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Dis-Sensing Video: The Illusion of Touch in Early Video Art
Introduction
This article aims to rediscover the illusion of the haptic dimension in certain early video artworks of the 1970s and examine the techniques employed by artists to evoke this illusion in the viewer. The term “illusion” is used in accordance with Laura U. Marks’s assertion that touch, like smell and taste, is a sense that the moving image apparatus is technically unable to represent (129). 1 In this context, a key question arises: how can touch be perceived within a medium that can only reproduce what is accessible to the eyes and ears? How is it able to overcome its technical limitations? Is it the medium itself that accomplishes this, or is the role of the artist crucial? The concept of illusion plays a crucial significance in this discussion 2 and will be examined in relation to each artwork analyzed.
My interest in the subject of haptics stems from the recent growth of telepresence technologies following the aftermath of the COVID-19 pandemic, which forced people to interact remotely. Telepresence, in fact, is a broad concept that must encompass all the senses, including touch. Therefore, when discussing haptics within telepresence technologies, the term telehaptics can be used to denote a specific subdomain that must be considered.
Perceiving touch in communication enhances the feeling of presence with the other person and their environment. This is one of the reasons why it is extensively studied in electronic engineering, as well as in [End Page 20] industrial, telecommunication, and surgical applications (Jin et al. 1–10; Chepkoech et al. 151–156; Huang et al. 262–277). However, what is argued here is that the desire for touch perception is not a new phenomenon that emerged solely with the web-based telepresence technologies; it was also present in early video art, achieved not through tele-technologies but through the illusion created by the video apparatus setup and the actions of the artists.
Telepresence: Authenticity Through Illusion
The term telepresence refers to the sensation of being physically present in a remote location while the body of a person remains elsewhere, simultaneously enabling interaction with and modification of that environment. As Marvin Minsky put it, the term “emphasizes the importance of high-quality sensory feedback and suggests future instruments that will feel and work so much like our own hands that we won’t notice any significant difference” (45; feedback should be kept in mind for later, as it is a key term that connects the concept of telepresence with video technology). So, telepresence involves more than the mere act of mediation between the body and, for instance, a distant number of subjects. This latter, a simple mediated action, can be illustrated by examples such as remotely controlled robots: when an operator presses a key, the robot performs an action on an object, like crushing it with its mechanical arm. Similarly, in the context of electronic images, consider what happens in the surveillance control-room of a parking lot, for instance: an operator presses a key, and a monitor displays live footage from the location where a CCTV camera is installed. However, neither of these examples provides the operator with the sense of truly being there. The worker pressing the button does not feel the object being crushed by the hands of the robot, nor does the security operator experience the atmosphere of a parking lot. This lack of presence occurs because these actions are inherently mediated in one direction and do not provide the user with an adequate response at the level of inter-action, which means to receive in response “a sensory experience of a remote event” (Grau 279).
Nevertheless, this does not mean that telepresence occurs without mediation. On the contrary, as the prefix tele– in the term suggests, actions take place at a distance, necessitating some form of mediation to exist. For this mediation to achieve the level of telepresence—literally, the feeling of being present while physically distant—it must establish a profound and mutual connection between the environment and the full (and variable) range of sensory experiences inherent to the human body. This is needed because being present is the tool that living beings have to discern the distinction between themselves and the surrounding world, an ability that is [End Page 21] essential for navigating and surviving the environment (Tjostheim et al. 62). Faking presence is highly complex and can only be achieved with advanced technological tools, and by means of hypnosis or reenactment (Tromp 39–51). Thus, in telepresence, what is experienced is the illusion of the absence of mediation (Timmis and Lombard 495) while engaging with a technology that, paradoxically, involves an intense level of mediation. As Matthew Lombard and Matthew T. Jones recap, this illusion is a psychological state where an individual perceives objects, events, or environments as if technology is not mediating the experience, despite being aware at some level that it is (16). This may appear contradictory, but it is exemplified in the way pixels on a monitor, once sufficiently numerous and densely packed within a very small surface, can cause us to forget their existence, leading us to perceive a digital image as though it were analogue, while remaining conscious that of the screen in front of our eyes.
If telepresence functions effectively, it induces a phenomenon similar to the suspension of disbelief in cinema, that is a mindset where the viewer sets aside its tendency to evaluate events based on plausibility or reality, with the result that whatever is presented appears believable for the duration of the experience (Griggs 279). But in the case of telepresence, it is something more, because we are talking about a form of presence, which is always “tied to the present, to the here and now” (Waterworth et al. 37): the user of telepresence forgets the high level of mediation and believes they are genuinely present in the remote environment.
