Talk about Mediatic Cognitive System and medie art

Hyeyun: It’s definitely Saturday.

Hyelim: Is it recording now? Let’s start by checking that.

Yunju: Everyone, speak into this (recorder). Really, take turns holding it. Here, just attach it in the center. Yeah.

Hyelim: So, how did you all come across the open call announcement? Was it through email or Instagram?

Hani: I saw it via the university email.

Chaebin: For me too—my professors actually contacted me separately and encouraged me to apply. But I think I had already come across it somewhere before that. Then later, my professor sent it again by email and said I should give it a try.

Hyelim: So you must’ve read the announcement text first. Did anything in particular make you think, “I should apply for this”?

Chaebin: Honestly, I think what drew me in was that it was organized by Korean people. Since it's my native language and the idea of working together with other Korean women felt familiar, I thought, “Why not give it a shot?”
Also, the topic—“media-based cognitive systems”—I hadn’t really thought deeply about it before. I mean, I’ve worked with media, but I hadn’t considered how media shapes cognition. But since I work with media anyway, I figured, why not try?

Juyoun: For me, the first thing that caught my attention was the title of the project: Media Narrative Explorers. It was intriguing. It immediately felt aligned with the direction of my own work, and I thought if I applied through this open call, I might get to meet others who are working on similar themes. That was really appealing to me.

Hani: I also found the title intuitive yet engaging—it really caught my eye. My main interest isn’t so much about the specific content or how it's expressed, but rather how different mediums and forms generate content or condition its form. So I was curious—would there be others with similar thoughts?
And the fact that it was specifically for Korean students studying in Germany felt like a concrete point of connection. At events like Rundgangs, you often see certain national traits reflected in people’s works. I thought it would be interesting to see what kind of unique qualities might emerge if Korean students from different schools exhibited together.

Chaebin: Yeah, the idea of a person as media…
I also think of media as “something in the middle”—something that can reflect or project something else.
So to me, “media” can be interpreted in many ways.
But when it comes to “media art,” I looked up the definition, and apparently, it usually refers to art that involves digital technologies. That seems to be the common understanding.
So when we talk about media art, it gets a bit too broad.
Like we’ve said many times—newspapers are media, artworks are media—and at some point, it just becomes unanswerable.
So then the question becomes: What’s the boundary between fine art and media art?
And lately, I’ve started to feel that maybe we do need to draw some kind of boundary—like, maybe using digital tools is a key characteristic.
That’s something I’ve been thinking about recently.

Hyelim: Yeah, I think because it’s a “Fachwort” (a technical term), the way people approach it really differs.
If someone approaches it with that in mind, and someone else interprets it more broadly, misunderstandings can definitely happen.

Hyeyun: Yeah, because the theme was already somewhat set between you and Yunju, and you had never really explained it to someone in depth before.
Whereas I wanted to understand it 100%.
So it wasn’t like we were at the early research stage—it was already underway.
That’s probably why it took me a while to catch up. 

Hani: But I feel like being asked unexpected questions like that could’ve helped you reframe and clarify your ideas. That must’ve been interesting, no?

Hyelim: In Korean, “media” is sometimes used as a loanword, but we also have the native word mae-chae (매체), which means medium. And the distinction between these two isn’t always clear-cut. Sometimes we use “media” in the context of mass media, or communication media, while mae-chae is more often used in the arts to refer to modes of expression or transmission.
But the line between the two isn’t always well defined, especially in high-context languages like Korean. So that’s probably why there’s a lot of interpretive confusion.
(In Korean, the native word 매체 (mae-chae) is often used in artistic contexts to refer to expressive or communicative mediums. However, in everyday language, terms like “mass media” or “media” are generally used with the loanword ‘media.’ The word is thus broad and often applied without clear boundaries.)

Hyeyun: I remember when we were brainstorming exhibition titles, we considered names that explored the world of 0s and 1s.
Juyoun, what do you think?

Hyelim: Right. And to answer the earlier question— 

Hyeyun: Please mention what the earlier question was.

