Domestic Travelers
Sept 2025 - May 2026
Domestic Travelers aims to create a cybernetic system that combines digital and analog media, enabling two individuals to experience the lifespan of a relationship through possible collaboration, confrontation, compromise, deception, and sacrifice, using non-performative movements and sound.
The project consists of three interconnected systems: the hidden soundscape that addresses the illusion of one continuous entity with constant collaborative movements (Undercurrent), a horizontal interface in the ambiguous form between a dining table and a switch with a pair of long strings which two individual can pull for control, communication, and exploration (Garden), and a vertical interface narrating a journey through digitally simulated space under physical influences (apart-ment). All three sections are intermingled through the discussion of chance, constant movement, and interpersonal power dynamics.
A multi-person interactive sound-generating installation with contact mic amplification and real-time UE5 game controlled with a tilt sensor.
Materials: Ash wood, wax finish, mild steel, acrylic, aluminum, paracord, stainless steel kettle, bronze rods, soybeans, nails, cast silicone, contact microphones, sound mixer, headphones, Arduino, accelerometers, cables, Unreal Engine 5
Main body dimensions (L x W x H): 70 x 40 x 50 in
Domestic Travelers can be considered to be many things: an eerie object, a piece of furniture, a musical instrument, a communication device, a toy, a social study, a cybernetic system, a giant computer game switch… It consists of three layers, each with its plot line, while deeply intermingled without hierarchy: Undercurrents, Garden, and apart-ment.
This three-layer structure is no stranger to many: it easily echoes three-tier cosmology, inferno/garden of Eden/heaven in Christianity, hell/mortal world/celestial realm in East Asian mythology, underworld/middleworld/upperworld in Mayan culture; in psychology, id/ego/super ego; in natural science past/present/future; in architectural living structure, basement/room/roof or floor/table/ceiling; in social class, low/middle/high, and even in society’s view of art, “low-art”/”okay-art”/”high-art”…
This is a strong pattern, prevalent in all aspects of modern human life. I suspect it may originate from the physiological nature of human perspective, the direction of gravity, and the progression of time. For example, those beneath the earth and water are reachable but invisible, while those high up in the sky are visible but unreachable (for most of us, directly). It is a mental framework that organizes the fragmented sensory inputs from a largely unknowable environment, allowing for self-locating and navigation. But it also impedes free movement and new possibilities that do not follow the stratums, the narration, or the predetermined direction.
Thus, I think my adoption of a three-layer structure in my project is familiar while unsettling. There is the danger of the piece being dominated by the highly symbolic and hierarchical structure, but at the same time, its innate tendency toward movement and its acknowledgment of the invisible and the unknown guide the system to form a new existence with relationships that defy its original three-tier cosmology. In other words, this three-layer structure derives from the rigid worldview similar to Digital Narrative, but behaves like the BwO/Desire Machine system that flows, self-regulates, and self-contradicts.
Undercurrents
They are a set of transparent acrylic pipes installed under the wooden tabletop. Pierced by the metal nails and sealed with circular clamps and life-cast silicon human skin on both ends, it generates grainy, springy sound flows as the soybeans move inside.
Those are transparent rainsticks made of unconventional material. Unlike their classical cousins, usually made of cactus or wood, they are heavily industrial, cold, but at the same time allow for an unprecedented level of voyeurism as their transparent bodies reveal the secret internal structure of the sound generation. Meanwhile, this sense of translucency is again denied as Undercurrents is hidden under the table, turning into an obvious mystery only waiting to be viewed from specific perspectives, glaringly visible but routinely invisible at the same time.
The cast silicon human skin covers aim to create a sense of contradiction. Referencing the human skin books and drums in history, those simulations intend to connect to something that was once so alive and belonged to different individuals—a materialization of quiet nightmares and mystical beliefs. In contrast, the unfading pink hue and repeated casting from the same skin molds of the artist herself make those silicon covers the opposite of what they represent. Being an endless replication of one person, they have never lived. Yet, they appear softer, warmer, more approachable, and more human than real human skin.
