Author: Jody

Hack #5

Jody

In this Hack, I chose to return to Hack#3, which is the real timing clock I built in Minecraft. In the original version, my goal is to precisely introduce real time into the game world through technical means, thereby breaking the boundary between the two. This clock converts the changes of each second into digital signals through redstone circuits and presents them visually on the screen in the game. This approach reduces “time” to a highly computable and continuously advancing mechanism, enabling the game world to structurally simulate the time of reality.

But it was precisely during the process of using this device that I gradually realized its expressive potential was still confined within a framework of “technical synchronization”. Players do not have a particularly profound perception of this time number that changes second by second. Instead, it is more like “reading data” rather than “experiencing time”. Therefore, in the Beta version, I attempted to shift the focus from “controlling time” to “feeling time”, no longer relying on precise scales, but rather constructing a time experience that is closer to human perception through unstable and dissipative smoke.

The most notable manifestation of this transformation was that I used redstone to ignite the straw, allowing the smoke produced by the burning straw to form numbers in the air. Because the generation of smoke is delayed and its existence itself is brief and vague, this smoke clock can no longer be as precise to the second as before. It is no longer a “precise device”, but a “visual moment”.  One has to gaze at it, wait for it, watch it slowly emerge and disperse with the wind. This experience is closer to our true perception of time in the game: not being aware of the progress of time until the smoke has dissipated, day and night alternate, and the player suddenly realizes that they have been in it for a long time. Compared with clear figures, this untouchable and vanishing smoke is more like a metaphor for the experience of time itself.

The most fundamental difference from the original project is not only the change in the presentation method, but also the shift in the conceptual focus: I no longer attempt to make the game “imitate reality”, but instead demonstrate the coexistence and tension of the two time mechanisms through two parallel smoke clocks. One shows the real time and the other shows the game time within Minecraft. This just a position constitutes an experience structure, allowing players to passively perceive the conflict between the two temporal logics as they travel through the space. Real time relies on local area network synchronization and requires additional plugins to connect to the system time for accurate operation, while game time is rooted in Minecraft’s internal day-night mechanism and always progresses at its own pace. This “external access” in reality instead makes real time seem out of place in the game and also reveals the heterogeneity and intrusiveness of real time in the virtual space.

Behind this concept reconstruction, I referred to multiple theoretical frameworks. The concept of “continuous time” proposed by Henri Bergson is one of the theoretical fulcrums for my current transformation. Bergson defined scientific time as a quantifiable and divisible unit of scale, while understanding conscious time as an immeasurable and continuously flowing “continuity”. The smoke clock embodies precisely the latter: it is not a rhythmic advancement but an immersive experience, an existence that is only realized in the process of dissipation.

I also encountered many technical difficulties during the progress. For example, the realization of real time relies on local area network plugins and precise Tick control, while the smoke effect is difficult to predict and is easily affected by wind direction and spatial interference. However, in a certain sense, these “technical difficulties” also precisely constitute the contradiction that this project intends to convey: the control of time is always limited. The more technology attempts to precisely express time, the more it will expose its instability and imperceptibility. Ultimately, the smoke clock is not a tool for answering questions about time, but a device that constantly poses questions. It is both a sensory experience and a philosophical metaphor: Do we only realize that time is flowing around us when it is about to disappear and the smoke rises and then dissipates? Perhaps, in the process of immersing ourselves in the game world, are we experiencing the escape of time or another continuation of the rules of reality?

Flog #11

Jody

Last week’s Hack was kind of hard. I generated a lot of ideas and tried every idea before I realized it wouldn’t work. For example, I initially planned to complete a remix of urban homelessness with Black Diamond of Peter Criss as the background music. I did gather the material to start production. About a minute into it, I realized that this might not be what I wanted to have for this hack. It’s not that I don’t like how I’ve done it, I actually feel fair and the song is good, but since it’s not a topic I really have inspiration in, I felt like I don’t know what to do next, which makes me feel very unmotivated. So I had to give up this half-finished project. The technical aspects of editing the video didn’t particularly bother me, what was really difficult was finding footage on the Internet that I was going to use. I’m glad I finally managed to find what I was looking for. The artist statement also left me a little confused. Compared with the previous hacks that are based on specific topics, the remix is more complex because the content expressed requires me to spend time sorting out my thoughts and the order of writing.

Hack #4

Jody

In this remix project, I criticized the “persistent and hidden forms of gender discipline language”. Through textual rewriting, AI voice substitution and image inversion of 1950s family gender education videos, I reveal how structural control over women has been constructed in a “gentle”, “considerate” and “natural” way in history, and attempt to trace the continuation and reproduction of such disciplinary mechanisms in contemporary technological discourse (especially AI voice systems).