Hyelim: It was about how unexpected questions can lead you to revisit and clarify meanings in your work.
And to respond to that: what we’re doing isn’t commercial or mass-oriented art.
So there are limits when it comes to universal understanding, and honestly, there’s no must that says everyone has to fully relate to it.
We’re not making work that demands complete agreement or emotional resonance from everyone.
If someone connects with it, great. If not, maybe their interests lie elsewhere.
It made me think more about which parts of my work I want to hold onto, and which parts I can let go of. 

Hani: But isn’t that kind of what art is? You don’t need to be good at everything.
Even within the arts—or within media art, or video art—there are so many levels of specificity.
It’s not about being good at everything like studying math, science, and English.
What matters is going deep into one area.

Yunju: My bubble tea has arrived… Hani, you didn’t order anything, right? Do you want mine?

Hani: No, thank you.

Hyelim: You can get some mate or beer from the yellow box over there.

Hani: Thank you.

Yunju: Can we pause for a moment?

Hyelim: One of our professors at my school, Dieter Daniels, has been researching media art for a very long time. He’s apparently a huge fan of Nam June Paik. So he often incorporates that kind of material into his lectures.

Yunju: In our last class, we talked about theories of self-portraiture through media. He’s also agreed to participate in our winter exhibition, which is exciting. He’s very supportive of students and their work.

Hyelim: He’ll be joining the project as a lecturer. It’s going to be streamed online, so I hope you all join as well.
Right, so—where were we?
Since we talked about “media,” let’s move on to media-based cognitive systems.
Personally, my first encounter with media as a child was listening to my mom read storybooks aloud. Her voice really stimulated my imagination.
From that point on, it was like a continuous chain of imaginative thinking. For instance, whenever I traveled—especially if we were driving through forests or mountains at night—I’d get scared. I’d imagine someone following us, or that a monster might jump out.
I really believe those media experiences shaped the way I think.
Then I moved on to animation, dramas, films… and those experiences deeply affected how I respond to things in everyday life.
That’s what led me to develop the concept of media-based cognitive systems in my work...

Yunju: An accident has occurred.

Hani: Oh no—was it me?

Yunju: No, no, no. It just fell on its own. But it’s dangerous. It’s already too late. That thing is dead.

Hyelim: Right, back to the lecture... or not.

Hyeyun: What were you thinking again?

Hyelim: Ah yes, yes—
So in my artist statement, I define my process as working through a media-based, cinematic cognitive system.
It’s how I think and how I develop my work.
And another thing I’ve noticed is that Korean artists tend to use a lot of narrative in their practice.
That made me curious, because German artists often don’t use narrative much at all.
There also seems to be a cultural difference: in Germany, the domestic soft power industries—films, dramas, etc.—aren’t as developed or dominant.
A lot of people here consume Hollywood content rather than their own.
But in Korea, it’s the opposite—Koreans are the main consumers of Korean content.
I think that shaped a more narrative-driven way of thinking in our culture.

Hyeyun: I really agree with that. I’ve always felt that Koreans tend to have a very narrative- or story-centered way of thinking.

Chaebin: I think part of it comes from our tradition of oral storytelling.
A lot of Korean folktales and children’s stories have such a clear structure—beginning, middle, climax, conclusion.
That must have influenced us too.
Personally, I can’t even begin working unless I write something first.
I can’t start by filming or doing visuals—I have to start with text. It’s a weird habit.

Hyelim: I’m the same.

Chaebin: No matter how close the deadline is, if I don’t have the writing, I just can’t start.
Sometimes I need inspiration, so I watch films or read interesting books.
Also, Korea changes so fast, so I think people are used to absorbing information really quickly.
And I feel like my current cognitive system is deeply shaped by that kind of media environment.
For example, now I constantly say things like, “I’ll ask GPT.”
A year ago, ChatGPT wasn’t even reliable—it didn’t work well. But now, it’s become essential.
I barely use Google or Naver anymore. I ask GPT for everything—even when writing artist statements, I ask it to proofread.
So yeah, I think media and technology are becoming inseparable from how we think and live.
Sometimes I wonder if they’re turning into something deeply entangled with human existence.