However, it is equally important to note that each action must have a tangible effect in the reality of the remote environment. If this does not occur, the belief in presence begins to diminish, leading to a sense of being trapped in a form of deception, which in turn generates frustration. For instance, imagine asking a question to another person via a video chat platform and receiving either no response or a response unrelated to the question. Such an experience might create the impression that the remote environment is pre-recorded rather than live, undermining the sense of presence and authenticity.
In this field, haptic interactions enhance the illusion of authentic presence in communication. So, as a subdomain of telepresence, telehaptics involves the idea that an object can be sensed at a distance through our haptic system, meaning “the possibility of touching at a distance” (Paterson 130). For this to work, our haptic sense must be mediated. Our body requires technological prostheses capable of providing a sense of touch, such as force feedback resulting from grasping an object remotely. This object can be real, requiring a machine in its environment to interact with it and transmit data, or it can be virtual, necessitating a digital model [End Page 22] that sends information about its properties—such as texture and elasticity—over a distance (Paterson 127).
The topic of interacting at a distance—and the necessity of distance itself—is fundamental to understanding some of the key reasons behind the emergence and development of video technologies.
Video: Everything is Safe at a Distance
In the case of video, an appropriate response from the environment connects the technology to telepresence. One of the earliest applications of video was to obtain an immediate response from an environment in the form of an image. This use was not merely for representational purposes, but rather to enable action within that environment (a key concept for telepresence) once the information contained in the captured video images had been acquired and processed, usually within moments. Thus, using video to capture live images of a remote environment made real-time interaction with that environment possible. It is therefore essential to understand how video functions and how it has been applied.
In essence, analogue video is an electromagnetic technology that emerged in the early 1950s to preserve the ephemeral images produced by television (Blom 12). The primary purpose of video is to record an image (in the form of an electric signal) onto magnetic tape, which can be “read” immediately after polarization. This capability enables instant replay, bypassing the lengthy development processes required for cinematographic film in laboratories. Such quality facilitates an immediate review of events captured by the video camera and, when necessary, adjustments based on the observations.
As we know, this became highly appealing to artists when portable video technology was introduced to the consumer market in the late 1960s. By combining cameras with control monitors, they were able to experiment with performances in front of the camera, recording them while simultaneously being influenced by their own image displayed live on the monitor (Rush 36–77; Sharp 252–267; Spampinato 63–70).
This process underpins the idea of cybernetization, defined as the comprehensive science addressing control and communication theory across both machines and living organisms in order to enable a self-regulating balance inside them, which “is achieved thanks to feedback” (Mey 37). Feedback allows for the correction of a process while it is ongoing by gathering information from both the environment and the process itself, simultaneously converting this information into input that influences the development of the process.
For example, in the human body, balance relies on a series of automatic and unconscious adjustments that enable us to counteract gravity, [End Page 23] maintain posture, and prevent falling during movement or action. We do not fall on a slope because our body receives information from the environment and adjusts our equilibrium accordingly.
As mentioned, video allows for the adjustment of body images by using control images as input to modify performance in front of the camera, functioning as a sort of reversed mirror—an idea that intrigued many early video artists in the 1970s. They were fascinated by an application of feedback, as they could check what they were doing just by looking at the control monitor during a real-time performance, without having to interrupt it and redo everything from the beginning, but instead adjusting the mistakes and changing the course of events.
Now that the concept that video could use control images to correct a process (feedback) has been introduced, its connection to the topic of interacting at a distance should start to become evident. In fact, one of the earliest applications of the concept of feedback through video was not in art but in ballistics (Shamberg 12). However, to understand why ballistics required video technology, it is essential to trace its origins back to aerial photography.
During World War I, photographs were taken from airplanes or balloons with cameras directed toward the ground to verify whether a bomb had successfully hit its target. These images were subsequently brought to a development lab, where the final photographs were analyzed to “improve” the results in future attacks (Sekula 26–35). However, this process only allowed post-impact adjustments, as it was impossible to capture what the bomb itself “saw” during its descent. Film cameras, naturally, would have been destroyed upon impact, and real-time observation was unfeasible since no live transmission capability existed. Here the advent of video technology marked a significant shift. By employing airwave CCTV, a live feed could be established, enabling a military operator to monitor the missile trajectory in real time. This live footage could also be recorded for later analysis or directly used as feedback to adjust the trajectory mid-flight, provided the technological system allowed for such corrections. Notably, all of this could be achieved with the operator safely situated in a control room, issuing commands and pressing buttons—an arrangement that Harun Farocki aptly termed a war at a distance (“War at a Distance”), which employ the so-called “prosthetic image,” a kind of image that carries in itself a radius of danger because it performs functions that are harmful to humans (Farocki, Desconfiar 303).
