by sara.krpuljevic -

Blog Post 10: Starting from the Exhibition

At this point, I do not want to close the topic too quickly or pretend that I already have all the answers. What feels more realistic, and more useful for my future master’s thesis, is to treat this phase as the beginning of a longer process. Instead of ending with a final conclusion, I want to move toward a format in which the research can continue through practice.

One direction that feels especially right to me is to use an exhibition as the starting point of the thesis. I imagine it as a space built around different kinds of illusion, perception shifts, hidden meanings. But the exhibition would not function only as a final presentation of work. It would also become part of the research itself. What interests me is not only how to create these visual situations, but how people move through them, where they stop, what confuses them, what attracts them, what they remember, and what kind of emotional response they produce.

This feels important because it gives me a way to connect theory and practice more honestly. Until now, I have been researching attention, memorability, ambiguity, emotional response, and viewer participation mostly through writing, references, and examples. The exhibition could become the point where these questions are tested in a direct way. It would allow me to observe reactions, collect impressions, and continue the research based on actual experience rather than only assumptions.

For that reason, I see the next step not as finishing the topic, but as building the conditions to study it further. I want the master’s thesis to begin with making, observing, and then writing from that material. The practical work would come first, but not as something separate from research. It would become the source from which the next questions emerge. In that way, the project can stay open, but also become more precise through the responses it provokes.

by selina.pichler -

16*Taking the Survey to the Street – Method, Imperfection and What Comes Next

Research about how people respond to political visual communication is, at some point, going to require actual people.

The survey sheets – printed in two versions, digital and risograph, each featuring the same slogan across a range of typographic and colour variations – were taken to Graz to find out how respondents would describe what they saw. The central question was simple: does this design feel more liberally or more conservatively coded? A secondary question, embedded in the two-format structure of the research, was whether the printing method itself influenced that perception.

The methodology is modest by academic standards. This is not a large-scale political study with demographically controlled sample groups and validated measurement instruments. It is a small survey, conducted locally, designed to probe a specific question that the previous posts in this series have been building toward: are the visual associations that design theorists, political communication scholars and cultural critics describe actually legible to ordinary audiences encountering print in public space?

Put differently – does any of this actually work on real people, in real streets, outside the theoretical framework?

The choice to conduct the survey in Graz was partly practical and partly relevant. Graz is not a politically homogeneous city. Like most contemporary urban environments, it contains a layered political geography: neighbourhood-by-neighbourhood variation in how political communication circulates, which posters appear on which walls, which ideological registers feel familiar and which feel foreign. Asking respondents in this specific context meant working with a readership that already has some existing exposure to Austrian political visual culture – a culture with its own distinct typographic conventions, colour associations and propaganda histories. It is also where I live, so that is convenient (one might even say it played a rather big part of making the choice of where to execute the survey).

The format of the survey was deliberately simple. Participants were shown individual design variations and asked to locate them politically. No explanations were given about what the design choices were intended to communicate. No context was provided beyond the printed sheet itself. The idea was to capture first-response perception rather than considered analytical judgement.

This is, in part, what the survey was always about.

The theoretical argument throughout this series has been that political visual literacy operates largely automatically. Audiences do not consciously decode typography or colour symbolism in the way a graphic designer or semiotician might. They simply respond. They feel a design as radical or institutional, modern or traditional, approachable or aggressive, before any conscious analysis takes place. The survey was designed to catch that response rather than the retrospective rationalisation of it.

The methodological imperfections are real and worth naming clearly. The colour divergence between digital and risograph versions, acknowledged during the printing process, means that responses to the two formats cannot be compared as cleanly as the research design originally intended. Participants in both conditions are not responding to the same object with only the medium changed. They are responding to objects that differ both texturally and chromatically. Any conclusions drawn about the influence of printing method specifically will need to account for this.

There is also the question of sample size, selection bias and the cultural specificity of Graz as a research location. A small local survey cannot produce generalisable claims about how political design is universally received. What it can produce is something more specific and, arguably, more interesting: a situated, localised account of how one set of people, in one city, at one moment, responded to a set of deliberately constructed political visual stimuli.

In the context of a blog series about the political life of analogue media, that situatedness feels appropriate.