Hani: Actually, since my school focuses more on film, I hadn’t really thought about the idea that “Koreans use more narrative.”
But listening to you all, I can see how Koreans tend to be early adopters—when new media like ChatGPT comes out, people quickly try it and experiment with how stories can emerge from it. That does seem quite distinctive.

Hyeyun: Do any of you feel anything specific when you think about media-based cognition?
Wait, did I just interrupt someone? Yunju, do you have any thoughts?

Yunju: I guess I didn’t answer the earlier question either—what I think media is.
When this project first started, I saw media as something tied to “implanted thought.”
We’re born in a state of nothingness, and everything we learn—our thoughts, ideas—all come from the outside.
So in that sense, everything is media.
That’s why people say things like, “Newspapers are media,” or “Movies are media.”
I believe those things shape the way we think.
And when it comes to Korea’s narrative tendencies, I think Korean TV shows really inject narrative into everything.
Like in Superstar K, contestants who have a dramatic backstory are more likely to advance.
So I think Koreans really love narrative, and that it ends up being constantly reinforced by all kinds of programs and dramas.
It gets embedded into people automatically.
Even in parenting, I think Koreans tend to explain things through stories.
Instead of just saying “Don’t do that,” they’ll say, “If you do that, someone will get sad…”
They explain things emotionally and narratively.

Hyelim: For me, it’s not so much a connection between the two—it’s more that they’re one and the same.
Historically speaking, our society has always been about survival—especially in the post-war era.
We had to rebuild, establish economic foundations, and eventually think about how to become a strong nation.
That way of thinking was passed down strongly from our grandparents’ generation.
Then came the idea of soft power.
Starting with President Kim Dae-jung’s era, Korea began benchmarking other countries—especially Japan, which benefited from postwar economic advantages and developed its own media industries like animation and TV.
We were deeply influenced by that.
So for me, media and narrative didn’t become linked at some later point—they were always interwoven from the beginning.

Chaebin: I think of stories as living things.
They move. They have vitality.
And I think media is the best way to express that.
Because when you want to unfold a scene or a flow, media can do that.
Say I want to show just one vivid moment—sure, I could sculpt or photograph it.
But stories keep moving.
So I think media is the most fitting medium for showing that kind of flow.
I don’t know—when we tell stories, no matter who the protagonist is, they always have something they want to say.
And whether or not the narrative has a traditional arc, media allows us to unfold and explore that process.
I think that’s why media and narrative go so well together.

Hani: I think “flow” is such a great keyword here.
Maybe media is such an intuitive medium for expressing and sharing narrative because of that very quality—its flow. 

yelim: Speaking of that—(before I forget, let’s address the earlier question)—Juyoun, yours is actually the only piece in this exhibition that clearly includes a narrative, right? And you presented it as an installation.
So I was curious if you had any thoughts about that—about how you structured the scene, in a way. Did you ever consider turning it into a video?

Juyoun: When I work, I approach it like solving a puzzle.
This piece started when I was walking down a street in London and saw a shop with a door completely covered in doorknobs.
I think it was selling them, but to me it looked fascinating. I took a picture and kept it in mind.
Later, I read a book with post-apocalyptic themes, and something about that resonated.
So I started collecting these impressions and eventually built a scenario.
At first, the work had more of a crisis-culture kind of feeling.
Originally, the ship was supposed to be the main element—I wanted to make a glowing ship.
But I kept simplifying, and eventually focused on the lighthouse, the boat, and their light-based communication. That became the core.
The whole piece feels like a scene pulled from a movie and dropped into physical space.
For me, the idea of generating space was very meaningful.
And honestly, I didn’t consider making a video.
I’ve done video work before, but I got really tired of it.
In my everyday life, I already spend too much time with my phone, YouTube, and my computer.
So when people come to see my work, I didn’t want them to face yet another screen.
I had a personal desire to not make video.
That said, it’s also true that people today rarely watch things all the way through.
Even with media art, most people aren’t necessarily trying to interpret it deeply—they’re there for the experience.
Unless a piece is super scientific or highly structured, that’s just how it is.
Still, I’m continuing to challenge myself, one step at a time.

