by aylin.aktas -

RESEARCH #7 – Dumping

Before arriving at my current thesis direction, I spent a long time thinking about randomness. I was interested in how things appear unstructured, accidental, or uncontrolled. At the time, I didn’t yet have the language to describe what exactly fascinated me about it. It was more of a feeling than a clearly defined concept.

As my research progressed, I began collecting thoughts, references, and observations in my Figma file I showed you before. Looking at everything together, I started noticing connections between ideas that initially seemed unrelated. Many of the things I was drawn to shared a similar tension between order and disorder. They were not completely random, but they also weren’t fully controlled.

At some point, I wrote down the phrase “curating chaos.” It wasn’t something I had read anywhere. It was just an attempt to describe what I was observing. When I later searched for this term, I realised that it already existed. I came across several articles that explored similar ideas, including one titled Curated chaos: What Instagram’s photo dumps say about art today. Reading it felt like encountering something I had already been thinking about, but expressed in a different context.

The article described the rise of “photo dumps” on Instagram: collections of images that appear spontaneous and unfiltered, but still communicate a specific atmosphere or identity. At first glance, they seem chaotic and unstructured. But looking closer, they often create a carefully constructed impression. The chaos is intentional. This made me realise that chaos, especially in visual culture, is rarely neutral. It can be used as an aesthetic or a strategy.

The article also reflected on how Instagram has shifted from a platform focused on individual images to one driven by volume and engagement. Posts with multiple images receive significantly more visibility than single, carefully crafted works. As a result, artists are often pushed to produce more content, rather than more meaningful content.

This creates a tension between artistic integrity and algorithmic visibility. Instead of rewarding depth, the system rewards frequency and engagement. Chaos becomes not just an aesthetic, but a condition created by the platform itself. What interested me most was the idea that even chaotic image collections still communicate something coherent.

This connects directly to my own research process. My Figma file, for example, could also be seen as a form of curated chaos. It contains fragments from different sources like books, conversations, lectures, images, and ideas. Individually, they may seem disconnected. But together, they begin to form patterns.

My previous interest in randomness was never really about randomness itself. It was about how meaning emerges from seemingly disorganised systems. Finding this article helped me understand that my thesis topic had been present from the beginning, even when I didn’t have the words for it yet. The concept of curating chaos connects many of the themes I have been exploring, including attention, atmosphere, creative direction, and perception.

I really think that creative direction itself can be understood as a process of curating chaos. It involves selecting, organising, and giving form to something that initially exists in an open and undefined state. Rather than eliminating chaos, creative direction works with it.

Links:
https://www.catalinamunoz.me/p/curated-chaos-what-instagrams-photo

by fiona.bartl -

IMPULSE #7 — a Test

(Offline Activity – mini experiment with 3 participants, 1 hour)

For this impulse I wanted to test something that sits at the center of my thesis: framing. I keep writing about how context changes meaning, and how the same everyday installation can be read as trash, as suspicious, or as art depending on how it is presented. But instead of staying in theory, I decided to test it with a small experiment.

I used one photograph from my archive, taken in Graz (Geidorf) on 03.12.2025. The image shows a very simple scene: a white plastic cup placed on a window ledge. Under the window there is a sign that reads: “Dieses Objekt wird VIDEOÜBERWACHT.” The cup itself looks casual, like someone just left it there after drinking. At the same time, the surveillance sign makes the situation feel strangely tense. It turns a completely ordinary object into something that suddenly feels “watched,” important.

I then showed this image to three different people. All three participants were non-design friends, which was important for me because I wanted reactions that are not trained through art or design education.

The setup: I showed everyone the exact same photograph in three different framings.

Version A: the image without any title or context.
Version B: the image with an artsy title (Surveillance Cup, 2026).
Version C: the image with additional context (date, location, and the label “found everyday installation”).

I asked each participant the same questions:

  1. What do you think this is?
  2. Would you describe it as art? Why or why not?
  3. What do you think is happening here?
  4. Does the title or context change your interpretation?
  5. Would you stop and look at this in real life?

