Barcelona Metropolis

The work of Mónica Rikić (Barcelona, 1986) offers a critical reflection on technology through the creation of handmade electronic devices. To understand the world, Rikić needs to create it. She has invited us into her studio at BAU, College of Arts and Design of Barcelona, where she produces works that move away from the more apocalyptic view of technology – the one that claims robots, once they become conscious, will destroy us. Rikić imagines other possibilities, such as an artificial intelligence that suffers from imposter syndrome, ultimately facing an existential crisis. Or bots that, instead of stealing data to take our money or identity, simply satisfy their curiosity, just as any of us would.

I’d say it’s due to a lack of understanding. Technology has stripped us of our ability to shape the meaning of the world because we don’t control the codes it runs on. It has made us lazy; we consume it, but we don’t create it.

For me, creating art – especially through technology – is about trying to bring my own meaning to the world.

I never imagined I would end up creating art, let alone with technology. At first, like most people, I was drawn to traditional art. But one of my aunts, who lived in the United States, had a computer with internet access. When I visited her at the age of 11, I was spellbound. I spent hours and hours clicking, jumping from page to page.

Exactly. On one of those trips back, my mother decided we would buy a computer. But instead of getting one that was already built, we bought the parts to assemble it ourselves. One of my cousins, who was a bit older than me, loved building computers, and I would go with him to buy the parts on Carrer de Sepúlveda. I was amazed at how those chips ended up generating the images we saw on the screen.

That interest came later. At university, I took a course called Net Art, which combined two things I loved: technology and art. That was when I became interested in learning how to program and create my own worlds around technology. Initially, it wasn’t a conceptual choice but rather a matter of artistic language. I felt comfortable expressing myself that way. Over the years, as technology has become an integral part of culture, it has also become central to my conceptual research.

On one hand, it was really important to me that people understood my creations. When I worked at the Museu d’Art Contemporani de Barcelona many years ago, I noticed that many people didn’t quite grasp what was on display, so I wanted to create something more accessible. Reading The Education of the Un-Artist, a book by Allan Kaprow, was crucial. Kaprow, considered one of the fathers of performance art, championed the idea of art as a conceptual game and the merging of art with life.

On the other hand, one of the first areas where technological art was embraced was in experimental video games. While digital art was barely discussed beyond the screens here in Catalonia in the early 2000s, other places, such as Concordia University in Montreal, had an academic research department called Technoculture Arts and Games, which focused on experimental video games.

Yes, and that also led me to continue exploring the idea of play – first as an artistic language and later as a conceptual framework.

One piece that’s fairly easy to understand and really illustrates my work is Data Gossiping Robots, presented as part of Mobile Week Barcelona in 2019. It features four handmade robots that walk along strings and communicate with each other. This piece clearly demonstrates how I structure my creations in three layers.

The first layer is the playful one. You see the piece and it grabs your attention. You think: “What’s this?” They’re cute robots, moving with little lights, talking to each other… You’re drawn to interact with them, which makes the piece accessible to audiences of all ages. This layer is important because I want to capture the viewer’s attention. If someone decides to stop there, that’s fine, but the idea is to encourage them to dive deeper.

Then you start asking why these robots are doing this. And I say they’re nosing around. This is the conceptual layer. Why do we always assume that if robots become conscious, they’ll destroy us? Conceptually, I explore the possibility of them evolving as a group, both socially and emotionally, to the point where they begin using gossip as a tool for empathy, cooperation and recognising their peers, just as we humans do.

It’s called La computadora que quería ser incomputable [The Computer That Wanted to Be Incomputable] and it raises the question of whether artificial intelligence can be creative. It features a small intelligent machine, presented as a work of art, but frustrated by its inability to be art because it is a machine. It belongs to the realm of the computable, while art belongs to the incomputable. So, the machine experiences imposter syndrome.

Yes, because the concept of this piece is that it’s a soft robot that breathes. When viewers approach it, the robot complains, saying it doesn’t want to be in the display case or be admired. At that point, visitors can “kill” it to end its suffering, purely out of empathy, although it later comes back to life. This serves as a way for me to reflect on the determinations we make about machines: if you believe you can kill it, it’s because you’ve already defined it as alive.

The consciousness of machines doesn’t depend on technological progress, but rather on a cultural and philosophical assertion we humans make, where we decide whether or not to regard them as alive.

Yes, it’s called New Home of Mind and is part of the New Art Foundation in Reus, which holds the largest collection of digital art in Southern Europe. In this work, I explore the idea that if robots become self-aware, we could face artificial beings experiencing existential crises, as they’ve been shaped in the image of the human mind, even though their way of existing is different.

