In this context, the concept of Dong-Dong comes forward as a proposition for togetherness and “reflecting together on the values we pursue amid dazzling technological progress and persistent social crises”. Dong-Dong “is drawn from the phrase Dong-Dong-Wang-Rae, Bung-Jong-E-Sa (憧憧往來 朋從爾思)”, an ancient verse in the I Ching that means approximately “In the bright interplay of movement and return, companions are drawn to shared thought”. Following this premise, ISEA 2025 promises an edition focused on togetherness, stating that when the consciousness and the universe of creators’ blossom, we can rise above material and social barriers. Electronic/emerging art would be a means to this end.

Louis-Philippe Rondeau presented an artist talk as part of the ELEKTRA gallery panel. There, he introduced his latest project, which seeks to reinterpret the harmful and pointless imagery flooding social media in order to extract a form of beauty.

“L’abîme” (meaning “the abyss”) draws inspiration from the endless scroll one can fall into while navigating AI-generated content — or “AI slop” — that saturates the digital landscape, especially on platforms like TikTok. Though often perceived as harmless or humoristic, this content reshapes users’ relationship to images and information, contributing to cognitive erosion (“brain rot”) while reinforcing the very algorithms that spread it. It becomes all too easy to drown in a stream of automated content that quickly turns toxic or hateful.

Contemplating the installation “L’abîme” from a distance, social media images appear as an abstract flow. But as the viewer approaches, a distorted reflection of their own portrait emerges. This mise en abyme reveals our own role in feeding the algorithms that may, depending on what we consume, alter our attention and perception.

Yann Breuleux presented a talk about a recent series of works. “Matière Première” began during the pandemic with a technical test: the digitization of his own face. By multiplying and augmenting it, the face was transformed into a virtual environment, which was then turned into images through in-game photography, drawing inspiration from the world of minerals.

By systematizing this transposition of environment into narrative space, the aesthetic experience was later presented in fulldome format. The result is a series of long-form animations (approximately 10 hours), interpolating various viewpoints within the virtual space. The project explores the remediation of a single content base across multiple formats, starting from the creation of a digital environment where scale and slowness play a fundamental role in the aesthetic experience of each iteration.

Their game “Things Happen”, developed during a 72-hour game jam, involves stacking cubes that appear every ten seconds on a platform. This simple mechanic gradually becomes harder, as cubes keep falling down and the platform shrinks. A reflection on failure, the game that cannot be won — a metaphor for life, where it’s impossible to manage everything that comes at us – or falls upon us.

According to Chiapello and Glesser, in game creation, tools do not necessarily define what we can do with them: they can be repurposed or seen as creative partners. This approach highlights the agency of tools themselves, encouraging us to rethink their role in processes where being surprised and following the unexpected matter more than perfectly executing the initial idea. It also opens space for critical reflection on tools and their biases, and for revaluing less visible dimensions — such as the feminine. Technological tools themselves can lead to divisions — including gendered ones — of which we may be more or less aware, as we use them.

For instance, in the panel Artist Talk 5, Kate Ladenheim proposed a rich, multi-layered learning model that incorporated AI, her own dancer’s body, and an audience capable of providing real-time feedback via a mobile phone app. Her performance involved falling to the sound of pop songs, creating a machine-to-body feedback loop that echoed the dramatic falls of video game characters—often sourced from motion capture libraries. In this fascinating dancertation, audience feedback was shaped by judgments and expectations about what a convincing fall should look like and how Ladenheim’s body should perform. These are important questions in the context of artistic exposition, as they reveal how our actions and perceptions are shaped by our conventions and prejudices. However, the audience was addressed as a single, abstract entity—despite the reality that different audiences bring diverse expectations and biases informed by their individual backgrounds.

On a different note, Jinsil Hwaryoung presented the LPXR Lab for Live Arts and Immersive Technologies, based at the Academy for Visual and Performing Arts of the Texas A&M University. She highlighted the extensive development work carried out by her team and students to create an integrated space for immersive technologies, particularly VR and XR.

One of the featured projects involved actors performing a play while wearing headsets, with the audience watching from outside the circular play area via monitors—blurring the lines between stage, screen, and spectator. 

For example, Jean Chu encouraged her college students to define AI through non-AI means—such as sculpture, comic books, texts, or music. The resulting exhibition served as a thoughtful reflection on young students’ dependence on AI.

Another refreshing intervention came from a trio of musicians and educators specializing in transcultural improvisation. Badie Khaleghian, Aruna Kharod, and Kate Campbell Strauss began their workshop with a live improvisation for saxophone, sitar, and electronic music. They then introduced participants to a music-making app they developed and led a workshop where non-musicians played together. The result was a genuine shared moment rooted in active listening and mutual awareness.

In both cases, technology was present—not as an end in itself, but as a means to create significant, human-centered experiences.

This edition of ISEA fostered abundant and diverse reflections on electronic arts, among which necessary, critical views were shared on a daily basis. However, on a deeper reading level, most of them seemed to focused on mastering high-tech procedures as an artistic goal. 

Si la question du « pourquoi nous faisons ce que nous faisons » semble relativement claire à travers les communications présentées lors du symposium de cette année, il serait peut-être tout aussi nécessaire d’explorer la question du « pour qui ».

While the question of “why we do what we do” seems fairly clear through the communications presented at this year’s symposium, perhaps addressing the question of “for whom” would be a necessary exploration as well. The missing reflection—not on technical procedure or the “self,” but on feeling and the “other”—could directly address the audiences’ sensations, not by thinking of audiences as a broad, generalized public, but as a group of specific individuals with whom meaningful exchanges—or simply meaningful moments—can be created. Perhaps this could help us better articulate the humanity of our exchanges, be more mindful of how we inhabit the world, and better situate ourselves as individuals within a system of relationships. This is especially relevant if we continually invoke notions like ecology, entanglement and becoming, or post-humanist purposes, as featured in Yunchul Kim’s keynote.

A deeper questioning of our actions—their goals, ethics, labor, impacts and cost—and of their recipients—the people for whom the works are intended, colleagues and collaborators—could bring us a small step closer to the “vital force of universal love” of the Dong-Dong. 

Put simply, recognizing the privilege of being part of a global community dedicated to creation and research through advanced systems and technologies could help align our actions more closely with our talks. 

From this perspective, art through technology becomes not only a goal, but also a tangible means of fostering togetherness.