Also, by introducing Meghan Markle’s public speech and a group of realistic image materials of outstanding women from different ethnic and cultural backgrounds, I transformed the original “disciplined” object into “expressive subject”, making the silent body open and the blurred face clear. On this basis, I use the music and words of Vixen, an all-female Glam Metal band, as narrative support, giving the work structural rhythmic tension and symbolic meaning.

I tried to guide the audience through a journey of irony, empathy, and inspiration. I want them to not only understand how absurd disciplinary language can be, but also to recognize how it still shapes us today in new ways. This includes how we imagine and accept ideas like the “neutrality of AI” and the “naturalness of gender roles.” The opening scene of this remix is the most important structural starting point of the entire work. It is also the first moment when the audience is challenged in how they perceive what they hear and see. I used the script of a 1950s educational video called The Good Wife Guide as the base text, and I rewrote it carefully to create The Good Husband Guide. I kept the original structure, grammar, and emotional rhythm, and only changed the gendered words. For example, “your husband” becomes “your wife,” “he” becomes “she,” and “master of the house” becomes “mistress of the house.” I did not stop at changing the words, however. I also used an AI text-to-speech tool to generate a female voice reading the new script. This voice has a calm, smooth, and pleasant tone that sounds neutral, like a middle-class American speaker. It is not overly emotional and has no strong personality. It sounds like a mix of a newsreader and a digital assistant. I chose this kind of voice on purpose. I did not want a robotic or unnatural sound. Instead, I wanted a voice that feels gentle, clear, polite, but also firm. It should remind the audience of the kind of voices they have heard in traditional family advice or home education videos.

I used background music that was common in 1950s American household advertisements. The music is a piano melody in a minor key, and it represents a strong cultural memory of the “home atmosphere.” I chose this type of music instead of something heavy or dark in tone, because I wanted to build a contrast between the voice, the music, and the visuals. The spoken content is a form of structural violence. It tells the husband to give up his own judgment, to follow his wife’s emotions, to never ask questions, and to stay in a lower position at all times. However, the voice and the background music together create a feeling of calm and softness. The sound feels gentle, pleasant, and peaceful—almost as if this is how life is supposed to be. The visuals show men from the 1950s. They wear suits, smile, relax, clean the house, and wait for their wives to return. These men are placed in the kind of domestic scenes where women were traditionally expected to be quiet and obedient. This creates a strange effect of role reversal that feels both awkward and ironic.  Through this combination of voice, music, and imagery, the audience experiences cognitive dissonance. What they hear, see, and emotionally feel is a picture of a happy home. But what they actually understand is a system of gender-based control. This contradiction opens up a space for reflection: Why does all of this feel so “normal”? And why do we only realize how wrong it is when the script is given to men?

In the last scene, I chose a smiling male actor as the end of the segment. His eyes were calm and there was a polite, gentle smile on his lips. He did not know that he had just been taught “not to question his wife’s judgment,” “to be considerate even when she is out late at night,” or that he had been cast as the “submissive male” in a script of control and restraint. And it is this shot that further twists the dubbing in front of the picture into an invisible structure. When gender discipline is packaged as soft tones and family harmony, the danger lies not in violence but in “rationality.” That is to say, the core of the criticism in this part is to construct a cross-reference between the “pseudo-calm scene” and the “violent semantics” , and break the existing cognitive framework with contrast. If this language is unacceptable to men, it should never have been applied to anyone in the first place. This paragraph also foreshadows an important framework for the follow-up of the work. Since old structures can be “glorified,” is today’s AI discourse also a disguise for new structures? This issue will be extended from the first part to the “polite tone” of AI, the setting of assistant personality, and the presupposition of gender roles, and ultimately constitute a question and challenge to the contemporary “computational law training mechanism”.

After the first part, the piece cuts to Meghan Markle’s speech at the United Nations. It expresses that after the experimental structure of “men being disciplined,” the voice of a real individual finally emerges. I chose this speech not because Meghan Markle is a “celebrity,” but because the story she tells is pretty much the moment most of us have experienced when we first “sensed gender injustice” growing up. Instead of speaking in abstract political terms, she said she heard the boy say “women’s place is in the kitchen” and she became angry, saying: “I knew it wasn’t right, I knew something had to be done.” Visually, I kept the static close-up shot of Meghan standing on the podium, allowing the audience to face a “not so perfect but real” expression after just experiencing the calm discipline language and beautiful music. This is in sharp contrast to the “inorganic calm” of the AI female voice. AI audio conveys order and procedure; Meghan’s tone of voice, on the other hand, represents a genuine sense of self. I want to emphasize through this that resistance is not always grand, it often stems from a naive “this is not right” sentiment. It is this kind of primitive anger that is the first to be suppressed in our growth, is the most frequently “interpreted as misunderstanding,” and then leads to silence. Through this transition, I laid the foundation of “body with emotion and power” for the realistic female images that emerged in the following years. She is not an actress in a fictional play, but a speaker in real history.

