About Desktop View

The desktop view is a total recreation of a traditional desktop, demonstrating the ubiquitous desktop metaphor. In an attempt to increase adoption and user friendliness of computers, the desktop metaphor was used to help users understand the interface as a surface where things like documents, images, icons, and other files can be placed. Using file folders and trash bins, the desktop metaphor helps the user understand that digital files, too, can be organized in a computer or thrown away.

Perhaps one con of the desktop metaphor is that it reflects a specific kind of experience that may not be understood or appreciated by everyone. For instance, if you did not grow up with access to a certain level of education or professional experience, then the desktop metaphor may fail. Or, you may not have grown up learning, understanding, or appreciating the importance and benefits of archiving and organizing information. Speaking from personal experience, my mother is a first generation Vietnamese immigrant who did not graduate from high school, and she has never worked in an office setting. Of course, the desktop metaphor is likely not the only or main reason why my mother struggles with digital illiteracy, but I do wonder about the use of the desktop metaphor as a possible gatekeeper.

Additionally, the organization of information in a traditional, western sense is a mark of privilege. Archiving and information science is a laborious activity, under-appreciated, and far from lucrative, so it’s a field that can only seriously be considered from a privileged position. Some of these archiving, collections, and information science projects are supported by grants which inherently presents challenges (a reliance on funding which isn’t always reliable) which means that many projects are not receiving the support that is needed or deserved. This can have problematic implications for certain GLAM institutions or cultures, such as the belief that certain objects are safer in the hands of western institutions rather than the community it originates from. There is an argument that is sometimes used to justify this which is that these larger, western institutions are simply safekeeping these objects until the societal conditions or GLAM institutions of the object’s community is more stable. This, to me, reads like saviorism. Not to mention, some members of these communities may not have access to these archives and collections (such as a lack of institutional affiliation or travel, financial, and educational barriers). Of course, this is a complex issue and I empathize with current cultural museum workers who are having to reckon with the legacy of colonialism, but my point still stands.

I think traditional archives and collections place a lot of emphasis on the physical which, as someone who primarily lives and works through a screen, sees some potential issues. For instance, the emphasis or authority given to the printed document gives it a certain level of power that other communities may not have (e.g. not having as many resources to build, maintain, or protect their GLAM institutions over the centuries). But is the value assigned to documents even justified to begin with? And, some communities may have opted to preserve cultures in other ways (e.g. oral storytelling).

I am not so much challenging the desktop metaphor. Rather, it’s a spring board for discussing the factors that make archiving and collections inaccessible. Although, this is an opportunity to consider the ways in which design metaphors could be drawn from more inclusive or diverse cultural perspectives. Ultimately, I want to address the privilege inherent in information organization and archiving, as well as learn from, recognize, and value the expertise and perspectives of marginalized communities who may not be represented in these archives. While navigating the complexities of digital literacy and cultural preservation, we can critique existing paradigms, as well as work towards creating more inclusive and accessible systems for the future.

About Audio Player

Oral traditions, storytelling, and oral histories are communal archiving practices where stories and narratives (true or fabled) may be passed down through generations. According to the Wikipedia page for “Oral storytelling,” the tradition has been found in cultures as ancient as the Australian Aboriginals or has been around as long as human language.

In the fall semester of 2023, I wrote a short essay titled “Mindy Seu’s Cyberfeminism Index is a Gesture of Oral Histories” in which I describe the limitations of spreadsheets. The essay was loosely written in response to Seu’s “On Gathering” article in Shift Space where she discusses oral histories as a different kind of container for ideas and “memory work,” as well as a method of community building. In a way, Seu’s “On Gathering” is a gesture of publishing or making public, as explored by Paul Soulellis in his narrative syllabus “URGENT CRAFT: Radical Publishing During Crisis."

Oral traditions capitalize on a traditional idea of the “public” as described by Michael Warner: “A public can also be a second thing: a concrete audience, a crowd witnessing itself in visible space, as with a theatrical public.”¹ Often times, oral traditions can be used to promote or pass down an idea, but it can also be used explicitly as an archiving tool (when people are speaking for the purpose of recording their voice or events/the contents of their speech, for example). Oral traditions have been dismissed, often because they are not “backed” by physical documents or because oral traditions are associated with folklore, making them less “credible” in certain contexts. However, several communities, especially those where writing isn’t available, rely on oral traditions as a form of communication. Oral traditions shouldn’t be so quickly dismissed–otherwise, we risk losing important parts of our culture and history.

Speaking of accessibility, many people rely on sound and speech to navigate the world. For instance, those with vision impairments use alternative text or screenreader technologies to navigate the web, making alternative text and audio descriptions another opportunity to form publics. Both, oral traditions and text-to-speech technologies promote inclusion, ensuring that more people could participate and benefit from shared knowledge. The use of text-to-speech also increases the likelihood of audience participation (as with oral traditions). By not using alt-text or text-to-speech, we are making deliberate choices to decrease access and opportunities for individuals to participate in society, experience the wide breadth of our culture(s), or even access the most basic information. As an able-bodied person, I have been able to navigate the world with full physical capability. Perhaps the next step is to design a website I can only navigate through sound.