Hyelim: When we were selecting participating artists and shaping how their works would be connected, we really considered the relationships between them.
The way artists work, their themes, the texture of their works—we wanted to show how they intertwine.
And there are subtle overlaps between everyone’s work.
For example, Juyoun’s piece and mine both involve dystopian elements and constructed sets.
We’re not just placing finished works into a space—we’re creating a whole environment where everything blends together.
In my case, I lean toward video and image-heavy work. Juyoun’s is more object-based installation.
So it was interesting to see how similar yet contrasting our approaches were.

Juyoun: Right. And Hyelim, you mentioned before that you like Hito Steyerl’s work.
I actually started one of my earlier pieces after reading her writing—it really intrigued me.
So when you said that, I definitely felt a connection between our approaches.

Hyelim: Since we often work with monitors, I find that when I’ve been working too long on digital projects, even watching YouTube to relax doesn’t work anymore.
It’s like my dopamine’s already overloaded—
I think, “I’ll watch something light and go to bed,” but my eyes are just too exhausted.

Hani: I totally get that. Sometimes I just lie down like a corpse and stare at the wall. That’s how I decompress.

Hyelim: Back when I used to draw, working on my pieces helped relieve stress and express emotions. But with digital work, I don’t get that same feeling of release while working. It’s like that aspect just disappeared from my life. Even though it’s still “art,” the process of expression feels different. There’s definitely something about analog work that you can’t replicate. Not just for the viewers, but also for the person creating it — it feels different.
These days, short-form content is everywhere. But we don’t really produce commercial short-form videos. Do you have any thoughts about that?

Hani: These days, with performances too, it’s rare to have an audience sit through something from beginning to end. I can’t recall the artist’s name, but at a biennale, someone spread sand across the floor, and the piece was just people reading books or kids playing in the sand. It was almost indistinguishable from everyday life — just normal things happening.
It was about how attention gets disordered — like how we jump from one thing to another on our phones. There are lots of performances now that address those ideas.
In contrast, the video works we do often require watching from start to finish, but they’re not shown in cinemas. So I find myself wondering how I can keep viewers interested throughout. At the same time, I question whether it's even right to try to hold their attention like that. It feels like a contradiction.

Hyelim: Before I started working with media, I did mostly two-dimensional work. There was someone in the field — I won’t name them — who taught at our school for a long time. They were known for being super cynical and kind of... pessimistic?

Hani: Yeah, nihilistic.

Hyelim: Right, very nihilistic. They used to say stuff like, “None of you are going to make it as artists anyway.” I always took their classes thinking, “Ugh, this sucks.”
One day they were talking about video works that were over an hour long and just brushed it off saying, “This wasn’t made for people to watch the whole thing, right?”
As a student, I’d go to exhibitions thinking, “I have to watch this all the way through to understand and learn from it,” feeling pressure to interpret and make sense of it.
But hearing that offhand comment — “It’s not made for you to watch the whole thing” — really stuck with me.

Hani: Yeah, yeah. I mean, we can’t possibly go through everything in life and analyze each little thing one by one.

Hyelim: Exactly. In a way, that’s true. And maybe it’s worth making work with that mindset in mind.

Yunju: Anyway, a video doesn’t always need a traditional beginning, middle, and end.

Hyelim: Sometimes just watching a small portion of a video is enough to get something from it. Even without context, there’s still something you can feel. So comments like that have actually helped reduce my anxiety around time-based work.