After Meghan’s speech,I moved into a collage section made of both still images and video clips. This part of the project has the least amount of spoken language, but it is the most powerful in terms of challenging the structure of the whole piece. It directly responds to the “ideal wife or husband” image created by the earlier system of speech by showing real women from real life. 

The women I selected come from a wide range of ethnic, cultural, geographic, and historical backgrounds. Their accomplishments span politics, science, art, sports, and technology. I chose to highlighted their actions, ideas, and leadership by fast-paced editing and preserved the original contrast and texture of each frame. I also avoided softening filters or polished effects because I wanted to show each woman as a full presence, not as a symbol or decorative image. The viewer is not being told how to feel. Rather, they are invited to observe what these women are doing. My intention in this part was to shift the way women are seen. I wanted to move them from being the subject of explanation to becoming the ones who shape the narrative. They are not defined by the system. They operate beyond it and define their own terms. While some remix projects treat clips of powerful women as emotional highlights, I wanted it to be part of the central argument. I also paid attention to editing rhythm and the direction of their gaze. This was meant to challenge the way audiences are used to looking at women on screen. In most media, viewers are trained to evaluate women, to give them labels, or to assign them a certain value. In this remix, I wanted the gaze to reverse. The women look directly at the viewer. That moment of eye contact changes the experience of watching.

For the background music in this section, I chose Edge of a Broken Heart by Vixen. This song plays an important role in setting the pace of the visuals, but it also signals a deeper cultural meaning. Vixen was one of the few all-female bands in the 1980s glam metal scene. They worked in an industry dominated by men, where gender roles were strictly enforced. They were constantly asked whether they could play as well as male musicians. People assumed they got attention because of their looks. Their work was rarely judged on its own terms. Vixen’s presence was always compared to male standards. Even when they achieved success, it was framed as “impressive for women” rather than as artistic or technical excellence on its own. The issues they faced connect directly to the themes in this remix. Women are not only told how to behave or feel. They are also taught how to speak, how to perform, and how to present themselves creatively. Expression itself is shaped by rules that often reflect male-centered expectations. The band members often spoke about how they were treated. They were seen as girlfriends of other musicians rather than artists in their own right. They were excluded from touring with some male bands because the bandmates’ girlfriends felt jealous. These examples show how deeply ideas about gender shaped their professional world. The same forces that shaped the “wife” figure in The Good Wife Guide were still active in the world Vixen had to overcome. Vixen was described as a breakthrough act, yet the media kept defining them as “the female version of a male band.” Reporters focused on their looks, clothes, and sex appeal. Their skills in songwriting, performance, and live shows were rarely discussed with the same seriousness given to male musicians. Even in spaces that claimed to be open-minded or progressive, women were rarely treated as full creative subjects. More often, they were discussed as symbols, exceptions, or novelties. On one hand, they resisted the gender labels placed on them. On the other, they were shaped by those same labels. This tension gave their voice a unique strength. They were both outsiders to the system and deeply affected by it. That contradiction is what gives their work emotional weight and complexity. This remix ends by highlighting that position. Women do not need to copy power structures in order to succeed. They do not need to become a version of what already exists. What they seek is the right to define the terms of expression itself. The interview clip I included near the end ties everything together. It brings the remix full circle. In the beginning, the AI voice speaks from within the system. In the final scene, a real woman speaks for herself. The voice, once a tool shaped by others, becomes a weapon of her own.

The process of making this project turned out to be much more complex than I expected. The biggest challenges came from two areas. First, I had to balance the meaning of each source and make sure they worked together without conflict. Second, I needed to manage the emotional rhythm across the whole piece. In other words, it was not enough for each material to carry meaning on its own. When placed side by side, they also had to build up, not cancel each other out. Only then could the remix form a clear narrative arc and maintain a strong sense of critical depth. One example of this challenge came from the first section of the piece. I knew that showing men in the 1950s being “disciplined” in the style of old homemaking advice might make some viewers laugh. It was important to me that the scene did not feel like a joke or a parody. I did not want the humor to take over the argument. The tone needed to stay uneasy and thought-provoking. Later, when editing the section about real women, I decided not to use traditional voiceover. I let the rhythm of the Vixen song guide how the images were cut and arranged. This was not just a stylistic choice. It was a way to challenge structure itself. I wanted the rhythm of women’s presence, not a voice explaining what we see, to lead the experience of watching. Making this remix helped me see more clearly that every piece of sound, every image, and every edit I used had to respond to one core question. It is not just about letting women’s voices be heard. It is about allowing women to decide what should be said and how it should be said.