Moving forward, how can designers–especially web and product designers–design a world that is more conscious of creating opportunities for individuals to participate in the world we live in?

About Web-to-Print

This document was generated through Lucy Nguyen Pham's Desktop Archive website–a springboard for the critique and analysis of traditional, western archiving practices. This document serves as an opportunity to question the false security of digital archiving, as well as the power of poor media (as defined by Silvio Lorusso) and print-on-demand (deeply researched by Paul Soulellis) as accessible means of circulation (and making public).

A natural concern for artists working in digital spaces (whether they are net artists or digital archivists) is materiality. As Soulellis has stated in an interview, "the more immaterial or ephemeral the artist's work...the more I can elevate its perceived value, simply by shifting its form and context. And specifically, giving it the context of a publication" (via Circulation | Exchange).¹ This is really interesting, especially when compared to Chris Lee's "This Was Written on Stolen Indigenous Land" (2016) which questions the importance or power of the printed document. Even Mindy Seu–whose Cyberfeminism Index originates on the web and in a spreadsheet–has been turned into a book as a protective measure in case the website were to go down: "So even if the website goes down, if all my books and everyone else’s books burn"—even when Google disappears and the electricity shuts off—"There will be at least one record" (via Vanity Fair).²

Many web-based artists and designers already know—that not everything lives on the Internet forever. What implications does this have? Which (or whose) (sub)cultures, content types, or subjects are prioritized in digital archiving, and who is doing the work of archiving the present? And how are we so sure that these digital archives are going to be maintained for permanency? Even the Internet Archive strives to maintain a physical copy of every one of its books.

What makes print-to-web special is the ability to make copies (this can be especially helpful in making primary source or less accessible documents more accessible). This is also why zine culture is so inviting (and political). The ability to make copies becomes an accessible and preservative tool.

Mindy Seu’s Cyberfeminism Index is a Gesture of Oral Histories

Mindy Seu’s Cyberfeminism Index–a project which began in January 2019¹–is a website that resembles a spreadsheet containing the following types of information for each entry about a cyberfeminist work: its placement in the spreadsheet, the year it was created or active, its authors, and a description with links or citations. Each entry the user clicks on is added to a growing trail of entries which can be downloaded as a PDF. Thus, the website serves as a research resource which promotes cyberfeminist works and ideas by making information accessible. By consolidating related works in one place, the concept of “cyberfeminism” is strengthened by numbers while facilitating user exploration–over 800 examples can be found “effortlessly” in one shareable spreadsheet.

According to Seu, gathering is a means of forging connections between things and acts as a “finding aid for like-minded voices." She also claims that, like oral storytelling, making a record of lived experiences links people together after the conversation ends.² Cyberfeminism Index’s purpose is, then, to unite those with like-minded interests in cyberfeminism by using the spreadsheet as a form of oral storytelling. “Informal archivist” Randa Hadi argues that archives are sites of reclamation and self-discovery, citing feminist scholars and community archivists who felt a sense of “representational belonging” when they saw themselves in an archive.³ Cyberfeminism Index offers itself as such a site.

But the format is not without limitations. Assuming that Cyberfeminism Index is continually archived, all of the works mentioned in the spreadsheet will continue to live on, akin to oral histories, since the table contains basic data about their existence. But despite Seu’s attempts at building a future-proof website using simple code and minimal plug-ins, the spreadsheet does not shield its entries from obsolescence. The links in the spreadsheet will inevitably break due to a simple change in URL or because no one is archiving the artifact itself. Currently, limited tools exist to archive websites, with many archived pages containing broken links, missing images and PDFs, or unsupported content.

More importantly, the sheer volume of content in the index makes it even less accessible. In theory, organizing niche content in one place sounds like a simple and even empowering way to make information accessible. For instance, linkin.bio sites listing resources for the Black Lives Matter movement or salary transparency spreadsheets grew in popularity as COVID lockdowns pushed political and social activism online in the 2020s. However, users became overwhelmed by choices, not knowing where to start with the hundreds of resources being shared. Historian Ann Blair says that the emergence of indexing systems like these resource lists is an attempt to organize the overproduction and underconsumption of information, while Kenneth Goldsmith goes on to say that these attempts rely on the "illusion of control."⁴ So, is Cyberfeminism Index’s claim to democratizing information an illusion as well?

Aaron Swartz illegally downloaded millions of JSTOR documents, intending to make them available to the public because he believed that information should not be paywalled. However, Goldsmith argues that the sheer amount of information that Swartz downloaded was so vast that very few people would ever parse through it. What mattered was not the kind of content that Swartz downloaded but rather his political gesture of sharing and liberating information to represent democratization and access to information.⁴

Perhaps Cyberfeminism Index is also a gesture along similar lines – one that faciliates community-building. Like oral histories, the storytelling of these entries gradually morphs. From the standpoint of information access, one could argue that its size and digital archiving challenges hinders its long-term accessibility. On the other hand, Cyberfeminism Index may succeed as a gesture or an “oral history,” acting as a substitute for all entries and artifacts themselves–a collective, crowd-sourced representation of many facets of cyberfeminism.

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