Hani: Yeah, I feel like I can’t let go of that either.
Of course, a piece doesn’t have to be entertaining. But when it’s video, it’s not like it ends in one or two minutes. I’ve spent six months crafting this story — I want people to sit down and watch it. So I try to introduce more variation just to make it watchable. I even ask myself things like, “Should I add a 3D scan here?” or “Should I use Blender?”

Chaebin: There’s this Korean YouTuber I know who says that as people’s attention spans get shorter, they edit videos so that every time you skip 10 seconds, the scene changes. That makes viewers go, “Wait, what happened?” and rewind. So that’s one approach. But at the same time, I also feel like—whatever, I made it this way, and if people don’t want to watch it, then so be it. It’s like this constant push and pull. I worked so hard on it, I want people to take the time to watch it. But I also feel like I can’t do more. It’s up to the viewer now.

Hyelim: One thing I found kind of odd is how we can sit for so long and talk while looking at a static image or a calm installation piece made to let you rest, but when it comes to video—despite the visual stimulation and narrative—people often find it boring and don’t really watch. That’s a bit strange, isn’t it? I guess the stimulation itself can become tiring. There’s so much fast information that it actually interferes with spending time to follow the content and reflect on it. (To Hani) Did your work have a script?

Hani: I had a storyboard. I wrote a rough text first—not something to be used in the actual work but more like a description. Since it was a very image-centered piece and I worked with a team, I needed a way to communicate what I wanted to film. In cinema, a script serves that role, but for me, since the focus was on imagery, a written script didn’t really make sense. So I drew all the scenes as a storyboard, and that functioned as a kind of script.

Hyelim: Your work had a lot of conceptual layers and research points. I’m sure there were tons of interesting ideas that came up. Which of those were you hoping to include in the work?

Hani: Gérard Lucas’s way of handling language as a medium really intrigued me. He transformed threatening-sounding sentences into new, benign ones by rearranging the phonemes. It was like a symptom, a coping strategy. And I found that very similar to how AI image generators create image chains by exchanging pixel data rather than understanding meaning. Gérard didn’t care about the meaning of language; he focused on its material quality—on the signifier itself. That really resembled how AI works: it doesn’t understand the meaning of a traffic light, it just processes the pixel information. Like when an AI can’t identify traffic lights in CAPTCHA because it only sees data values, not meaning. So I wanted to work with those three layers: language, AI image generation, and performance mediated by the camera. I wasn’t interested in just using a medium to deliver a narrative—I was more interested in how a chosen medium can generate narratives on its own.

Hyelim: I have a question for Yunju about your work, especially in relation to what we said earlier about still images vs. moving narratives. You had a scriptbook and a video, right? But what struck me was that your old monitors were all displaying still photo images—no actual video. Normally those monitors show videos, but this time they were all static. Meanwhile, while reading the storybook, I felt like the images in my mind started moving—like the video played inside my head. Was that intentional?

Yunju: For me, the things I’ve experienced don’t really come back to me as full images. It’s more like sharp flashes—like a face, or a detail of a place. That’s all I remember. And those memories usually come back as narrative, not as vivid images. Other than very intense moments, I barely remember any visuals. And the imagery feels mixed—like it’s been overwritten by media. I’d talk to someone who went through something similar, and as we talk, the story builds up in layers. But when I try to make it into a video, it starts feeling like someone else’s story. Like I’m adding scenes that aren’t mine. So writing it as a storybook helps me express what I experienced more accurately. I feel like the story truly belongs to me, but the image doesn’t. My memories and others’ get all tangled up. Sometimes when someone tells me something, I start imagining it—like, “When I was little, I drank three beers,” and then you picture a child doing that. All those imagined visuals pile up and clash with my own memories.

Hyeyun: I totally relate. Stories or memories feel like exact replicas of what I saw or experienced. But when I try to turn them into video, I end up recreating compositions or clichés I’ve seen elsewhere. From a cognitive/media perspective, I grew up on comics—not games, I was terrible at those—but now I enjoy watching people play games on YouTube. I like how games can make you reflect on reality in a different way.