Across all three participants, the first reaction was surprisingly similar: they tried to explain the scene through logic. The cup was interpreted as “someone’s trash,” “a coffee left behind,” or simply “a random thing on a ledge.”

But even in Version A, the sign already triggered something. All three people mentioned the surveillance text immediately. Without me asking, they started wondering why the sign was there, and why it was placed so close to the cup. The cup became suspicious because of the context around it.

Once I introduced Version B (the title), the reactions shifted. The participants stopped treating the cup as a practical object and started reading the scene as a message. One person said it feels like “a joke about how seriously we take surveillance, even when there’s nothing to protect.” The title didn’t fully convince them that it is art but it did change the way they looked at the image. They started searching for details.

Version C created another shift. When I added the location and the label “found everyday installation,” the participants became more open to the idea that the scene could be something worth noticing. Interestingly, the added context didn’t make the scene feel more emotional. It turned the image from a random situation into something documented on purpose.

What became very clear is that framing does not only change the final judgment (art or not). It changes the entire viewing process. In Version A, the image was scanned quickly. In Version B and C, the participants looked longer and started analysing: the stain under the cup, the typography of the sign, the relationship between object and text, and the strange contrast between cheap plastic and official surveillance language.

This experiment was useful because it produced direct evidence for something I’ve been circling around for months: meaning does not sit inside the object. Meaning happens between the object and the viewer. And even minimal framing can push interpretation in completely different directions.

For my thesis, this confirms that everyday installations can communicate — but they do not automatically do so. Communication begins when attention is activated. Sometimes all it takes is a title. Sometimes all it takes is one sentence. Sometimes it takes a whole institutional frame.

As a next step, I want to repeat this experiment with more images from my archive and compare which types of everyday installations react most strongly to framing.

Links
https://www.britannica.com/topic/framing
https://www.britannica.com/science/semiotics
https://www.britannica.com/science/Gestalt-psychology

AI Disclaimer
This blog post was written with the assistance of AI.

by aylin.aktas -

RESEARCH #6 – Florine Bonaventure

Chaos and direction are not opposites, but exist in relation to each other. Creative direction, in a way, is the act of navigating chaos: selecting, shaping, and giving form to something that initially has no clear structure.

This became clearer to me after attending a talk by Florine Bonaventure, a creative director who has worked across different brands, including Phoebe Philo, a London-based fashion label led by one of the most influential fashion designers of recent years. Before this talk, I had heard of the brand but never really payed attention to it. It made me realise that creative directors do more than just produce visual outcomes. Through their work, they also introduce audiences to new references and brands they might not have encountered otherwise.

In this sense, creative directors don’t just shape how something looks, but how it is perceived and understood. By working with different brands, they become closely connected to them, influencing how people encounter and remember them. They act as mediators between the brand and the audience.

What I found especially interesting was hearing how Florine’s work exists across different disciplines. She mentioned that she teaches in various study programs, including architecture and fashion. This was surprisingly reassuring to hear. Having studied architecture before, I often felt like I had abandoned that path. But hearing that creative direction exists across multiple fields reminded me that creative practice does not have to be limited to one discipline. It made me see creative direction as a space that allows movement between fields. It involves connecting ideas, people and contexts.

Another thing that stayed with me was how creative direction involves making decisions within uncertainty. There is no fixed formula. Each project begins with open possibilities, and the role of the creative director is to navigate these possibilities and give them coherence.

This connects directly to my interest in chaos. Chaos is often understood as something negative and something that needs to be controlled or eliminated. But through this talk, I began to see chaos differently. Chaos can also be understood as potential. It contains multiple directions, and creative direction becomes the process of selecting and shaping one of them. This perspective helps me understand creative direction not as a purely technical skill but as a way of thinking.

Every time I collect references, organise ideas, or connect different influences I am already practicing forms of creative direction. This talk reinforced my interest in exploring creative direction further.