Flog #9

Jody

This week we talked about digital commons, a concept that is very new to me. I could not understand the meaning of the word “commons” at first, just as I could not understand why the cafeteria was called “commons” when I was a freshman, which may have something to do with my lack of understanding of the context of English. For this concept, I think of the Facebook Marketplace, but Dr. Sample says it’s more of a trading platform. So I realized that digital commons should be something more based on helping each other. Then I was thinking about our next Hack. The issue of creativity remains the main concern. I do have some good ideas, but they are not necessarily effective in expressing a socially meaningful topic. Also, a rule has to be broken, but must have a good justification? What should I do? I need a very strong reason to convince Dr. Sample. I kind of want to adapt something based on something I’ve done in one of my previous classes, but I haven’t decided how much to adapt and in what direction.

Flog #8

Jody

This week’s discussion about music copyright gave me a lot to think about. I’m taking a music theory class this semester, so I’ve learned that many chords are used repeatedly, and combinations of notes within a key have already been explored by composers across different eras. Because of that, even though some songs sound incredibly similar, it’s entirely possible that the resemblance is just a coincidence.

I tried to put myself in the shoes of both the original creator and the person accused of copying, and it feels like both sides make valid points. There are legal guidelines that specify how much similarity in a piece of music can be considered plagiarism, and I think that sounds like a fair way. If it’s really an unconscious similarity, it wouldn’t be many of them. For example, when I first heard Gotthard’s Fist In Your Face, my immediate reaction was that it reminded me of Bon Jovi’s In And Out Of Love. The latter is a well-known glam metal song, but in this case, it was just a sense of déjà vu. The discussion around reusing one’s own work and whether that could lead to copyright issues was also interesting. I assume using your own writing, like a paper you wrote, should be fine. But if you’re in college, professors expect you to put effort into each class individually. So I understand why some professors might find it inappropriate to reuse work from another course. I know many songwriters enjoy reusing bits of their own material, and it usually doesn’t cause any trouble. So in the end, I think it really depends on the context.

Hack #3

Jody

In Design, Anne Balsamo says that creativity is shaped by culture. Learning to be “creative” means learning what creativity looks like in a specific field. In art, it’s about new forms of aesthetic expression. In science, it’s about proving hypotheses in elegant ways. No matter the field, creativity is always tied to its content. This idea inspired my Hack. If we are going to deconstruct software, why not do the opposite of what it was designed for? In daily life, productivity tools often distract us when we need to focus. It’s like kids doodling in the corners of their textbooks instead of paying attention. But what if we flipped that? What if we worked when we were supposed to be playing? That completely goes against the purpose of a game, but for this Hack, it makes perfect sense.

When people play games, time seems to pass quickly. This is especially true when a game has its own time system and lets players create their own world, making the real world feel irrelevant. Minecraft is a perfect example. As an open-ended sandbox game, it is designed to give players a virtual world separate from reality. The game offers powerful features that let players do almost anything. Its day-night cycle creates an immersive experience. These same features allowed me to build an electronic clock inside the game—one that looks and functions exactly like a real-world clock. This clock accurately tracks real-time, breaking Minecraft‘s virtual world in both time and space. My Hack deconstructs Minecraft‘s cultural context. It turns the game from an immersive escape into a reminder of reality, which shifts challenges the very meaning of creativity.

The clock I built is accurate to the second, providing a more direct and realistic reflection of time passing. Time itself is a human construct, tied to productivity. No one checks the time while doing something important in a game. However, to maintain its internal logic and simulate the efficiency of farming and daily life, Minecraft has its own time system. A clock that follows real-world time disrupts this system, creating a clash between reality and the virtual world. Minecraft gives players the freedom to create, but that creativity is still bound by the game’s rules. By bringing real-world time into the game, I create a conflict between in-game creativity and real-world logic, challenging the idea of “creativity within games.”