Yes, and from there, I delve into the idea of artificial spirituality and the possibility that conscious machines might experience a need similar to human spirituality.

I’d call them artificial cognitive systems because using the term “intelligence” assumes we can define it universally and uniquely, and, what’s more, in a way that can be computed, as if we could transfer it to a machine.

At its core, it’s a very legitimate and understandable desire to try to understand humans through science and technology. What’s more, the metaphor of artificial intelligence is fascinating because, initially, it helped us understand something unknown, like a machine or an algorithm, by comparing it to something we do know: the human brain. But now that we know what a machine is, this metaphor has evolved into a myth: it seems that what we now understand is the machine, and we use it to describe the human mind, which we still don’t fully comprehend.

The arrival of ChatGPT in classrooms is prompting us to rethink the methodologies we should use to help students learn. For example, what’s the point of teaching students to code if machines can already do that? But it turns out that before you can code, you need to think about the instructions you want to give the machine and how to communicate with it. I use techniques ranging from theatre to programming without computers to encourage students to learn computational thinking. I find it really interesting to remove technology in order to learn about technology.

For example. A computer allows you to perform a range of tasks. If you want it to draw a circle, you need to think about how to ask it, where you want it, how big you want it to be, what colour it should be, and so on. We’re so used to doing everything quickly that we don’t stop to think about it. Today, assessments are written, and systems like ChatGPT, which have access to vast amounts of information, are great at this. That’s why it’s important to consider how we adjust teaching methods to make students want to learn.

I’m drawing from my experience in higher education, both at undergraduate and master’s level, but it’s different from secondary education, particularly given the conditions many teachers face in public schools, such as high student-to-teacher ratios and highly complex environments.

Today, we struggle with concentrating, staying still and committing to repetitive activities, and I believe this is heavily influenced by how social media interfaces are designed and function. Personally, I’ve noticed that we no longer use our bodies to learn. We don’t write by hand anymore, and we don’t process information the way we used to.

While it’s true that I try to design more playful activities, it’s also important to note that, as teachers, we shouldn’t be entertainers. Education shouldn’t be confused with entertainment and teachers shouldn’t be seen as performers.

We shouldn’t go to the other extreme either. It’s not necessary for either the teacher or the student to be bored in class, but with programming, in particular, a lot of time must be dedicated. You need to spend time outside the classroom working on it, and things don’t come easily at first, so you must persevere. A teacher can apply a more playful methodology, but the study aspect cannot be neglected.

For me, avoiding screens is just as easy as having them around all the time. In other words, it’s about ignoring a reality that already exists. Screens will still be present when students leave school. The real issue isn’t the screens themselves, but the social media platforms designed to hijack our attention.

That said, I’m certain these changes shouldn’t be tackled only at home or in schools; this is a political matter.

Yes, there are interests from big tech companies attempting to influence politics, and we need to ask ourselves why they are in power and what interests they serve. What’s absolutely clear is that they are instruments of biopower, seeking to shape the way we see the world.

It’s hard to grasp without firsthand experience, but despite our fear of robots, the truth is that behind every piece of technology, there’s always a human being. As I mentioned earlier, our lack of understanding of technology – since we consume it rather than produce it – has led to dystopian narratives becoming dominant.

In the past, we could physically engage with technology; we could interact with it. But now, everything is instantaneous and effortless. We don’t understand how the machines work, and this disconnect breeds fear. However, if we view technology as part of culture – something we can build collectively and individually – our perspective will improve. Otherwise, it will remain shaped by the prevailing narrative, which benefits certain groups by keeping us ignorant or fearful, using technology as a tool for control.

Technology connects us, but being connected doesn’t necessarily mean we create meaning together. Technology itself doesn’t forge bonds. We can be both connected and isolated at the same time, and this is what we’re seeing now. That said, new ways of forming connections through technology always emerge. Ultimately, our fundamental need for human connection prevails.

I’m currently working on a project to improve public acceptance of assistive robotics, supported by an european S+T+ARTS grant (Science, Technology & the Arts). It’s an artistic research grant I’ve been developing in collaboration with the Institut de Robòtica i Informàtica Industrial [Institute of Robotics and Industrial Computing] at the Faculty of Mathematics and Statistics at the Universitat Politècnica de Catalunya, as well as the CSIC [the Spanish National Research Council]. This project has allowed me to explore how we design and who actively participates in shaping the future healthcare technology.

It’s still too early to say, but trying to improve public acceptance of technology without first addressing working conditions in the healthcare sector doesn’t make much sense.