Thus, this war machine can be understood as a telepresence system, as the military is not merely observing the environment through the video camera—essentially through the perspective of the weapon—but also actively modifying it, sensing and reacting to it through the feedback [End Page 24] provided. However, this process of sensing and reacting is constrained to the domains of the visible and the audible, as video technology can only transmit images and sounds. There is no tactile sensation conveyed through a camera, nor can it transmit smells or tastes. In video, these sensory experiences exist only in the realm of imagination, derived from our habitual associations of certain images with touch and other sensory stimuli. Yet, we cannot truly experience them unless through a form of synesthetic phenomenology.
Staying in Touch: Video During the Pandemic
Since the last pandemic, there has been a significant surge in the use of telepresence. With in-person meetings rendered impossible, a large portion of the world population was compelled to establish and maintain relationships at a distance. The interest and usage of videoconferencing platforms increased significantly (Tudor) and applications such as Zoom, Google Meet, Skype, WhatsApp, and Microsoft Teams quickly became integral to daily routines, whether for professional purposes or for social interactions such as “hanging out” with friends or “visiting” family. In the professional sphere, telepresence proved effective in maintaining productivity (Criscuolo et al. 4–36). Cognitive workers, in particular, were able to share ideas, screens, and instructions efficiently through desktop or mobile devices.
However, from a human and social perspective, the experience was different. Workers were confined to their homes, unable to participate in moments of in-person socialization, while paradoxically becoming increasingly “social” through digital platforms. In fact, the social distancing experienced during the pandemic does not mean that the social sphere was avoided, but that it was reconstructed through digital media platforms (Pronzato and Risi 110–111), which cannot replicate the full experience of physical presence.
This gap is even more evident in the context of friendships or, more broadly, bonds of affection. As previously mentioned, video technology cannot mediate sensations such as smell, touch, or taste. However, relationships that involve emotional connections require the full spectrum of the sensory system to be truly effective. In this context, the sense of “being there” in telepresence must, in some way, convey the feeling of sharing the same environment with another person at a distance. During the pandemic, to feel closer to one another, people organized activities such as shared meals or body training via videoconferencing to enhance the idea of “staying in touch,” which, curiously, is a common (paradoxical) phrase used to invite someone to engage in any form of interaction (correspondence, phone call, etc.) when not in the same place. This allowed [End Page 25] participants not only to see and hear one another but also to “experience” activities for which normally a person must use all the other senses to virtually overcome the physical separation of bodies by space and the limitations of a video system, which permits only audiovisual communication. Seeing others engage their full sensory spectrum creates a deeper illusion of sharing the same space and being connected with the body of the other person.
This is an enhancement of the perceivable relationship between how our eyes perceive the actions of our own or other bodies—a form of hyperrealism that, as Oliver Grau affirms, “is capable of addressing other senses through the faculty of vision. The images of another person in close proximity have such a strong effect that the visual impression stimulates a suggestion of tactility” (Grau 275).
But it also works because of the simulation mechanism that happens with the activation of mirror neurons, 3 which role, as Vittorio Gallese and Michele Guerra explained, is fundamental, for example, in how the moving image works. In fact, the spectator of a film is affected by the
essential components of cinema: Movement, action, interaction, gestures, sentiments, and emotions, which unfold in a bi-dimensional space that gives the illusion of being three-dimensional and in which we feel we know our way around, even to move around. Our brain-body system not only gives us experience of that virtual space and allows us to process a spatial cognition that we need to live a given experience, it also puts us in a position to share the situations, actions, gestures, and emotions that take place in that other dimension represented on the cinema screen.
What happened during the pandemic with videoconference platforms is simply a natural consequence of a potential already embedded in our general experience of the moving image. Videoconferencing, in fact, merely introduced real-time interaction and removed the predetermined duration typical of cinema (since a video call can start without a fixed endpoint, whereas a film has a set duration).
Addressing the Viewer, Deceiving Their Sense of Presence: Vito Acconci
As mentioned, the focus here is to explore how haptic components were already present in early video art through specific artistic practices that did not enable actual touch but instead created its illusion—much like the experience of online meetings during the pandemic.