Obviously, the developers of Minecraft never intended for players to build a clock in the game, so implementing this idea is technically complex. The most important tool used in this hack is the Redstone circuit. Redstone is a circuit system in Minecraft used to create various automated devices. It functions similarly to real-world circuits, transmitting signals, triggering mechanisms, and building complex machines. After constructing the clock’s display screen using quartz blocks and display blocks, I used Redstone Dust as wiring to connect the display blocks to a Redstone Torch that provides the signal. When closely examine a real electronic clock, you’ll notice that the display numbers are made up of seven short lines. I recreated this by making seven independently controllable lines. Then, I used Redstone Dust and Redstone Torches to input the numbers 0-9. By using Redstone Repeaters, I lit up the corresponding lines from the seven segments I just created, making the correct numbers appear on the screen. This made me realize once again how Minecraft’s design is deeply committed to “de-realization” and building its own virtual world. Even something as simple as wiring, which exists in the real world, is also given a different name in the game: Redstone. Next, I needed to make it change every second. In Minecraft Java Edition, the game’s tick speed is 20 ticks per second. To achieve this, I used a Redstone Comparator in subtraction mode to create a pulse with a 1-tick cycle, and then extended it using a repeater. Since Redstone signals travel upward, the Redstone closer to the bottom receives the signal first and light up the displays earlier.

To solve this issue, I manually placed repeaters in the lower Redstone circuits to introduce a delay, ensuring that the displays at both the top and bottom would light up simultaneously. This highlights the contrast between Minecraft’s virtual world and reality. In the real world, signal delays are rarely noticeable like this. Using repeaters to eliminate the delay helped blur the boundary between the game and reality once again. Not only is the clock itself a disruption of the virtual world, but the process of creating it also marks the gradual intrusion of real-world logic into the more abstract virtual space. At this point, I just duplicated the same setup five times. In real life, it’s impossible to repeat the same task over and over. While in the game, it can be done quickly with the right functions. This difference between the real world outside the screen and the in-game experience got me thinking about different dimensions of space. In some sci-fi stories, higher-dimensional civilizations can do things that lower-dimensional ones can’t. Similarly, players have the “key” to the game, allowing them to manipulate the game’s mechanics easily. If the villagers in Minecraft were watching this, they’d probably be confused by the blocks appearing out of nowhere. They wouldn’t understand that the clock I built is recording something. If we think of ourselves, controlling the computer, as higher-dimensional beings and Minecraft’s world as a lower-dimensional one, how do we define what’s real and what’s virtual?

When I was younger, every time I play Minecraft I would get lost in the world I built until real-world time forced me to stop. Now, I’ve let Minecraft remind me of time, and it makes me wonder—am I controlling the game, or is the game influencing my reality? While I was building this Hack in Minecraft, I suddenly realized I had no idea how much time had passed in the real world. Essentially, by bringing real time into the game, I wanted to turn Minecraft into a “de-gamified” experience. However, as I tried to bring the game back to reality and weaken its gaming nature, Minecraft, as a simulation of reality, was already reshaping my perception of the real world. The difference is that when I use Minecraft not for entertainment, but to complete an assignment, the game’s nature is already changed. The game becomes a tool for completing my work. In that moment, the game is reality to me.

Flog #6

Jody

This week’s reading was a bit obscure, and I often found myself zoning out while reading. However, the discussions in class were very interesting. The content of Hack 3 also confused me. My ideas keep changing, and what’s worse is that for some of them, I need to test them through practice to determine whether I have the technical skills to bring them to life, which undoubtedly increases the time cost. I also encountered the same issue in my previous Digital Art class. I wrote down all my ideas to brainstorm, but I started wondering would the ideas that are easier to execute end up being too simple. I feel that people don’t always have creativity all the time they need. For this Hack, what matters is integrating your understanding of the software you want to use and finding a way to develop its features in a new way. The problem is that we interact with so many different software applications in our daily lives. Examples like Excel and Word might just be a really small part of those software that jump into your mind. This open-ended choice brings a lot of uncertainty because it scatters my focus. As far as I know I’m not someone with highly nonlinear thinking, nor a good artist-stater, so this is quite challenging for me. On top of that, I also have a midterm coming up in another class, which is going to take up even more of my energy.

Flog #5

Jody

Balancing Hack and writing isn’t easy. It feels natural to focus on finishing the Hack before starting the Artist Statement. If the project isn’t finalized, writing about it might feel vague or incomplete. But the problem is, by the time the Hack is done, there might not be enough time left for writing, leading to a rushed and shallow Artist Statement that doesn’t fully reflect the thought process behind the project. Another issue is that sometimes while writing new ideas emerge that could improve the Hack, but if the project is already “locked in,” making changes becomes difficult.

