I read “Using Simple Tools as a Radical Act of Independence”, “Recapturing early-internet whimsy with HTML”, “Early Web Design Helped a Generation Express Themselves” and “The ‘Enshittification’ of TikTok”, all of which I enjoyed!!! Each piece explored subjects heavily intertwined with one another, and relevant to contemporary conversation surrounding the arts and their relationship to capital systems. Throughout my time at RISD, I’ve seen artists understand capitalism to be an elusive overlord against the values of art. My peers sometimes make pieces poking fun at victims of consumerism, and enjoy works that satirize our current reality. They express relatable despair at the lack of future job prospects. I too, am not free of enjoying the occasional “eat the rich” genre of films as a form of detached catharsis.
While reading the essays, I noticed that many of them practice a similar method of illuminating to the audience the decline in artistic individualism within the digital space. They reminisce on a time in which tech mediums were novel enough to resist the impact of mass commercialization. Back in the day of personalized html Tumblr blogs, pockets of novice artistry were accessible. And more importantly, largely ad-free!!! But as many things are, this small joy was brushed away. The articles end with a solemn reminder: these places on the web, once populated with a community of artists on the internet, are now ghost towns. The only thing that remains is their tangible legacy in comparison to the fleeting images of today. Re-reading this ending left a bittersweet taste in my mouth, reminiscent of all the media I consume with an unfulfilled ending.
Personally, I miss stories with a happy ending. It’s not because I can’t stand to witness the existence of real-life tragedies and injustices, but because I can’t help but to long for the imaginative nature of purposefully creating towards a future with radical optimism. This is part of the reason why I’ve developed such a deep love for hand-coded html sites. I fell in love after learning about their unique potential to be used as a tool of independence in the face of current circumstances. The urge to become disillusioned with reality is a potent one, especially as an artist. Questions about the future of social media and companies owning personal information are not uncommon, but presenting them in relation to craft and art can illustrate a new perspective.
Looking back at the age of handcrafted sites and personalized details is extremely appealing to me. It’s such a romantic concept: a personal myspace page, or my very own html-decorated tumblr blog, containing menial details like my favorite animated pixel sprites on the edge of the page. It would’ve been a place of my own fabrication and effort. I further yearn for this idealized vision of the internet past when I come into contact with the oversaturated density of images and identities on social media today. Unique personalization with a thoughtful background is hard to come by today, with the market’s interest to generate as many salacious and eye-catching images as possible to capture our attention. I rarely feel human touch within the sea of fleeting images online. It’s become near impossible to separate the image online from its sponsors, making everything seem like an advertisement. Whereas when I am handcoding sites, I feel a closeness to each detail I design. The individual becomes the maestro of the design and development, the keyholder of the creation’s past, present, and future. When people navigate my site, they are looking at a work with my fingerprints scattered everywhere on its surface. After inspecting it further, they are able to read in between the lines of my messy code and secret tags.
But even with the alienation of the individual in the modern web, the villain is not the accessibility of tools that are developed as means of producing profit at maximum efficiency, but the capitalist incentive itself. Thus, it is somewhat inevitable under our socio-economic current structure that popular culture will end up with reductive, template-itized versions of the art we once coveted.
In recognizing this reality, it’s easy to fall into the trap of feeling disenfranchised as an individual. And yet, I believe it is even more imperative that we recognize the wonder and merit of the artistic community. That is to say, rather than critiquing the consumer for participating in trends or enjoying popular sensational media, I’d like to encourage the individual to connect more intimately with their relationship to craft.
For those beginning to create art, the perceived oversaturation of high-quality content is a crazy barrier to entry. What I propose to this is starting at base one. I once spoke to Aspen Golann, a furniture crafter and professor at RISD about her introductions to arts and crafts. She told me the story of when she first started “getting serious” about weaving, meaning the first time she tried it out. Rather than immediately hopping on the loom, she’d started with raising a sheep. The first thing she’d learned about weaving was how to pile up hay, and how to scratch the sheep’s ears. She then learned to shear her sheep, how to spin the wool by hand, and how to dye the harvest with foraged plants. “And yes,” she eventually said, “how to weave!”
Hearing this story, I first laughed at the image of it all. Learning to weave starting with the sheep. It was funny, the lengths that artists would go to emphasize materiality. Even so, I felt a strong sense of admiration for her dedication to the craft. I wondered what it would feel like to know the artistic process by heart— the whole process. Even in my own life, I’ve perceived a distance between the material and the artist. I’ve watched my friends slogging away at their utilitarian template-style portfolios on website builders. As a reading pointed out, many website-beginners are struggling with their complex tools disguised as accessible frameworks. But while learning to build sites with html and css in Wintersession, I discovered that the process was unexpectedly straightforward. I could make virtually anything. Within the confines of my limited experience, the possibilities were endless. I made a site that served as a cat-gif farm. A site that was a personal playlist archive, with customized stats for each song. For my final for Wintersession, I made an interactive linear storytelling site. Each html and css file I filled with ideas fueled by my passions, disorganized divs bringing my silly visions to life. I spent ardent hours putting unnecessary grids into grids and carefully choosing the perfect font for my p tag. The best part was, it was all mine.
My romantic suggestion of going back to the basics is not an urge to return to tradition. It is an invitation for more people to become deeply acquainted with their tools, and to continue learning in meaningful, fun ways that have the potential to free an artistic practice. I previously felt torn between computer science, creative writing, and visual arts as fields of study. I was unable to reconcile nor commit to a specific interest due to my necessity to focus on one as means of later job acquisition. With some thought, I’ve arrived at being glad that I have these different interests. The more I dive into the world of each field, the more I’m able to diversify my creations. I’m always infinitely grateful for my opportunity to be an artist, as it allows me to explore and learn about mediums in a way I can find wonder in. Even playing with html sites allows me to have a connection with CS and language arts that I never could have fathomed of in the past.
These niches of information are what make the individual into a colorful society, pushing back against corporate conformity. Accessibility of shortcuts can sometimes lead to alienation from the source of knowledge. Although not as efficient in market practices, I think that an individual’s relationship with their knowledge and tools is a special connection that fosters something thoughtful and incredibly impactful. I am greatly privileged to indulge my time in being dedicated to this process of learning.
The future I’d like to see is one that brings back sites as a place, sites with the ability to last. Sharing hobbies and knowledge as a joyful experience! Learning doesn’t have to be tedious and boring, is what I've only recently come to fully understand. I am proud to share that my social media screentime has dramatically decreased since I've picked up learning to crochet. A book I read recently by Francine Prose, “Reading Like a Writer”, emphasizes the importance of reading for pleasure when stuck in the writing process.