The search for a multisensory experience beyond the limitations of video—while still relying on it—is not a new phenomenon and has been present since the early artistic uses of video in the 1970s. Art and artists have historically played a pivotal role in revealing connections between [End Page 26] media and technology (Strauven 73–74), often anticipating uses and interpretations that later become apparent in broader public applications. For this reason, revisiting video artworks offers valuable insights into the ways media have been utilized and perceived by audiences over time.
In this context, it is essential to adopt a new perspective on understanding video, moving beyond the established frameworks. Traditionally, early video art practices have been studied through the lens of what Rosalind Krauss called “aesthetics of narcissism” (50–64). This framework interprets video art as a practice in which the artist turns the camera onto themselves, exploring the immediacy and feedback of CCTV technology. The medium, in this view, functions as a kind of mirror, allowing the artist to manipulate and reflect upon their own image, ultimately creating a self-referential experience that centers on the artist’s presence.
One of the central arguments of that theory revolves around the work of Vito Acconci. In his famous video piece Centers (1971), 4 his gaze and finger are directed toward the center of the monitor, creating the appearance of someone observing themselves in a mirror. This gives the impression that Acconci was entirely focused on and absorbed by his own image throughout the performance in front of the video camera. However, a recent study by Kris Paulsen challenges this interpretation, pointing out that, to achieve this effect, Acconci was actually looking directly into the lens of the video camera rather than at the control monitor. He only glanced at the monitor occasionally with rapid eye movements to ensure accuracy and avoid decentering the image (Ch. 2). There is no evidence to suggest that he was continuously observing himself, nor that he was trapped in his own image.
In another work by Acconci discussed by Krauss, Air Time (1973), 5 the artist used an actual mirror to address himself. However, in this case, video was not employed as a mirror. The video camera was positioned behind the artist, capturing both him and the mirror. The resulting tape was later exhibited on a monitor with a specific intention: “to see myself the way ‘you’ have seen me.” The “you” in this context refers to Acconci’s former partner, with whom he had ended the relationship. However, by presenting his monologue in a gallery setting, the private “you” implicitly transforms into a public “you”—the audience viewing the piece. This, in turn, also included Acconci himself as a spectator of his own work.
It must be noted that observing body reflection through video differs from directly looking into a mirror. First, the video captures both the reflected image of a person and their back simultaneously, which is impossible with a single mirror. Second, when viewing the video, one is already part of an audience—an entity external to the pictorial space in which the image was originally produced. This implies that the video [End Page 27] image, whether intentionally or not, is not addressed to the artist who created it but to someone who encounters it later: the audience in front of the monitor. This idea is also echoed in Centers where the artist’s gesture points beyond himself toward the viewer.
As Paulsen noted, this relationship with the audience is characteristic of television broadcasting, which creates the illusion that TV presenters are present in real time with viewers seated at home (Ch. 2). By addressing viewers directly, television fosters a sense of intimacy and simulates a presence that collapses the spatial boundaries between the living room and the television, making the two spaces feel interconnected. The illusion of presence inherent to television engages the audience in a way that goes beyond the “cool/hot” media dichotomy proposed by Marshall McLuhan (22–32). While this latter categorized television as a “cool” medium due to its low resolution, which requires the viewer to actively complete the image, the ability of the medium to generate a sense of presence further enhances audience engagement. This heightened participation stems not only from the cognitive effort demanded by the medium but also from the immersive illusion of being in the same time/space as the broadcaster.
As previously mentioned, it is challenging to emulate telepresence using only images and sound, as television does. The key, therefore, lies in the actions of those on the other side of the video camera—actions that can deceive our senses into creating the illusion of being present in the distant environment, like Acconci did by pointing directly at the audience. Between the artist and the viewers, a virtual relationship of mutuality emerges—one that, as Marks states, is ideal for haptic visuality:
The ideal relationship between viewer and image in haptic visuality is one of mutuality, in which the viewer is more likely to lose herself in the image, to lose her sense of proportion. When vision is like touch, the object’s touch back may be like a caress, though it may also be violent […] a violence to toward the image but toward the viewer. Violence may occur in an abrupt shift from haptic to optical image, confronting the viewer with an object whole and distant where she had been contemplating in close-up and partial.
But the opposite can also occur: a shift from an optical image to a haptic one, moving from a partial image—such as Acconci’s head and finger—to a whole object, such as the artist’s body, which is perceived as present due to the way it is directly pointing at the spectator.