Links:
https://thegentlewoman.co.uk/names/florine-bonaventure

by aylin.aktas -

RESEARCH #5 – Arriving at Kingston and Expanding My Perspective

Arriving at Kingston marked an important shift in how I approached my thesis. Before coming here, I saw the thesis primarily as something I needed to complete. It felt distant and intimidating, like something that existed somewhere in the future, but not yet part of my daily reality.

What I noticed early on was how many opportunities there are to encounter new ideas. Inspiration is not limited to lectures or assigned readings. There are constant talks, workshops, and events happening across the university. Just yesterday, for example, the student union invited Florine Bonaventure, a creative director, to give a talk. Listening to people speak about their own practice and process makes the idea of creative direction feel much more real and accessible. It also shows how many different paths and approaches exist. I will reflect more on this talk in my next blog entry, but moments like these make research feel connected to a wider creative community.

Another thing that stood out to me was the physical structure of the classroom itself. The tables and chairs are not arranged to face the lecturer in a traditional way. Instead, they are organised for group work, allowing students to sit together and face each other. Most of the time, we are encouraged to work in small groups, often using large sheets of paper to share and discuss ideas. These groups change regularly, since no one has a designated seat. This means you are constantly exposed to different perspectives and ways of thinking.

This setup changed how I engaged with my thesis topic. At the beginning, I was hesitant to talk about it. I struggled to explain it clearly, and I was unsure how it would be understood by others. It made sense in my head, but when I tried to express it out loud, it felt vague and incomplete. Because of this, I avoided talking about it in detail.

However, over the past weeks, I found myself in situations where I had to explain my ideas repeatedly. In group discussions, workshops, and informal conversations, people would ask what I was working on. Over time, it became easier. Each time I explained it, something shifted slightly. The act of verbalising my thoughts helped clarify them.

What also made a difference was the feedback I received. Hearing responses from people with different backgrounds and perspectives allowed me to see my ideas from outside my own thinking. Sometimes they made connections I had not considered, or asked questions that helped refine my direction. Through these conversations, my thesis topic slowly became more defined.

by alina.huft -

#10 Why Spatial Immersion Intensifies Emotional Response

When we experience a traditional painting or a flat screen animation, there is always a clear separation between the viewer and the work. We stand outside, observing. We can maintain a psychological distance. But when we enter a spatial installation, this distance disappears. We are not just observers anymore, we are participants. The work surrounds us, envelops us, and forces our body into the experience. This shift is crucial for understanding how abstract motion design can generate emotions, particularly stress.

Stress, as an emotion, is strongly tied to the body. Heart rate, breathing, tension, and attention all respond to external stimuli. It is a universal, recognizable emotion. It is physiological and psychological. Unlike joy or sadness, it is closely tied to attention, movement, and bodily awareness. In spatial environments, abstract visual elements like moving light, patterns, and shapes no longer sit at a distance. Instead, they occupy the same space as our bodies (Schmitz et al., 2011). The closer the visual and temporal stimuli are to our physical presence, the stronger their potential impact on emotional intensity. By removing the physical and psychological distance, installations intensify bodily exposure to motion parameters. Unlike screen-based animations, where the body can remain passive, spatial designs require active navigation. The viewer’s position, movement, and orientation directly influence what is perceived. This is where motion design principles, such as rhythm, tempo, repetition, and density, can be used in a controlled way to generate emotional effects.

Spatial installations unfold over time.The experience depends on movement and duration. A hallway of pulsing lights, a room of shifting patterns, or a suspended arrangement of floating shapes all change as you move through them. Temporal design, the core of motion design, is therefore a key tool. By carefully orchestrating the timing of visual changes, the designer can escalate intensity, build tension, or release it. Consider stress as an example. Slow, irregular rhythms may feel uneasy. Fast, dense pulses increase physiological arousal. By adjusting tempo and repetition over time, one can simulate the onset of stress in a non-narrative, abstract environment. The visitor experiences these shifts physically, through subtle bodily reactions, before they even cognitively recognize them.