Hyelim: It’s funny how everyone has such different styles of playing. When I played games, I’d spend all my time decorating my character or their home, building a protective space around them. I rarely did the missions or quests. I remember one game where I never did the main storyline—I’d just wander around dyeing my character’s hair. Even in Sims, people usually explore relationships between Sims, but I didn’t care about that. I only focused on building and customizing the Sim to look like me.

Hyeyun: I’m the opposite—I love collecting things. If there’s a collection system, like a Pokédex or quest list, I want to complete everything. I played Animal Crossing, and I couldn’t rest until I had every piece of furniture. But then I wouldn’t even decorate my place with them—I’d just hoard them. If you came to my house in the game, it would just be cluttered. No decorations, just functional stuff. Meanwhile, your place, Hyelim, would be so tidy and filled with your aesthetic.

Hyelim: What kind of games did you all play when you were younger?

Hyeyun: You two didn’t play LoL?

Chaebin: I didn’t. I’m really bad at games. If I played, it was just whatever my brother liked.

Hyelim: For me, my favorite part was planting mushrooms as Teemo. That was the best.

Hyelim: Yeah, but if you hide mushrooms around the map, people step on them and the poison spreads and kills them as they run away.

Hyeyun: Oh, like booby traps?

Hyelim: Right, so I’d go into stealth and secretly plant mushrooms.

Hyeyun: I’m not good at these kinds of games. My reflexes are slow. But I really enjoy analyzing them—like how each character inflicts damage, how the balance works, the systems behind it. I find it fascinating. It really inspires me—like, “Wow, they broke the fourth wall in this game!” It opens up new ways of thinking for me.

Chaebin: I think I mostly played MMORPGs. I used to play Gersang—you become a merchant but also have to fight. I mostly played whatever my older brother played. Then I played Mabinogi for a really long time. That game had a lot of freedom—you could hunt, do quests, or just hang out in the square chatting with other players. You could do anything. I think I really played that for a long, long time.

Hyeyun: I’m curious—did you make friends through the game? Were they similar to you?

Chaebin: Yeah, we were all otakus. One of the girls I met online recently got married. We’ve known each other since I was in 6th grade or the start of middle school. We don’t talk all the time, but we still keep in touch.

Hyelim: So at first, you only saw their character in the game and not their real face. What was it like when you finally saw them in real life?

Chaebin: I don’t know, there’s always something about them that feels similar to yourself. Like, “Ah, we’re alike.” When I was younger, I never used female avatars. I only ever created male characters.

Chaebin: Yeah, at first I played as a girl character, but then there was this marriage system in the game. The wedding ring had some kind of effect or bonus, so my friend and I were like, “Let’s get married!” So I reincarnated as a male character so we could marry. After that, I only ever played as male characters.

Hyelim: The game I played also had gender switching, but it cost like 200,000 in-game coins—it was expensive. You had to grind forever to afford it. When I played games, I wasn’t really into the storylines or missions. I was more interested in the background design and visual worldbuilding. When I first played LoL, it wasn’t about fighting or strategy. I was like, “Whoa, there’s a river here! Look, when I walk in the water, it leaves footprints!” Then I’d get killed right away, of course. But it’s kind of like quantum mechanics, right? They use video game environments to explain those ideas a lot—like how only the parts of the world you’re looking at exist, and everything outside your view doesn’t. It’s like how computer games render the world: the unseen areas just stay black and undefined. 

Hyeyun: I think I’ve definitely been influenced by games too—especially in how I imagine worlds and structure things. It’s all about worldbuilding. You guys must’ve all been really into games.

Hani: I seriously didn’t play anything.

Juyoun: I actually stopped gaming after I turned 20. And the reason I even started was kind of silly—I really wanted to experience staying up all night. I’ve always been someone who needs a lot of sleep, and I never thought about drinking coffee back then. But I noticed people stayed up all night playing games, so I tried it.

Hyeyun: So did you get into LoL? Did you manage to stay up all night?