Physical political communication is always local. It exists in specific places, read by specific people in specific contexts. A wheat-paste poster in Vienna and the same poster in Graz may be encountered by quite different political imaginations. The survey does not erase that specificity by pretending to statistical universality. It inhabits it.

And perhaps this is fitting for research about analogue media, conducted through analogue methods, in public space.

The results may be imperfect. The print colours did not quite match. The sample is small. The comparisons have limits.

But the question was always worth asking.

Does the visual feel of a design communicate ideology before the words are read?

The next post will look at what people actually said.

Sources:

  • Anderson, B. (1983). Imagined Communities. Verso.
  • Lakoff, G. (2004). Don’t Think of an Elephant! Chelsea Green Publishing.
  • Couldry, N. (2012). Media, Society, World. Polity Press.
  • McQuiston, L. (1993). Graphic Agitation: Social and Political Graphics Since the Sixties. Phaidon.
by selina.pichler -

15*Two Versions of the Same Thing – Printing the Survey Digitally and with Risograph

At some point, the design had to leave the screen.

Printing is where political communication becomes physical. It is also where things get complicated in ways that no design software fully prepares you for. The survey sheets were printed in two different ways: through standard digital printing, which produces clean, colour-accurate, consistent output, and through risograph printing, which does not.

This difference was the entire point.

Risograph printing is a stencil-based duplicating process originally developed for high-volume office reproduction in the 1980s. It uses soy-based inks, prints one colour layer at a time and produces results that are characteristically soft, slightly textured and never entirely precise. Colours bleed at edges. Registration between layers shifts. Ink density varies across a page. The output is immediately, visibly imperfect in the specific ways that analogue printing processes tend to be imperfect.

As discussed in the previous post on analogue authenticity, these imperfections are not simply technical failures. They are communicative. The texture of a risograph print signals something about production, about process, about human and material involvement. It looks like someone made it rather than a machine optimising for uniformity.

The decision to produce both a digitally printed and a risograph-printed version of the same survey sheets was therefore not only practical. It was itself a test of the series’ central argument: that the medium shapes how political content is received, independent of the message itself. If participants respond differently to identical designs printed through different methods, that would confirm what McLuhan argued sixty years ago and what contemporary protest aesthetics continue to demonstrate.

The printing process, however, immediately revealed a limitation that needed to be acknowledged honestly.

Risograph printing works with a fixed set of available ink colours. These ink colours do not correspond directly to the full RGB or CMYK colour ranges used in digital design. A blue designed on screen will not print as that exact blue through risograph. A warm red may shift toward coral. Certain combinations of ink layers produce secondary colours that were not anticipated in the original design. The survey sheets printed through risograph would therefore not be colour-accurate reproductions of their digitally printed equivalents.

This was noticed during production and taken seriously as a methodological complication.

In an ideal research scenario, both printing methods would produce visually identical outputs, isolating medium and texture as the only variable. That is not what happened, and pretending otherwise would have undermined the integrity of the survey. Instead, the colour divergence became an acknowledged condition of the research process. Participants viewing the risograph versions would be responding to designs that were not only texturally different but also chromatically shifted from their digital counterparts.

This creates noise in the data. It makes clean comparisons more difficult. It means that participant responses to the risograph versions could reflect both the change in medium and the change in colour, and separating these two effects would be genuinely challenging.

But there is also something honest about this limitation.

Real analogue political communication does not exist in colour-controlled environments either. Protest posters are printed under time pressure with whatever ink is available. Wheat-paste adhesives yellow over time. Street light changes how colours read at night versus noon. The conditions of physical political communication are always imprecise, always subject to material unpredictability.

In that sense, the colour inconsistency between the two versions of the survey is not only a methodological problem.

It is also a reminder of what makes analogue political media different in the first place, and something to have an eye out for.

Sources:

  • McLuhan, M. (1964). Understanding Media. McGraw-Hill.
  • Benjamin, W. (1935). The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction.
  • Heller, S. (2003). Merz to Emigre and Beyond: Avant-Garde Magazine Design of the Twentieth Century. Phaidon.
by selina.pichler -

14*Designing the Survey – Choosing Colours, Fonts and What They Might Mean

Before anything could be printed, something had to be put together.

