that it was okay to let go of my old idea and embrace a new one that feels closer to my interests and creative practice.

So here I am now, beginning a new path: exploring the church and its role in contemporary society from a critical perspective. I want to ask questions like: Is the Catholic Church still a relevant institution? Why are so many people leaving it, especially in Europe? What does the symbolism of church spaces communicate, both intentionally and unintentionally? And how can design, especially projection mapping, help to visualize these tensions, contradictions, and maybe even open new ways of reflecting on the subject?

To approach this big and somewhat abstract topic, I decided to start small. My first prototype will be a very simple experiment with light and symbolism: placing an object in front of a candle and projecting onto it. I want to see how the interplay between shadow, light, and projection can change meaning. For example, I will experiment with different setups — using a small candle, a large candle, and two candles side by side. These small variations can already create very different moods. A single, small candle may evoke fragility or intimacy, while a large candle can symbolize power and authority. Two candles could suggest dialogue, duality, or conflict.

The candle is, of course, a strong religious symbol on its own. It carries connotations of prayer, remembrance, mourning, but also of hope and celebration. By using it as the basis of my prototype, I am starting with something that is minimal but at the same time culturally loaded with meaning. My goal is to explore how visual projection can either reinforce these traditional associations or disrupt them — for example, by projecting unexpected images or patterns onto the flame or the surrounding space.

The chosen random Object:

One small candle:

One bigger candle:

Two light sources:

Projection mapping can quickly become technically complex, involving software, 3D modeling, and large-scale surfaces. But I want to remind myself that the foundation is always the relationship between light, object, and viewer. With a candle and a wall, I already have a stage to experiment on, and from there I can gradually build toward more advanced prototypes.

I also see this as a metaphor for my thesis journey: starting small, with something personal and symbolic, and then slowly expanding it into a larger critical exploration. The candle experiment may not answer my big research questions yet, but it sets the tone for how I want to work — engaging with symbols, questioning traditions, and using projection mapping as a tool not just to decorate but to provoke thought.

Following this, I plan to continue developing this idea, possibly by testing projections on different surfaces or even architectural miniatures that resemble parts of a church.

For now I am happy to have found a new direction that excites me. Talking with my colleagues helped me realize that a thesis topic doesn’t just need to be “important” in an abstract sense — it needs to feel important to me. And for me, exploring the role of the church through the lens of projection mapping feels like the right path.