Juyoun: I gave up like an hour or two before sunrise. I just couldn’t make it. But I got hooked. I’m honestly not good at games—I just kind of mash buttons. But I liked ADCs with satisfying impact and range. That was my thing.

Hyeyun: I have a question about AI. One of the comments we got from the exhibition was that many of the works seemed to use AI generators or were influenced by AI, and I wanted to talk about that. How are you using AI? For me, AI is more like a tool. But like I said before, there are environmental and resource concerns, so I try to stay cautious. Once you start using a technology, it’s hard to stop—it’s convenient. So I think it’s something that should be regulated at the national or global level. It’s not really something individuals can control. But as an international student, ChatGPT is just… unbelievably helpful. One thing I used a lot recently was Adobe Firefly, the AI generator. Maybe because Adobe has access to a huge dataset of real photos, the output looked surprisingly real, not artificial. And I feel like our generation adapts to these tools quickly. For instance, my mom still feels uncomfortable using it.

Juyoun: Honestly, AI doesn’t play a big role in my work, but if I had to mention something—it helps me write code. I tell it what to do, then I review and revise it, change what I want, and correct mistakes. I scold it if it's wrong.

Hyeyun: Do you all think about contemporaneity—about being part of this specific moment in time?

Juyoun: Since I live in this time, I think I’m inevitably a part of it… but I don’t think I have a clear view of it objectively. I’ll need to think more before I answer that properly.  

Chaebin: I think AI is incredibly convenient. It’s like one of those futuristic technologies we used to only imagine in science posters as kids, but now it’s real. When I made my work, I struggled with a lot of guilt. I used deepfake, and since deepfake crimes are so widespread, I wondered if it was really okay for me to use this. It was a moral dilemma. It’s not like I had to use it—I could have avoided it—but I kept questioning myself. Is it really okay to use this? I think it really depends on how the person uses the technology. Some use AI in really positive ways, and others just abuse it. Technology is always a double-edged sword. It brings convenience, but also resource waste. It has clear pros and cons. In terms of contemporaneity, I think media artists are often early adopters of new tech. Compared to people studying humanities, for instance, artists seem quicker to try out new things. And people call us Gen Z, but I actually think millennials are better at absorbing new tech. For example, I type really fast—like 700–800 characters per minute—and people are always amazed by that.

Hani: But there are also Gen Z people who hate this stuff—who are like, “I don’t like AI, I prefer analog.” I think in the end, it really depends on the individual.

Chaebin: Speaking of typing, I realized something really core about being from the media generation: I can’t think unless I type. Writing is a habit for me. I need to write in order to think. But I can’t write unless I have a keyboard. So when I’m thinking, if I don’t have a keyboard, it’s like I can’t even process my thoughts.

Hani: That’s interesting. We talked earlier about the pros and cons of technology—and I agree. But what’s even more fascinating to me is how specific media or technologies can shape the way we think and act. They create entirely new formats and modes of thought. For example, how we use certain tools. Personally, I hate voice messages. But in Germany, they use them all the time. I really don’t like them—they’re awkward and inefficient. Sometimes you have to listen to them three times to understand them. But for people who like them, it’s convenient. They just walk around talking into their phone. They’re incredibly focused. When I first moved here, that cultural difference really shocked me. I just wasn’t used to it. If I had grown up with it, maybe I’d find it convenient. But for me, it’s a completely unfamiliar culture. And Korean is great for typing too.

Juyoun: If I don’t have my hands free, I use the mic on my iPhone to speak and convert it to text.

Hyeyun: I use that a lot too—more than voice messages. Because sometimes you don’t have earphones with you.

Hyelim: For me, I’ve realized that I actually can’t think well when I’m typing. When I need to think deeply, I have to write by hand. It’s like, “I can’t process thoughts through a computer.”

Hani: But isn’t handwriting way too slow to keep up with your thinking?

Hyelim: That’s true, but my handwriting speed has adapted to my thinking pace. It actually helps me organize my thoughts logically.

Hyeyun: For me, writing by hand helps because I can draw arrows and move things around.

