Interview about Nirvana Kinetic Sound Installation, winner of the A' Interactive, Experiential and Immersive Design Installations Award 2025
Nirvana merges tradition and technology, featuring a matrix of motorized Wooden Fish, traditional East Asian ritual instruments. Each instrument houses an automated striker synchronized via physical computing, creating rhythmic auditory patterns. The arrangement visually captivates, blending handcrafted forms with mechanical precision, highlighting innovation through harmony between past rituals and contemporary kinetic art.
View detailed images, specifications, and award details on A' Design Award & Competition website.
View Design DetailsThe journey toward Nirvana began with my lifelong exposure to Buddhist rituals, where the wooden fish represents rhythm, meditation, and spiritual discipline. I was fascinated by how such a simple, repetitive sound could create a space of introspection. My struggle with the tension between tradition and modernity led me to explore whether a machine could maintain spiritual sincerity. I wanted to question if automation dilutes or preserves ritual significance. The result was a kinetic sound installation that isn't merely decorative but actively engages audiences in contemplating how technology mediates our most intimate spiritual practices. It emerged as both homage and critique—a meditation on our need to find meaning even in mechanized repetition.
The matrix formation was inspired partly by Buddhist temple halls where rows of monks chant in unison, creating a collective, immersive spiritual atmosphere. I wanted to translate that communal energy into a sculptural grid that viewers could physically navigate and contemplate. The grid also references the precision of technological systems—code, circuitry, urban grids—juxtaposed with the organic, hand-carved wooden fish. This regular arrangement emphasizes uniformity and discipline but also reveals subtle variations in tone and movement that speak to individual imperfection. I chose this format to invite viewers to see both order and chaos, exploring how collective spiritual practice is built on personal devotion while modern systems demand conformity. It becomes a meditation on how tradition and technology both organize human behavior into patterns that are at once comforting and oppressive.
Receiving the A' Design Award has opened new dialogues about the role of interactive art in exploring spirituality beyond static religious iconography. This recognition validates the idea that technology can be a legitimate medium for sacred exploration rather than a profane intrusion. It encourages me to push further into designing interactive experiences that respect cultural heritage while interrogating it. I envision this award as a platform to collaborate with cultural institutions, spiritual communities, and technologists to create installations that are not merely museum pieces but living rituals reimagined. It has also given me the confidence to prototype more ambitious works—possibly incorporating AI-driven responses, real-time audience participation, or cross-cultural spiritual symbols. Ultimately, I hope this recognition expands the definition of spiritual art to include hybrid, participatory, and technologically mediated experiences.
Synchronizing so many motors required a careful balance between engineering and aesthetics, the challenge was purely technical: I had to design a robust control system that would manage power distribution, minimize latency, and prevent mechanical noise that might disrupt the meditative soundscape. I experimented with various microcontrollers and different types of motors, from stepper motors to DC motors, eventually developing a perfect firmware to ensure precise delivery without overloading the system.
My background in Interior Design trained me to think spatially and empathetically, considering not just objects but the entire environment and the human experience within it. I used these skills to design the this installation to encourage meditative wandering and quiet reflection. Meanwhile, my Interactive Telecommunications education provided the technical foundation to prototype and fabricate custom electronics, enabling the precise motorized movements. This hybrid background helped me navigate the tension between mass production and craftsmanship. It also informed my belief that the spiritual and the technological are not opposites but complementary modes of making meaning. In Nirvana, these disciplines converge to create an installation that is both architecturally thoughtful and technically rigorous.
I deliberately designed Nirvana to operate without requiring an audience trigger because I wanted it to function as a living ritual in its own right rather than as a reactive entertainment. In Buddhist temples, the sound of the wooden fish often continues regardless of individual attention—it's a constant reminder of impermanence and mindfulness. By making the installation autonomous, I sought to evoke that same sense of unbroken spiritual labor. There was also an aesthetic choice: the continuous soundscape allows visitors to drift in and out of its presence, mirroring the way we move through life only occasionally attuned to deeper meanings. Technically, this meant designing reliable systems that could run for long periods with minimal intervention. Philosophically, it was a rejection of the typical interactive art paradigm that centers human control, instead offering an experience that humbles the viewer before a ritual that does not depend on them.
Nirvana emerged from my reflections on the cultural tension I’ve felt growing up in China, while modernization pushes us toward mechanized, efficient modes of living. The installation’s precise, repetitive striking of the wooden fish embodies this mechanization: it’s exact, unfeeling, tireless. But the sound it produces carries emotional weight, recalling the calming, reflective environment of a temple. This contrast is central to my work: using machine systems to explore deeply human questions about spirituality, discipline, and vulnerability. I’m fascinated by whether a machine can authentically replicate or even intensify our emotional experiences. By placing viewers in an environment where technology performs a spiritual ritual, I want them to confront their own relationship to tradition, progress, and emotional honesty. It is both a homage to the contemplative traditions of my upbringing and a critique of our tendency to automate even the most sacred aspects of life.
The dimensions of Nirvana were carefully chosen to create a field that viewers could physically enter and navigate, rather than simply observe from a distance. The spatial design encourages viewers to experience the soundscape from multiple perspectives, revealing subtle changes in acoustic texture as they move. The relatively low height of the wooden fish also creates a sense of humility and groundedness, echoing the meditative posture of sitting or bowing. I intentionally left open pathways so the audience would feel both invited and slightly constrained, mimicking the disciplined flow of temple rituals. By controlling the spatial rhythm as carefully as the auditory one, I hoped to create an environment that envelops the senses and slows down perception, prompting visitors to reflect on the meaning of ritual, repetition, and spiritual labor in their own lives.
One surprising discovery was that mechanizing a spiritual ritual didn’t automatically drain it of meaning; in some ways, it made the ritual’s essence clearer. I went into the project skeptical that a machine could evoke genuine contemplation, fearing it might only produce spectacle. But as I tested different patterns and listened to the resulting soundscapes, I realized that the machine’s unwavering commitment to the task mirrored the devotion expected of practitioners. This insight shifted my view of technology from being purely alienating to potentially sacred—if used thoughtfully. Another unexpected outcome was how visitors projected human qualities onto the installation: some described it as "praying" or "breathing." This anthropomorphism suggested that audiences were willing to see spiritual potential in a machine’s rhythm, blurring the line between human and non-human ritual. It challenged my assumptions about authenticity, suggesting that meaning is co-created by performer, medium, and viewer alike.
I see Nirvana as a starting point for rethinking how sacred traditions can be respectfully reinterpreted in contemporary contexts, especially in public spaces where spiritual reflection is often absent. Rather than treating religious artifacts as static museum objects, I hope this work encourages artists and designers to create interactive experiences that invite active participation, contemplation, and even critique. For me, the future lies in collaborations with spiritual communities to co-create installations that honor their traditions while opening them to new audiences. I also imagine integrating technologies like responsive sensors, AI, or networked systems to create rituals that evolve over time or across locations, reflecting the living nature of faith practices. By placing such works in transit hubs, parks, or civic buildings, we could reclaim public space for shared spiritual inquiry, reminding us that the sacred is not confined to temples but is available wherever people gather with intention and awareness.
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