The best approach is to work on both simultaneously rather than treating them as separate, linear tasks. A good way to start is by outlining the key points early on, even before the Hack is fully developed. I started by thinking questions like: What are the rule changes? Why were these changes made? (What effect or message are they meant to convey?) How do these changes impact the gameplay? At first, the answers don’t need to be detailed—just having a rough framework helps. Then, throughout the Hack process, keeping track of important decisions, like “Will adding this rule make the game too complex?” or “If I remove this element, will the social meaning still come across?” can be incredibly useful. Taking notes along the way ensures that by the time the Artist Statement needs to be written, there’s already a solid foundation instead of having to recall everything from memory. As the Hack reaches its final stage, the Artist Statement can also be refined, turning those earlier notes into a more structured and polished explanation. One of the biggest advantages of this approach is that Hack and writing can influence each other. This way, instead of treating them as two separate tasks, they work together, making both the project and the writing stronger.

Hack #2

Jody

In our real world, society is like a precisely built tower, where countless individuals at each level support the stable operation of the levels above them. “Class Jenga” uses this metaphor as its foundation. By modifying the traditional Jenga rules, it allows players experience power imbalance, class immobility, labor exploitation, and the fragility of social structures during gameplay. This work draws from Mary Flanagan’s Critical Play theory, aiming to help players feel the invisible rules of society through seemingly simple game decisions, and understand how these rules shape people’s lives, limit their choices, and ultimately affect how the whole society works.

The main component of this game is a Jenga set that includes blocks in purple, blue, green, yellow, pink, and red colors. Purple represents the wealthiest people, blue and green represent the middle class, while yellow, pink, and red represent the lower classes. Purple players pull one block per game or none, green and blue players pull one block per game, and the bottom yellow, pink, and red players pull two blocks per game. Players of higher social classes can pull blocks from their own level and any levels below them, while players of lower classes cannot pull blocks from levels above their own. And if one person lets the tower fall, everyone else in his class loses.

Unlike traditional Jenga where everyone plays equally, players are randomly assigned to different classes at the start of the game. Players in lower classes bear more responsibility and face more restrictions while having fewer choices. Apparently, since Jenga’s game rules are “whoever pulls the blocks that cause the tower to fall loses”, the lowest yellow-pink-red player is more likely to lose the game, while the purple player has almost nothing to worry about. This creates a clear parallel with real society: capital is concentrated in the hands of very few people. They can lead a rich life, while workers in the lower class must not only work hard to maintain their own livelihood but also support the normal operation of the entire social system. The most striking demonstration of social power imbalance is shown through the power to make rules in the game. Players in higher classes can not only choose to pull fewer blocks but can also freely modify the rules, forcing lower-class players to take on extra tasks such as “pink and red players must pull an additional block.” This symbolizes how the wealthy continuously adjust the rules of the game through lobbying, legislation, and policy influence to secure their existing benefits while making survival conditions more harsh for the lower classes. Lower-class workers usually cannot decide their own fate that their way of life is restricted by established systems that often serve the interests of the upper classes. Even more ironically, in the game mechanics, higher-class players can keep making new oppressive rules without having to bear any actual labor burden themselves. When facing increasing labor burdens, lower-class players can choose to unite and go on strike. If all lower-class players reach a consensus, the new rules made by upper classes become invalid. However, this mechanism is extremely difficult to achieve because of the “scab” mechanism in the game – each round secretly selects one lower-class player and gives them a chance to “betray.” If they choose to betray the strike action, they can gain immunity in the next round and temporarily avoid pulling blocks. Players must make choices under this dilemma: should they betray their companions for short-term personal benefit, or persist in collective action to fight the oppression? However, even if betrayers gain temporary immunity, they can still be overruled by higher-class players and return to their exploited state. This gameplay reveals the limitations of individualism under capitalism. Capitalists may give benefits to individual workers, but the class as a whole remains unable to change its situation. These game rules directly correspond to the dilemmas faced by real-world labor movements: capitalists often divide worker groups by offering short-term benefits (like bonuses or promotion opportunities) to undermine solidarity and make strikes unsuccessful. Meanwhile, capitalists always retain the final authority even if individual workers are bought off, the overall social rules won’t truly change. The strike mechanism lets players experience the conflict between individual and collective interests during gameplay, revealing why it’s so difficult for the lower classes to form truly effective resistance.