Juyoun: These days, I try not to write by hand. I realized when I write in a journal, I get too emotional. So I started avoiding it.

Hyeyun: For Chinese people, it must be hard to type because they have to type in pinyin and then convert it to characters. So typing really shapes language. It might be the same for German too.

Hyelim: I know someone who struggles with typing. They only use voice messages or phone calls. When I sent my first voice message, I had to record it five times because it was so hard to organize my thoughts and speak smoothly and clearly.

Hyeyun: I saw this funny TikTok where someone tried to send a birthday voice message to their boyfriend. They made a mistake while recording and had to re-record it, trying to act excited all over again: “Wow, happy birthday! That’s amazing!” It was hilarious.

Hyelim: And about what we were saying earlier—on deepfake AI—I used deepfake in my work too. I felt a lot of guilt while making it. Because this is the same technology that gets used for sex crimes. I was using my own face, and people are out there saying, “Don’t upload your face online.” So I kept wondering, “Is it okay for me to use this?” But in the end, my conclusion was: at least I should try to create something of quality. Maybe that could dilute the harmful uses, even just a little. If more people use it for meaningful things, maybe it could change how it's perceived.

Chaebin: One of the comments I got when I showed this work was from some German viewers—they were really shocked. They said it was surprising that I used deepfake directly on my face. I guess they’re very sensitive about that kind of thing here.

Hani: Yeah, they even say you should never upload your face into ChatGPT.

Hyelim: Personally, I believe that the technology itself is neutral/pure/fine. It’s the humans who develop and use it that are the problem. But of course, you can’t fully trust people. So even when I use it in my work, I think the important thing is how you contextualize it. If you’re using it just for convenience or because it’s easy, then that’s something we should avoid.

Hani: I actually don’t think technology is neutral/pure/fine. The development and commercialization of technology is already a political process. Even the choice of what to research in science isn’t random—it depends on funding, institutional priorities, industry connections. So the very existence of a technology is never truly neutral. And if you think about it, how we use it may not even be the most important issue—because many of these technologies are created with a predetermined purpose already built in. They’re born with a kind of destiny. 

Hyeyun: I agree. I don’t think technology is 100% neutral/pure/fine either. Which is exactly why we need to think deeply about how to handle it responsibly.

Hyelim: What I meant by “neutral/pure/fine” is the mechanism itself. The technology’s structure. Of course, the motivations behind its creation are human and thus not neutral. And there are always contradictions. A technology created for bad purposes might later be used for good—and vice versa. That irony always exists. But in the end, I believe people aren’t pure. People can’t be trusted.

Chaebin: Oh, I just remembered something I learned in theory class recently. It’s called techno-nature. The idea is that we can never perceive nature without a technological filter. For example, to observe the sky, we use telescopes; to magnify something, we use microscopes or lenses. There’s always some interface involved. So in today’s world, drawing a line between “technology” and “nature” doesn’t really make sense anymore. The two can’t be separated. The real question is how to steer things in a better direction.

Hyeyun: Lastly, how did you feel after participating in this exhibition?

Hani: I really loved it. It’s so rare for all of us to meet up like this, since we all live in different cities. It was such a valuable opportunity. It was great to see what kind of work everyone else is doing too. Even though we’re all in Germany, everyone has a different experience of this place. That was fascinating.

Hyelim: Yeah, even though we’re all in art schools, our day-to-day lives are totally different.

Hani: Recently, I’ve been thinking a lot about how important it is to form a collective. That’s why I really admire what you initiated here. It feels like it’s heading in such a good direction, and I’m really honored and grateful to be a part of it.

Juyoun: All my previous exhibitions were supported by the school system—organized internally. For external exhibitions, I usually just sent my video and that was it. But this time, we had to prepare everything from scratch, and I learned so much. It was a mix of stress and happiness all at once. Personally, I really loved it.

Hyelim: Exhibitions are hard... The recorder battery is running low, everyone. That’s it for now.