INTERVIEW WITH NATHALIE LAWHEAD
Nathalie Lawhead is a net artist behind games such as Tetrageddon and EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE OK.
This is part of the interview series for my Handmade Pixels book.
The interview was conducted on March 23th, 2018.
| Jesper: | How you usually frame yourself and what you do? |
| Nathalie: | I view myself first and foremost as an artist. I came from an art background originally, so that’s how I view what I do. My fascination with interactive art is that it can be alive; it can move, do things, react, and all that. |
| Jesper: | Would you qualify yourself as a “net artist” now, or an interactive artist, or something else? |
| Nathalie: | Well, I started as a net artist. My first project was released in 1999. It had a cult following and did really well. Then, people started calling it a “game.” At first, I was outraged at the fact that someone would accuse my work of being a game. It was interesting because before it was labeled a game, people said, “I’ve never seen anything like this; this is incredible.” After it was called a game, people flooded in saying, “What am I supposed to do here? This is stupid, I don’t get it.” So, I’ve been fighting on that edge of the “game” label—trying to do something that isn't a game but can be understood, while also feeling that the label “game” should be broad enough to include work like mine. |
| Jesper: | That’s very interesting. When do you think that change occurred? |
| Nathalie: | I think there have been minor changes pushing this forward. At the time when that project took off and started being called a game, things escalated to the point where people were so outraged that I was getting “breathy” phone calls and being stalked; it was pretty bad. Today, when you do something like this, there isn't that same level of intense violence—though there is still anger. I feel like with the push from curators and advocates, this work is starting to get noticed and appreciated in game circles as being important. But it’s not enough to just make it and be an artist; this work needs advocates. I think that is what changed—there is now a group of people who care about this stuff. |
| Jesper: | When we do the transcript, feel free to remove anything regarding that “pushback” if you want to. |
| Nathalie: | No, I’ve been telling people about that. It’s alright. |
| Jesper: | When do you think the “game” category expanded to include things that used to be called net art? What year do you think that was? |
| Nathalie: | I think it happened as people became more curious. There is a history of this “weird” work that has always been part of games, and it eventually had to be recognized. I honestly think things got easier for me after GamerGate. Because that was when people started noticing that work from women is important and needs to be defended, and the realization formed that people shouldn't have to put up with that kind of harassment. There was an awareness then of taking this stuff seriously. For me, my breakthrough was in 2012 when I was accepted into IndieCade at E3. That’s where my work really started spiraling. It’s been an uphill battle since, so it’s hard to say exactly when the shift happened, but because games have a history of including really weird projects, it had to be recognized eventually. |
| Jesper: | When did Tetrageddon win the award? |
| Nathalie: | 2015, I believe. |
| Jesper: | What kind of communities do you see yourself as part of? Do you feel part of a contemporary art scene, a net art scene, or a game scene? |
| Nathalie: | I feel like I'm part of the “alt-games” scene. In a way, I don’t feel like I’m part of anything because, ever since I started, I've always been an outsider. I’m very used to not participating in groups because of that. However, the scene has become much more welcoming. I still don’t see myself as part of “games” generally, but I view myself as part of the experimental games crowd—the Fantastic Arcade, IndieCade, and Glitch City crowds. That’s where I feel at home. |
| Jesper: | One of the things I’m interested in for my book is this question of labeling. I also talked to Tale of Tales, who for a period of time called their work “not games,” partly because of the reception issues. Would you ever use the word “indie” to describe yourself, or does “indie games” mean something else to you? |
| Nathalie: | “Indie games” means something very different to me. It implies small studios that are trying to break into the industry and make money. To me, it isn't about the money; it’s about the art, the dissent, and commenting on society. That is really hard to do within any mainstream game label because those are supposed to be “fun” and “entertaining.” On the other side, work like mine tears down social structures and comments on social injustices, which you won’t often find in mainstream games. |
| Jesper: | To talk a bit about your work—my notes suggest that while your games “aren't games,” they are interactive experiences that pull in many elements surrounding games. Things like menus, the history of technology, the mythology of media, or “heroic” roles like people cleaning up the internet. You use things usually considered peripheral—dialogue boxes, chatbots, or saving files to a hard drive. It seems you refer to all these things that exist around games and put them “in quotes” to assemble them. Is that how you see it? |