In traditional Jenga, the player who makes the tower fall is usually seen as the loser. While in “Class Jenga,” this logic is completely reversed. When the tower falls, the winner isn’t the higher-class players who avoided labor and made rules, but rather the player who pulled the most blocks and bore the heaviest labor burden. This fact isn’t revealed until the game ends, so during gameplay, players will still assume the rules are like traditional Jenga and try hard to avoid being the one who makes the tower fall, which motivates them to pull fewer blocks. This victory condition carries strong irony by revealing the true pillars of real society are the workers, not the capitalists. Capitalists don’t create actual goods and services; they accumulate wealth by manipulating market rules, monopolizing resources, and exploiting labor. In the real world, we often think “success” means having wealth, power, and status, but in fact, society’s normal functioning depends on millions of ordinary workers. Without workers, production lines cannot run; Without deliverymen, a city’s logistics system would collapse; If there were no farmers, people would not have access to food. It is not bankers, investors, or entrepreneurs who truly support society, but the people who work every day. Yet workers are in the most precarious and insecure positions. Their labor is the cornerstone of the functioning of society. They are the first to be exploited, the easiest to replace, and the least recognized. In “Class Jenga”, the stability of the tower relies on the building blocks of the lower class instead of the upper class. This setting clearly expresses the core contradiction of the real society: the more wealth, the less labor; The more work, the lower the social status. Workers bear the burden of the system, but the ultimate social recognition belongs to those who control capital. Once the bottom can no longer be supported, the entire social system will collapse.

The game is not just a physical challenge, it is a metaphorical experiment in social structures. It uses Jenga as a game carrier to let players personally experience the social injustice, the powerlessness of labor exploitation, the complexity of the labor movement, and the reality that capital controls the society. Each game segment reflects a different aspect of real society: class division reflects the solidification of wealth and social inequality; rulemaking power reveals how capital manipulates policy to keep those at the bottom exploited. At the end of the game, the player is not only victorious through strategy, but their more important achievement is to think: if the real society is also a Jenga tower, then our class determines our fate. Is the predicament of those at the bottom really unchangeable? If the tower eventually collapses, have we already seen the inevitable outcome of social injustice? In this way, Class Jenga is not just a game, it is a critical narrative, a visual representation of the unjust structure of the present society, and a meditation on the future of society.

Flog #4

Jody

At first, I had no idea what to do for Hack#2, I was totally lost. I knew I didn’t have enough technical skills, so I didn’t want to waste too much time trying things that wouldn’t really go anywhere. It wasn’t until I watched some videos of classic games that I finally figured out the direction for my Hack. The changes to the rules just kind of popped into my head, and I kept adding more and more details to them. But I still wasn’t sure if I should add even more: Would it make the game too bulky and boring, and blur the social meaning I want to express? Or if I don’t add more, is the Hack surprising enough? Will it be enough to satisfy people? These thoughts still make me anxious every time I do an assignment. Also, I really don’t know how to write the 1,000-word Artist Statement. I guess I’ll first explain the game rules, then talk about what they represent, and reference some literature as support. I hope I can finish it by the weekend.

I don’t like the first reading for this Thursday. I don’t like how Steven Levy always made the MIT guys sound like they were smarter than everyone else. Surely they’re doing really cool stuff, but that doesn’t mean others are just mediocre, or that everyone has to give in to their ideals. What Samson did to that Administrator (or priest) was wrong. He was just doing his job watching over those really expensive and precise equipment, and he didn’t deserve to be mocked. Marge herself was a computer science researcher, and in class we talked about how there weren’t many women who had access to this field at that time. She deserved a responsible husband, not one who ignored her and refused to help when she came home from the grocery store after working for the family. Our media always pushes this individualistic heroism acting like some people are born to be the main characters, and everyone else’s feelings don’t matter. It’s like in Spider-Man movies where Peter Parker can just make fun of the villain, Spot, without thinking twice. I failed to bring up these thoughts in class.

Flog#3

Jody

What’s impressive about this week is we hacked Passage. When I started this game with my partner, the first thing came to my mind was “what’s the point of this game”? As we went further, I felt silly for that question because I should have wait longer before asking. The first round of playing is basically what the developer wants us to do: meet the lady, grow older together, lose her half way, and die alone. I was too curious to pay attention to the detail of the scene, or to find out if the gameplay has more possibilities. Those vivid background color really caught my eyes and I was wondering if those colors have different meaning. The second round I tried not to meet the girl and found it more flexible when you only control one character. I can pass more obstacles and explore the area I couldn’t go to when there’s two of us. Since the game is a metaphor of people’s life journey, the meaning behind this is really interesting. There’re several treasure cases(are they?) scattered around the map, I tried to find them in the second round but it didn’t seem I actually get anything or points after I collected them. I still don’t get it even now.