Hereby the role of navigation and orientation is important. Immersive environments create opportunities for multiple perspectives. Moving through a space changes what is seen, how light reflects, and how patterns interact. The visitor is a co-creator of the experience: their choices determine the path, the duration of exposure, and the angles from which stimuli are perceived (Lennon, 2025). Motion design can respond to this movement by creating feedback loops: lights that shift as a person approaches, patterns that densify when more people occupy a space, or visual flows that guide attention. These interactions are key to understanding emotional response. Stress is not only triggered by the motion itself but also by the unpredictability of the environment and the necessity to adapt. When motion and light respond to the visitor, the intensity of the experience increases. For instance, a fast, repetitive movement on a small screen may cause moderate tension. In a 3D installation that surrounds the body, the same movement can create a sense of overwhelm. By controlling rhythm, density, and directionality, designers can amplify the emotional impact without relying on narrative or symbolic content.

Modern installations often integrate digital technology to create responsive systems. Sensors, projection mapping, LEDs, and sound allow motion parameters to change in real-time based on visitor behavior. These feedback loops enhance immersion and can intensify emotional responses. Stress, in particular, can be modulated dynamically: sudden changes in light rhythm or density in reaction to movement can create moments of heightened tension. Visitors feel as though the space itself is alive, interacting with their bodies and decisions. Spatial installations offer a unique environment to study and apply motion design principles. By integrating rhythm, tempo, repetition, and density with bodily navigation and immersive presence, designers can create abstract experiences that generate stress without narrative or symbolic content. The viewer becomes both subject and co-creator, their body and attention guiding the unfolding of the work.

Bibliography:

Schmitz, A., Merikangas, K., Swendsen, H., Cui, L., Heaton, L., & Grillon, C. (2011). Measuring anxious responses to predictable and unpredictable threat in children and adolescents. Journal of Experimental Child Psychology, 110(2), 159–170. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jecp.2011.02.014

Lennon, B. (2025). How contemporary installation art uses space, site and scale to create a phenomenological experience for viewers [Master’s thesis, Institute of Art, Design + Technology]. https://hdl.handle.net/10779/iadt.30601340.v1

by linaprima -

LS3 #10 Hokus Pokus, wo ist der Fokus?

Nachdem wir mehrere unterschiedliche Gespräche bezüglich Masterarbeit mit verschiedenen Menschen hatte, ist mir klar geworden, dass mir noch etwas der Fokus fehlt. Bei meinem Gespräch mit Frau Lagger, haben wir zwar auch klargestellt, dass zu Beginn des Researchs auch noch kein exakt klarer Fokus stehen muss, dennoch wäre es gut, einen Bereich und eine Zielgruppe zu definieren – einfach damit ich es mir leichter und greifbarer mache.

Ich find es immer sehr schwer, einen klare Fokus zu finden, weil das ja bedeutet, dass interessante Themen herausfallen könnten. Hier also erstmal, was ich gern mitdrin hätte.

Reime

Klar, das ist offensichtlich und der Hauptfokus meiner Arbeit.

Humor

Nachdem ich letztens die eine Masterarbeit zum Thema Humor im Design gelesen habe, habe ich nochmal mehr gemerkt wie interessant ich Humor und Witz eigentlich finde, auch wenn es schwer messbar ist. Aber gerade das macht es so interessant und in kombination mit Reimen vielleicht auch gut erforschbar.

Außerdem schafft Humor einen niedrigschwelligen Einstieg in jegliche Kommunikation. Oft werden so Hemmschwellen reduziert und Botschaften zugänglicher gemacht (Eisend & Kuß, 2009). Menschen reagieren offener auf spielerische statt belehrende Sprache. Besonders bei Text im öffentlichen Raum kann oft der erste emotionale Impuls entscheiden und Humor könnte diesen Impuls positiv färben. Gleichzeitig ist natürlich auch die Frage, wie weit Humor gehen kann und ab wann Grenzen überschritten werden oder ernste Themen zu witzig dargestellt werden.