And designing a survey about political visual coding immediately creates a specific kind of problem: every decision you make is already a political decision. Choosing a typeface is not neutral. Picking a colour is not neutral. Even deciding how much white space surrounds text communicates something. This is precisely what the previous posts in this series have been arguing. But arguing that design choices carry ideological weight is considerably easier than actually making those choices intentionally, under that pressure, for a research purpose.

The survey needed to test whether audiences perceive the same slogan differently depending on how it is visually presented. The slogan chosen was deliberately generic: Zusammenhalt. Sicherheit. Zukunft. Cohesion. Security. Future. Three words that could plausibly appear on a campaign poster from almost any point on the political spectrum. Their semantic flexibility was the point. The visual treatment would have to carry the ideological weight, not the words themselves.

This meant the design variables needed to be carefully isolated. Colour and typography became the primary tools.

The colour choices drew directly on the associations discussed in the previous post on political design. Certain combinations were selected to lean into conventions that Austrian audiences would likely recognise subconsciously: cooler blues suggesting institutional stability or conservative politics; warmer reds historically associated with social democratic or labour movements; greens coded toward environmental politics; and starker, higher-contrast combinations leaning toward urgency or radicalism. The aim was not to reproduce existing party branding directly, but to work within the visual grammar that political design has built up over decades of repetition.

Typography followed a similar logic. Serif typefaces were included for their associations with authority and tradition. Clean geometric sans-serifs were used to suggest modernity and accessibility. Condensed, bold letterforms were chosen to communicate urgency or force. More open, lighter weights were selected to feel approachable and contemporary. Each typographic choice produces a different emotional register for identical text.

The combination of these two variables — colour and typeface — creates a surprisingly large number of distinct visual impressions from a single sentence. A blue poster with a condensed serif feels completely different from a red poster with a soft geometric sans. The slogan stays the same. The perceived politics shift.

What became clear during the design process was how quickly intuitive associations take over. Certain combinations felt immediately “right” for a particular ideological register and immediately “wrong” for another, even before any research participant had seen them. This itself confirmed something the blog series has been arguing throughout: visual political literacy is not a skill that requires conscious effort. It operates almost automatically, absorbed through years of repeated exposure to political communication.

The challenge was to pu together visuals, that were legible enough to produce clear responses, without being so obviously coded that participants would simply name existing parties rather than engaging with the broader ideological feeling of it.

Whether that balance was successfully struck is something the survey results will have to determine.

But the design process itself already demonstrated the central argument.

You cannot make an apolitical political poster.

Even when you are trying to.

Sources:

  • Lupton, E. (2010). Thinking with Type. Princeton Architectural Press.
  • Edelman, M. (1964). The Symbolic Uses of Politics. University of Illinois Press.
  • Crowley, D. (2013). Graphic Design and Protest. Design Issues, 29(3).
by sara.krpuljevic -

Blog Post 7: The Viewer as Participant

A clear conclusion from the research so far is that the viewer cannot be treated as a passive receiver. Hidden meaning, ambiguity, delayed recognition, and visual surprise only function when the viewer actively completes the message. What matters, therefore, is not only what the design contains, but what kind of action it demands from the person looking at it.

This participation is not limited to physical interaction. It can be perceptual, when the viewer searches for structure or a second reading; cognitive, when meaning has to be interpreted; and emotional, when recognition produces curiosity, tension, or satisfaction. These are not secondary effects. They are part of the communicative mechanism.

This is an important shift in the project, because it moves the focus away from illusion as an end in itself. The stronger question is how design creates the conditions for participation without losing control of the message. From this point onward, the viewer’s role becomes central to the thesis, not as a general idea, but as a concrete design problem.

by arianna.candioli -

FINAL REFLECTIONS

Looking back at this semester, the thing that interested me the most was moving from theory to experimentation.

At the beginning of my research, I explored how objects communicate through perception, semiotics and design. This time, I tried to observe what actually happens when people interact with objects.

The Looking Beyond workshop was probably the moment I found the most meaningful. Seeing the students transform simple objects into something completely different showed me in a concrete way how much a personal perspective can change the meaning of what we see in front of us.

The questionnaire about the three objects also allowed me to observe how everyday objects can become connected to memories, experiences and personal interpretations.