Then it came to the hacking, which is much more interesting than I expected. I took a game development class last semester, but that was Unity we’re using. The files appeared in the folder are something I’ve never seen before. I failed to download the game in the beginning, but I somehow got it. We tried to change the color of the girl’s hair, we did change it successfully in Gimp, but it seems like Gimp only exports the format that can’t be directly used in the game. I really like how we change the main character into the girl – that’s so cool and I felt more comfortable with it.

Flog#2

Jody

It can be tricky getting started with Makey Makey – as some people experienced during the in-class present session, the kit is not easy to set up and you have to find certain ways to trigger it. It took me some time to find out the way that works in my project. At first I don’t know how to connect the panel, earth(me) and the object, I tried several times and finally realized the best way is to hold the Earth by my fingers. I also tried to connect a wire to a foil wrist band I tied to myself, but it didn’t seem to work as good as the hand. When it comes to the idea of my project, I did brainstormed a couple of ideas and the way to make them, but I have had problem choosing between those so I ended up turn to a new idea that is not one of the former and got to work. The physical part of my project is a doll, so the material of the doll became substantial. Electric can’t conduct via the traditional heat-resist wig, the only worked material is Alpaca wig after multi experiments(thanks to my friend aka the doll’s owner for providing all the product I need).

The rest part is relatively easy but I still stuck when I was deciding what conversation I’m going to design. One thing inspired me is the video game Talking Tom Cat. In the game when you touch some part of the cat he’ll have some really funny reactions and I found that so interesting when I was young. It made me feel like he was alive and was actually responding to you. Thus I chose to do those short but lively sentences that can show the personality of the doll. However, the limited amount of sentences make me feel bored quickly, I changed one of the sentences into a question so we can interact with the doll. I hope I could make it more functional, but I’m not super good with Snap! so I believe there’s a huge space of improvement to consummate.

Hack #1

Jody

When we play with dolls, we assume it’s a one-way interaction: we project stories onto dolls, give them emotions, and move them through imaginary worlds. But what if the doll could react? What if, instead of being a passive object, it was an active participant?

This project explores the boundaries between play, subject and object. I connected different parts of the doll to Makey Makey. When these parts are touched, a pre-programmed response in Snap is triggered, making it seem as if the doll is reacting to human touch.

 The responses may seem mundane – simple, everyday phrases – but the behavior the doll responds to upends our expectations. It is no longer just a toy, but an interactive subject.

Caillois categorized games into four types, one of which—Mimicry (roleplay and simulation)—is at the heart of this work. Typically, mimicry involves the human assuming a role, but here, the doll itself participates in mimicry, mimicking the act of conversation, even though its responses are pre-programmed. All the conversations of this doll are designed to be more colloquial, which can bring people a more intimate feeling. The parts I chose were her hair, belt, fingertips, and top of her head, Each meant to create a specific personality of the doll. When touching the belt, she would introduce the clue where she bought it, providing her life experience; when you touch the top of her head, she will ask you an interesting question, which represents her own thoughts and the sense of humor. And when you touch her finger, she’ll say “I won’t do the homework for you” but also hope she could hold your hand. These settings, which incorporate fragments of life experiences and seemingly autonomous emotional responses, make her feel more real and blur the traditional boundaries of Mimicry. Typically, in Mimicry-based play, the player assumes a role and projects life onto an object. Here, however, the doll itself mimics the act of engagement, reversing the expected dynamics of play. Normally, dolls are completely manipulable toys, and their “existence” depends on the player’s imagination. However, in my project, the doll does not just react—it initiates engagement, leading the player into unexpected interactions. The traditional power dynamic between player and object is reversed: is the doll still a toy, or has it become the one directing the play. This interactive system also serves as a metaphor for the relationship between humans and objects. When an object can “speak,” does it remain merely an object? Huizinga believes that play is not just entertainment, but an act of giving meaning to the world. In this project, the interaction between people and dolls creates a miniature magic circle – a boundary space where roles are reversed and the rules of the game are rewritten. However, in my project, the doll does not just react—it initiates engagement, leading the player into unexpected interactions. The traditional power dynamic between player and object is reversed: is the doll still a toy, or has it become the one directing the play? The doll, once an object of manipulation, has now become a seemingly autonomous entity that engages the player rather than being toyed with.

Beyond the realm of play, this project also questions the way we relate to technology and inanimate objects. We live in an era where AI chatbots, smart assistants, and interactive devices blur the line between human and non-human communication. When an object responds to us, we instinctively assign it some degree of agency. If a simple programmed response is enough to make us question whether an object has agency, what does that say about our interactions with AI, with technology, and even with each other? If play is about rewriting rules, then perhaps the greatest rule to be rewritten is what it means to be ‘alive.’