Anwendungsbereich: Aktivismus/ gesellschaftliche Kommunikation

Ich arbeite in meinen bisherigen Projekten häufig mit gesellschaftlichen oder feministischen Themen, auch sichtbar hier im prozess meiner Blogposts. Dabei interessiert mich irgendwie immer weniger laute oder konfrontative Protestästhetik, sondern subtilere, alltagsnahe Interventionen und gleichzeitig Gestaltung die Menschen eher einlädt als belehrt.

Ich hab durch vorherige Arbeit und Praktika auch ein paar Kontakte bei Greenpeace und zu aktivistischen Gruppen in Graz, deren Standpunkte ich für meinen Research gut nutzen könnte.

Außerdem sind viele aktivistische Gestaltungen recht ernst, schwer oder moralisch aufgeladen und solche Kommunikation kann logischerweise schnell abschreckend oder überfordernd sein, vor allem für Menschen, die sich damit eher wenig befassen wollen und damit im Straßenbild überrascht werden.

Ich hab gemerkt, dass ich selbst auf humorvolle oder gereimte Botschaften stärker reagiere als auf reine Forderungen. Deshalb interessiert mich, ob spielerische Sprache wirksamer sein kann als klassische Appelle und Aktivismusformen.

Mögliche Forschungsfrage (fokussiert yeha):

Wie beeinflussen gereimte und humorvolle Formulierungen die Wahrnehmung, Merkfähigkeit und emotionale Zugänglichkeit gesellschaftlicher Botschaften im öffentlichen Raum im Vergleich zu sachlich formulierten Aussagen?

Oder aber, wenn ich mehr in Richtung Gestaltung gehen möchte:

Wie beeinflussen typografische und layoutbezogene Gestaltungsstrategien die Wahrnehmung, Lesbarkeit und Merkfähigkeit gereimter Sprache in der visuellen Kommunikation?

by aylin.aktas -

RESEARCH #4 – Developing a Personal Research Process

One of the first concrete steps I took in my research process was creating a Figma file to collect references. Instead of using traditional academic tools, I began documenting books, images, and thoughts visually. Whenever I found a book in the library that interested me, I took photos of the front and back cover and placed them into this file.

This method might feel informal and unstructured for some. I mean, it did not follow conventional academic standards, and people might question whether it is the “right” way to approach research. However, I realised that this visual system allowed me to engage with my research in a more intuitive way.

Seeing the books as images, alongside my own notes and reflections, made the research feel more tangible. It allowed me to see relationships between different sources more clearly. Instead of existing as isolated texts, the books became part of a larger visual landscape of ideas.

What surprised me most was how naturally patterns began to emerge. Even when I selected books based on intuition rather than relevance, many of them explored similar themes. Questions about perception, environment, attention, and meaning appeared repeatedly.

Over time, the Figma file became much more than just a collection of books. It started to include everything that influenced my thinking. I wrote down things that were said during lectures at Kingston, notes from the workshop at UAL, and reflections on documentaries I watched, even when they were not directly related to my thesis. I added feedback I received from my lecturers, ideas my friends shared with me in conversations, and even things my dad said that stayed with me afterwards. Sometimes it was just a sentence, a question, or a song title that captured a certain feeling or direction.

This made me realise that research does not only happen in structured academic settings. It happens constantly, through conversations, experiences, and observations. The Figma file became a space where all of these fragments could exist next to each other. It allowed me to take these moments seriously and recognise them as part of the research process. (I love it)

This process helped me understand that research does not have to follow a rigid structure from the beginning. Developing a personal system made the process more accessible and engaging. It also made me more confident in trusting my own way of working. Looking at the file now, I don’t see a finished structure, but a growing archive of my thinking. What initially felt random and unorganised slowly began to form connections.

by elisabeth.seiler -

Research #11 Editorial Design x Motorsport

When you go to a the F1 Race at the Red Bull Ring, you usually get a special version of the Red Bulletin —a booklet filled with all of the Red Bull Content, ads, (Red Bull) driver infos, and maybe some more information. And while Red Bull is generally doing a good job, it’s designed to be used for a few hours and then thrown in the bin.