At the same time, this journey also helped me understand some difficulties. During different moments of the research, I felt stuck, unsure about which direction to take or how to transform this topic into something broader. Rather than finding a final answer, this experience helped me understand what I am truly interested in exploring and what feels less connected to me.

I do not think this topic will become the starting point of my thesis, but it remains an important part of my journey. It taught me the value of observing what we often take for granted and creating opportunities to see objects, and the world around us, from different perspectives.

by arianna.candioli -

CONCEPT MAP

Creating this concept map helped me organize and connect the different topics I explored during my research. Since the map is a general overview of the subject, it allowed me to identify relationships between concepts that I had initially considered separately. 

One of the main insights I gained is that communication is not a one-way process: objects do not communicate only through their function. The meaning of an object is created through the relationship between the object, the user and the context in which it exists. This made me realize that communication is not fixed, but changes according to perception, experience and interpretation.

I found the connection between perception and affordance particularly relevant because it shows how design can guide actions and behaviours. 

Another interesting aspect was with Watzlawick’s communication theory, especially the idea that “it is impossible not to communicate”. This principle can also be applied to objects: every designed artifact communicates something through its form, materials and presence, even when this communication is not intentional.

Since this concept map is only an introduction to the topic, many aspects could be explored further.
In particular, I would like to explore how different people interpret the same object and how personal experiences influence meaning.

Overall, this exercise helped me develop my research question further. I am still interested in how objects communicate, but I now want to explore more specifically how design choices influence perception and how people create meaning through their interaction with objects. 

This research helped me see everyday objects not only as functional products, but also as active elements of communication!

by arianna.candioli -

THREE OBJECTS, THREE STORIES | Reflections

Looking at the answers collected, I had confirmation that objects are not interpreted only for what they are, but also for what they represent.

The cup remained mostly connected to everyday and personal moments: breakfast, coffee, a small ritual of calm. The keys, instead, led to more symbolic interpretations: not only an object used to open doors, but a symbol of home, independence and responsibility. The chair, perhaps the most open object, collected very different interpretations: comfort, work, waiting, loneliness.

This experiment made me notice once again that an object is never perceived only for what it is. Its shape can suggest something, but meaning takes shape through the person looking at it, through the memories and experiences they bring with them.

I was also surprised by how little is needed to transform an ordinary object into a story.

by arianna.candioli -

THREE OBJECTS, THREE STORIES | Results

I collected different answers for each object, and here I present three of the most representative ones: the ones that better show the connections, images, and stories that emerged around each object.

First object: Cup

First impression

“Breakfast!”

“Coffee”

“The morning, the beginning of the day”

Memories and stories

“It reminds me of a daily moment of calm.”

“I imagine my day that is about to begin.”

“It reminds me of the ceramics course I took in France, where I tried to make a cup for the first time.”

Second object: Keys

First impression

“The song by Gianni Morandi and Jovanotti ‘Apri tutte le porte’”

“I take my keys and leave the house”

“Did I lock the door?”

Memories and stories

“They remind me of home and the garage, but also of the workplace.”

“I imagine that the more keys someone has, the more responsibilities they have, and probably also an older age.”

“I imagine all the doors they have opened and closed, every new beginning and every return they have accompanied.”

Third object: Chair

First impression

“So uncomfortable”

“Office, homework and duties”

“A comfortable, bare and anonymous object”

Memories and stories

“It reminds me of an unfinished chair.”

“I imagine waiting in a doctor’s waiting room…”

“I imagine a child rocking on the chair while trying to concentrate.”

by arianna.candioli -

THREE OBJECTS, THREE STORIES | Questionnaire

To continue exploring the topic of my research, I wanted to observe what happens when different people encounter the same object.

I chose three objects from my everyday life: a cup, a set of keys and a chair. Three common objects, present in everyday life, but able to evoke different memories, images and stories.

I created a short online questionnaire asking participants to look at the photographs and answer three simple questions:

  • What is the first thing that comes to your mind when looking at this object?
  • What or who does it remind you of?
  • What story do you imagine behind this object?


Through these questions, I tried to observe three aspects: the immediate perception of the object, the connection with personal experience and the way a possible meaning is created.

In the next blogs, I will collect the answers that emerged and observe the different stories created around the same objects.