| Nathalie: | It’s like pop art. It was really encouraging to me when I went to MoMA with a friend and saw the history of all that amazing, abstract pop art—the kind of art that people used to laugh at. It reminded me of why I should keep doing this. To me, this is an interactive medium with its own history of interactivity. You can take that history, subvert it, and put it into your art in a functional and interesting way. There are so many layers to this medium: programming, UI, user experience history, and the expectations people have of games to begin with. If you use all of this correctly, you can make a very interesting interactive commentary on multiple levels. The way you interact is a commentary, as is what the game asks you to do and the UI feedback. To me, it’s pop art. |
| Jesper: | That makes sense. But there is a funny thing about your work—it features these very clashing, “brutalist” combinations, yet it is also very lovingly crafted. Every screen has more animations and transitions than it strictly needs. Why do you choose those garish clashes while maintaining that sense of craft? |
| Nathalie: | As you noticed, there's a lot going on in terms of functionality, but my first interest was actually animation. I even got into a program with Disney. What I love about animation and music videos is the “symphony” of it—going from one thing to the other. I think about it in terms of flow: there are tense moments, then beautiful moments that give you a pause, then tense moments again. The flow matters, as does the information you're delivering during that flow. I like “tensity.” I like being a bit upsetting because I feel that opens people up to introspection and thinking about how they fit into the world. All of it is on purpose. It doesn't happen accidentally because I build my own tools from scratch, pretty much. If I put something in there, it’s very intentional. |
| Jesper: | It’s interesting that you mention breaking the flow, because that happens a lot in your work. For example, in the menu structures, you might close a window and expect it to be gone, but then a “ghost” remains that doesn't like to be disturbed. It seems you are commenting on UI and UX. In the same way you use 1950s-style clips of scientists doing “serious” work to make fun of them, you also seem to make fun of UI for being too serious. |
| Nathalie: | Yeah, UI and user experience are treated very seriously, which makes them fun to play with. We expect computers to function a certain way: if you minimize a window, it should minimize. There is a flow we are accustomed to. If you subliminally start changing that, it confuses people—it actually scares them. I find that fascinating because computers are like a home; you “live” on your desktop. When something crashes, it’s jolting. By using that in my work, I create an environment that has a life of its own. It’s not “your” computer; it’s the computer’s computer. If you try to minimize something, it might decide to go somewhere else instead. You don’t have to teach people how to interact with it because there is already a common understanding of how a program should run. They click something expecting one result, and when something else happens, it creates a charming and fascinating reaction. It makes you feel like the computer has a life of its own and you are just a guest. |
| Jesper: | Can you explain the choice of your UI style? You use references to Windows 95 and DOS—that era when color monitors were new but before Windows became the standard. You use those character-based borders and weird Microsoft color palettes. Why use those historical references instead of a modern style like OSX or Windows 10? |
| Nathalie: | What I like about that old-school style is that it was so clumsy. It featured “programmer art” and terrible, bright colors. Looking back, it’s humorous to see what we used to tolerate, like the “Sausage Stand” theme in Windows. I love it when computers are dysfunctional and things break. When things are hyper-polished, I feel they lose their humanity and stop being personal. I like that era of computing because computers—and user experience—were just starting to figure themselves out. I’m fascinated by the mistakes made during that time. That’s where my heart is. |
| Jesper: | What do you think it does for the user to see a historical Windows theme versus a contemporary one? |
| Nathalie: | I feel it creates the feeling of a fever dream. People remember using it, but now they are seeing it in a completely different context. It's like a dream about the past. A few people have actually described it that way, so it works. It’s like a nightmare of a past UI. |
| Jesper: | That’s funny. When I saw Everything is Going to be Okay, I saw those DOS border decorations and colors and just thought, “What happened?” Nobody remembers those fondly because they were so weird. My theory is that throughout the history of home computer games, there’s been an idea that if you open a word processor, it uses system fonts and colors, but if you open a game, it uses its own custom menus. Games usually “bracket off” the operating system. It’s weird and funny to see those system menus actually inside the game experience. |