Sonically, Undercurrents is constantly present—even a slight tilt of the wooden tabletop it attaches to will trigger a string of sound. Through the repetitive see-saw movements, it creates an illusion of almost eternal continuity, luring people into hypnotizing waves of sound. Thus, it is also soon forgotten, like breathing, which each new inhale/exhale of air extends a few seconds of the seemingly eternal continuity of life, while very occasionally, getting noticed.
There is a paradox regarding soybeans. Statistically, the United States has always been one of the top two soybean-producing countries in the past 60 years. While for everyday life experience, it is almost impossible to be found, in their original yellow round bean form, on any grocery store shelves. In fact, 76% of the total soybean production went to animal feed, 4% to the industry, and only 20% of serves as direct human food, but still in the form of tofu, soy milk, and oil, where the crop has become unrecognizable. (Ritchie 2024)
Originating in East Asia and now thriving in the Americas, where forests were chopped down for farmlands, soybeans flow through the veins of modern society. Like blood, they seep through every inch of the organic tissue but remain invisible, which in turn makes their visual and sonic revelation curious, even alienating to people of this land.
Garden
This wood and metal structure has four legs and a flat surface, with 3 pieces of heat bent acrylic boards attached on each side. Standing around 37 inches tall, it resembles the shape of an ordinary dining table. But with 70 inches long and 23 inches wide wooden tabletop that pivots around the steel beam at the center, it is too narrow to be comfortably regarded as a dining table; looking more like a see-saw, it is too big and tall for anybody sitting on.
On the tabletop is a stainless kettle with bronze rods welded and brazed on. This intentionally uncategorizable object is inspired by the waterphone, or ocean harp—a unique instrument developed by sculptor Richard Waters, known for its otherworldly, echoey sound for movie tracks.
Two ropes with monkey’s fist knots tied on each end run through the surface, dangling at the two ends of the table. Each bulge end is secured to a secondary string, with the other end tied to the bottom edge of the tabletop. It prevents the rope from being completely pulled off while still allowing a good range of motion.
A pair of headphones is placed at each end of the table, delivering real-time, high-resolution, mixer-amplified sound from the metal kettle to the two players, creating an exclusive, intimate sound space between them.
Through careful positioning and movement of the rope, people at the two ends of the table can control its tilt, bow the metal rods on the kettle, which is partially filled with water that will distort the sound vibration as the table rocks, or simply interact with each other with the pulling/feeding/redirecting/pulsing of the rope.
Garden is partially created for a discussion of analogy and symbols. The adoption of the dining table form is especially inspired by “Chapter 6: Table (1975)” from the book Telematic Embrace: Visionary Theories of Art, Technology, and Consciousness. Being the literal and metaphorical object of discourse, transformation, and planning, the table is perceived as a “matrix of transformation and transfer, of change and exchange, between two poles, two worlds (of discourse), between two cultures, states of awareness, good and evil.” (Ascott and Shanken 2003, 170) The text is dramatic with symbolism, but, at the same time, sheds light on the differences of the individuals who interact through this liminal region. At the same time, it connects these two symbolically polarities into one complex system, like a bridge connecting the two lands. Hence, the juxtaposition of the furniture-scale table and the landscape-scale garden blurs the state of existence for individuals at either end—they are both ordinary humans collaborating and confronting their own standpoints, yet also dynamic factors within the ecosystem, a crucial driving force seen as part of the spectacle.
This juxtaposition of symbols across scales also appears in the see-saw and switch analogies. As the physical embodiment of binary logic, the pivoting tabletop connects the digital narrative’s binary logic to a nostalgic game that emphasizes the joy of motion rather than the static states of True/False or On/Off. This comparison is what Garden aims to achieve—to reveal the subtlety and complexity of human interactive movements, rather than the simple 0/1 output. However, as Domestic Travelers is designed to be a complex system for coexistence, the binary data of the tilt side of the tabletop will continue its journey wirelessly to influence the virtual realm in the apart-ment layer.