Two Approaches: Douglas Davis and Bill Viola vs. Sanja Iveković
Given this framework, it is now pertinent to examine some strategies employed in early video artworks that explicitly sought to engage a broader sensory spectrum beyond the visual and auditory, trying to bring out the haptic dimension in particular. These strategies often relied on the [End Page 28] skillful use of CCTV and other video techniques to expand the medium sensory impact.
It has already been mentioned, with reference to Grau and Marks, how the visual regime is capable of suggesting the perception of tactility. This, again, isn’t something new but rather an inherent part of the moving image experience throughout its history. In fact, as Barbara Grespi argues, cinema has been “grafted, from its very origins, onto our bodies” (Grespi 74), not only engaging the eyes but also functioning as a full somatic experience that involves all of our senses. Also, as Marks suggests, certain images “invite the viewer to respond to the image in an intimate, embodied way, and thus facilitate the experience of other sensory impressions as well” (Marks 2). Regarding this sensorial experience, the focus here is on exploring its virtual haptic component as it appears in early video art.
In this context, a paradigmatic example is Austrian Tapes (1974), a color video by Douglas Davis. Similar to Acconci, Davis directly addresses the camera—thus engaging the audience—but with a transparent surface placed in front of it. During the whole video, the artist proceeds to press his hands against this surface, inviting the audience to “touch” his hands with their own hands, chest, back, and more on the monitor screen. What is particularly noteworthy is how the transparent surface allows Davis to create the illusion that he is directly touching the monitor’s surface rather than the transparent layer in front of the camera. If Davis had pressed directly against the camera lens, the resulting image on the monitor would have been obscured—either appearing blacked out or blurred—depriving the audience of the “imprint” of his hands that the transparent surface made visible.
This aspect of Davis’s performance creates two types of illusion. The first is reminiscent of the reaction of those encountering television for the first time—believing that there is actually a man inside the box. It appears as though the artist’s hands are pressing against the glass monitor, pushing outward toward the audience. The second illusion is the sensation that the viewer can genuinely touch his hands, or at least feel his presence, through the monitor surface. This creates a situation that could be interpreted as either romantic or unsettling—similar to scenarios frequently exploited in commercial cinema, as in the iconic scene from David Cronenberg’s Videodrome (1983), in which the protagonist becomes carnally involved with a mouth that emerges from the television screen, or the moment in which the movie character from Woody Allen’s The Purple Rose of Cairo (1985) establishes eye contact with the viewer from “inside” the screen.
But what is important to notice in Davis’s work is that this technique of “a body inside the box” evokes a sense of skin-to-skin proximity with the artist, stimulating the sense of touch, even though no actual physical [End Page 29] contact is taking place because no one is physically touching anything from inside the monitor. It also reinforces the impression of real-time action, despite the performance being pre-recorded, as it prompts the audience to physically interact with their immediate space.
The sense of presence is activated more effectively through touch than through images and sound, even though the video itself only involves images and sound, without any physical touch. This phenomenon is also evident in Bill Viola’s work In Version (1973), in which the artist performs two sequences of body distortions: one occurring in the “real” physical space in front of the camera and the other in a “virtual” space created through electronic effects. To execute the first sequence, Viola presses his face against a glass surface fixed at a focal distance in front of the camera, while monitoring the outcome through an invisible CCTV circuit (Viola 8; La Biennale di Venezia 52). By pressing his face onto the glass, certain parts of his face remain stationary, seemingly “stuck” to the surface, while other parts move. The combination of the camera distance and the transparency of the glass creates the illusion that his face is being deformed by invisible hands—perhaps those of the viewer, who is subtly prompted by the video image to imagine themselves interacting with the artist’s face, as if it is in the same room with Viola.
It is important to note that this presence effect is serendipitous—something the artist was not intentionally seeking. As the title of the work suggests, Viola’s goal was to explore two versions of himself: one physical and one electronic, made possible only through video technology. In the second version, the illusion of presence does not exist because his face is mediated twice—first by the video camera and then by electronic effects. Comparing the two types of images reveals that we tend to believe in figures “manipulated” through physical effects, while we immediately distrust the veracity of something that is evidently electronically altered. However, in either case, we are aware that this is a kind of deception, as even the first type of image is an electronic one, captured on magnetic tape and then reproduced on a monitor. We believe in it simply because it mimics a real interaction with our senses—specifically touch, rather than sight.