| Nathalie: | Exactly, because it’s about blurring the line of what is actually happening. In Everything is Going to be Okay, you see a system window, and when you save things, some people think the save menu is actually part of the game. It blurs the line between your computer and the game. The menus that do open from your actual system will always have a modern look. It creates a fascinating line where you don’t know where the game begins and ends. I think that’s a benefit—incorporating the menus rather than keeping them separate makes it much more interesting. |
| Jesper: | You take these very serious elements—serious menus, serious science—and not only invert them but make them “explode.” Everything you try to do fails. However, especially in Everything is Going to be Okay, there seems to be an earnest emotion underneath. Is that right? |
| Nathalie: | Yeah. With Tetrageddon, I wasn’t sharing much; it was mostly pop art. But with Everything is Going to be Okay, I really wanted to talk about societal issues and personal experiences. When given the opportunity to use text, I want to deliver a personal message. It’s mixed with humor and absurdism so it isn't overbearing, but there is an essence of a real person with a history behind it. The writing reflects my personal views and my own “calls for help.” |
| Jesper: | There is something funny about having a little rabbit character who is worried about whether it will ever be loved, placed inside a parody of a game mechanic. Is there a risk that people will think the rabbit is just being silly, even though the emotions are earnest? |
| Nathalie: | There is a risk, but it reflects my personal view of the world: that it is chaotic and the only meaning is what you personally ascribe to it. I feel that if you can see the humor in life and laugh at the dark parts, you can survive. Comedy is healing and a conduit for transcendence; you can grow out of pain. Using cute, comical characters to deliver earnest social messages creates a better dialogue than a purely serious atmosphere. It disarms the viewer. You approach the message in a relaxed way and you don't feel “judged” because the game has already judged itself. It’s a symbol of solidarity with other people who feel the same way. |
| Jesper: | So the humor works to address vulnerability. It’s interesting that you compare this to pop art, because pop art is usually considered somewhat depersonalized. It’s unique that your work has such a strong personal aspect. |
| Nathalie: | For me, art should have a message and be powerful because that’s how you create change. Art is a conduit for social change and dissent. I have a hard time making art that doesn't say anything; I have better things to do with my time. Saying something helps people and communicates on a deeper level than just “being pretty.” That’s controversial because I get a lot of feedback saying art should be “pleasing.” But what’s the point of saying something if it doesn't make you think or spark a discussion about society? |
| Jesper: | What is the role of festivals for you? Do they matter to your work? |
| Nathalie: | When I started submitting Tetrageddon—after the “crap” that happened with my first project, Blue Suburbia—I had originally decided to just lay low and not tell people about my work. But that was depressing because you want your work to have an influence. So I decided to have the courage to submit it. It gets written about, which matters because I want to have an impact. My grandmother made thousands of beautiful paintings, but she kept them all in one room and now she’s gone. I don't want to be that. I want my work to make a difference and push boundaries. I’ve decided I’m okay with being attacked; if you make a difference, people are going to come at you because you’re provoking something. Festivals validate games that push these boundaries. If you have the courage to do it, you help the medium and other creators have an easier time being who they are. |
| Jesper: | Do festivals also play a role in educating the audience? |
| Nathalie: | Yes, because you get to speak with journalists and tell them about something that redefines what a game is. This work needs advocates and curators. Being a creator isn't enough because you're already busy fighting harassment and acting as your own PR agent. It’s getting easier now that there’s a community of advocates. This stuff needs to get out there; otherwise, the medium will stay in a state of stagnation where it's only entertainment and not truly art. |
| Jesper: | One last thing—I often see a conflict in experimental games between the idea of them being a “democratizing” force (games by the people, for the people) and them being “connoisseur-oriented” (for people with the education to discuss experimental work). Do you see that conflict? |
| Nathalie: | I think that's a safety thing. Often, people don't understand experimental games. Watching a Let's Play'er play one of these can be insulting; they often just scream about how “dumb” it is. |
| Jesper: | It’s true. You’re talking about UI history, which is something almost everyone can relate to. Why wouldn't you have art about it? |
| Nathalie: | Exactly. |
| Jesper: | Thanks a lot. |