Back to the discussion of the table and Telematic Embrace. Roy Ascott and Shanken Edward point out a cultural shift from horizontal to vertical interfaces, with the gradual repression of the table-top “during the Renaissance with the advent of perspective and its principal raison d’être.” As a result, the “horizontal plane of the table-top was abandoned in favour of the vertical plane of the rectangle on the wall.” (Ascott and Shanken 2003, 171) Besides the trait of perspective fixation brought up by the author, I also consider the vertical interface a natural severance from facing another individual and the ability to look from another angle, for there is supposedly nothing behind or even a significant change in angle. It is a mirror, a portal to a world that does not exist anywhere but is also vividly unfolding before us.
Besides the symbolic discussions, the physicality and subtlety of interhuman interaction are the other major topics of exploration. As discussed above, the facing positions at both ends of the table naturally create a confrontational dynamic that puts individuals on a vulnerable, isolated “stage.” The dramatic tilt of the tabletop continues to amplify this tone of aggression and boundary invasion, as the pivoting motion of a long, rigid piece of wood is bluntly transferred from one side to the other.
In contrast, the pair of strings that the two persons hold in their hands physically and mentally unite them. With headphones on, they are in a public but secluded space where they can converse and compose with the unconventional combination of strings, rods, tabletops, and water. Without ever directly contacting anything but the strings, one can feel out the constant change of tension and direction of another pair of hands that goes beyond the realm of vision. They may struggle a bit at first reading and coordinating with each other, which is the intended design of the piece—to create an interface that retains the subtlety of human body movements and allows gradual improvement through practice.
The physical structure—the wood tabletop, the heat-bent acrylic panels, and the spray-painted mild-steel table frame—of Garden navigates the topics of visibility and the ambiguity of shape. The 70 x 23 x 1 in tabletop is composed of two ash wood planks, milled, routed, and cerused (dying the wood grain with two different colors) with black and dark grey wood wax. The distorted circular wood grains extend in front of the observers, creating a complex pattern of ripples and water flow that almost conceals the fact that it is only a completely empty, smooth surface.
The tabletop is designed to be visually heavy, with a dark tone and a granite-like texture, which contrasts with the slim, light-colored metal frame inspired by the palette of violet—a small, fragile wildflower distinguished by its iconic purple petals and stalks. Loosely depicting the otherworldly scene of a rock drastically tilting atop a violet flower, the main table structure aims to intensify a sense of instability while visually conveying quiet strength in a poetic way.
Unlike the dark tabletop or the vibrant purple frame, the six acrylic panels are almost invisible. The shape’s design references the abstract zigzag and floral Chinese paper-cutting patterns, as well as the diverse socket shapes around the world. The floral pattern and socket holes, despite one being purely symbolic and the other totally utilitarian, resemble each other as they almost morph into one another when present on the same board, disrupting the coded connection between shapes and purposes. Unlike the usual 2D paper-cutting for celebrations, the zigzag features of these transparent panels were heat-bent into flowing, rising gestures, allowing people to connect with fire, waves, and grassland. At this stage, these transparent pieces are almost unrecognizable from their original ethnic paper-cutting form; instead, they are highly present, with their sharp edges reaching out, distorting the light that passes through like melting glass.
apart-ment
Beyond the visual scope of those at the table, there is a vertical display of the video game, apart-ment. Through local wifi, it receives the real-time inputs from the Arduino powered sensor attached to the bottom of the see-saw tabletop. Thus for those constantly tilting the table, they are, in fact, manipulating this giant piece of 70 in wood like a 7mm controller button.
Despite not being able to directly see the game in front of them, the “players” have a significant impact on it, controlling the direction of the Sun and gravity in the game world. As for the game itself, it is a two-player scoring game with a constantly refreshing background of a living room. Once one side of the players reaches the threshold points, the room will be refreshed with the furniture, plants, and objects randomly reselected and placed. The walls sometimes disappear, revealing that the empty land extends into the void. The ground randomly switches between wood flooring and grassland. The sense of indoor and outdoor is intentionally blurred, reinforcing the eerie feeling of uncertainty about time and space. One could read these constant changes either as a progression of space or as the constant destruction and rebirth of it.
In fact, the game challenges its own nature as a game: it contains classical traits of player inputs, scoreboard, precoded rules, but also behaves like a physical simulation with events triggered by random spawning and accidental collisions by mere chance, leaving the direction of the game unable to be fully controlled even with careful control and skilled collaboration. In other words, the pre-coded mechanism and the mere chance of the game are sufficient to sustain themselves for the audience, leaving the “players” at the table powerful but also unnecessary.
Thus, for the rest of the spectators, it is unclear whether the “players” are engaging or even aware of the game. Maybe they are only preoccupied with the physical interaction with the rope and table. Or perhaps they are always a part of this larger system of data and mechanical force flow, if we regard the entire structure as an interconnected cybernetic system. Additionally, a pair of headphones is provided for the viewer, allowing them to watch the virtual living room regenerate while accessing the secluded soundscape of the two players. The creation of a third spectator can transform the two players into performers, further establishing their roles as dynamic, albeit nonessential, factors in a cybernetic system under spectatorship.
From the perspective of the “players,” regardless of their awareness of the ongoing journey in the game’s virtual world, their encounters, interactions, and separations in the physical world complete the arc of a journey of companionship. Thus, the interaction flow is one-directional from the table to the game—a game that plays itself as it constantly listens to signals from the outside. Meanwhile, the audience is trying to figure out the connection between the physical and virtual spaces as they watch both.
apart-ment intends to create a mixed sense of ordinary familiarity and an eerie feeling of loss and distance. This psychological impression is created through the use of confusion between interior and exterior, as previously mentioned, the repetition or doubling of 3D mesh objects, and the lack of human presence despite visual hints of the inhabitants’ occupation. In other words, what is expected to exist but doesn’t. Plus, the constant change of the type and position of the furniture (or unexpected objects like rocks, wildflowers, or a roomful of balloons) after each restart of the game carries the dual effect of the passage of mundane days inside a house and the instability of this so-called home that keeps denying the newly formed familiarity through hard-to-control chance.
These intentional designs are inspired by the book The Weird and the Eerie. The concept, unheimlich, loosely translated as “unhomely,” is introduced as a Freudian explanation of the psychological root of the eerie feeling. (Fisher, 2016, “Introduction”) Doubling, the mixture of familiarity and strangeness, and the montage of the elements that do not belong are further pointed out.
“A sense of the eerie seldom clings to enclosed and inhabited domestic spaces; we find the eerie more readily in landscapes partially emptied of the human.” (Fisher, 2016, “Introduction”) This calls back to the themes of domestic/wild, which have repeatedly appeared in different parts of the Domestic Traveler (even the title itself alludes to this slightly off feeling).
The concept of heterotopia was created by Foucault, describing other but physically real spaces, “worlds within worlds” in contrast to the placeless ideal world of utopia. Some of the principles include “capable of juxtaposing in a single real place several spaces, several sites that are in themselves incompatible” and “always presuppose a system of opening and closing that both isolates them and makes them penetrable.” (Foucault, 1984) Being alien enough to allow for the physical existence of eerie juxtaposition, but also approachable enough to allow for the interaction, this is what Domestic Traveler intended to embody: a heterotopia possessing the fringe of the Uncategorizables, familiar enough to welcome engagement, while strange enough to keep the distance, a space for pondering and exploration, while also durable enough for repetitive physical interaction. It is an instrument that creates and reveals the existence buried inside the daily mundane, but also rejected by the booming virtual world of the so-called utopia under the Digital Narrative.