Those two examples do not necessarily mean that the use of a prop, such as a glass surface, is a definite indication that virtual touch is involved in a video art piece. For example, the piece Breath (1975) by Richard Calabro (Saba 39) works in an opposite way. The aim of Calabro’s work is to make something invisible—breath, a sign of life—visible. The setup of this piece is identical to Viola’s: a glass surface positioned in front of the camera. However, while Viola’s piece creates the illusion of touch in video, Calabro’s work does not activate haptics (perceiving the air moving [End Page 30] on the surface of our skin) or smell, the two senses typically associated with perceiving breath. Instead, the artist’s goal is to make breath visible to the eyes. By breathing onto the glass, the surface becomes tarnished as small water particles condense upon it, allowing us to see the breath, or at least its remnants. This video piece, therefore, negates every sense except sight, which is already the essential domain of video technology. It does not expand the medium but instead confirms its nature by “translating” other sensory experiences into the realm of vision.
This example demonstrates that it is not solely the setup behind the camera that creates the illusion of touch and presence. What is crucial is the type of interaction the artist has with the camera. To support this argument, I discuss one final work: Sanja Iveković’s Meeting Point (1978). Like in Acconci’s Centers, there is nothing between the video camera and the artist—no surface, not even a transparent glass—that could be used to perform any illusionary tricks. The artist is alone with a video camera, a monitor, and a videotape recorder. While one might assume that the monitor serves as a CCTV terminal allowing the artist to view her image in real time, this assumption is immediately disproven: the monitor is disconnected from the live camera feed and instead displays only static noise. Its purpose is revealed in the second part of the video (Sandrid).
As documented by a second camera used to record the action, Iveković begins by drawing two black dots—one in the center of the monitor’s glass surface and the other on the center of her forehead. She then starts recording a video of herself while dancing energetically to hard-rock music in front of the camera. After some time, she stops the recording and plays back the video she just recorded on the monitor, the one that was previously disconnected. The spectator now sees a closeup of her face on the screen, but something appears unusual. Iveković had initially drawn the two black dots on two separate planes: one on the surface of the monitor and the other on her forehead. However, in the replayed video, the two dots appear to exist on the same plane. While the first dot is still fixed on the center, the dot on her forehead now seems to move across the surface of the monitor because, during the recording, the artist was dancing and in constant motion rather than remaining stationary in front of the camera.
Now, a sort of challenge begins: the artist attempts to stop the videotape at the precise moment when the two dots overlap, creating the illusion of a single dot. For the first half of the tape, she uses a play/stop technique, trying to freeze the image at the exact moment the overlap occurs. However, she repeatedly fails due to the delay between the moment her eye catches the overlap, her finger presses the button, and the tape mechanism actually halts its winding. Iveković then switches to another [End Page 31] approach: playback frame by frame. This method allows her to achieve her goal within a couple of minutes. The video concludes with the still image of her face displayed on the monitor, where the dot on her forehead aligns perfectly with the dot on the monitor’s glass surface, creating the intended illusion of a single unified point.
The effect resembles the artist slamming her forehead against the surface from inside the monitor, perfectly aligning the dot coordinates. Obviously, the viewer knows this is not possible, as the artist’s face is merely on a pre-recorded tape, and she is not physically inside the monitor box. However, since one of the dots is real—drawn on the monitor surface—a sensation emerges that the real space and the “virtual” space of the videotape have merged into one. It creates the illusion that, by touching the dot on the glass, one is, in some way, also touching the dot on Iveković’s forehead.
The experience of Iveković’s video performance shows us, much like Acconci’s Centers, how crucial the artist’s action is in empowering and expanding the field of senses beyond the audiovisual. Without any props, such as transparent surfaces, they manage to evoke a haptic sensation in viewers, making them believe that a person is genuinely inside the box—interacting with it or pointing directly at our eyes. This differs from the approach taken by Viola and Davis, as they were engaging with a different object, which could be interpreted as involving a dual mediation: first with the glass surface, and second with the video camera. But in any case, in all these video art works we feel the presence of the images content as if we can touch them, rather than just watching and hearing them.
Conclusions
As shown, the goal of achieving a broad sensory experience through video is not something that emerged solely with contemporary telepresence technologies, which were fostered during and after the COVID-19 pandemic; it has been present since the early days of video experimentation by artists. The ability to record, playback, and create feedback using magnetic tape encouraged artists to explore the illusion of presence enabled by these tools and techniques. They consistently sought to push the boundaries of the synesthetic perception of the viewers, even to the point where the audience could feel as though they shared the same space of the electronic image.
The argument presented here demonstrates the ability of video artists to disrupt the sensory limitations of video (dis-sensing, as introduced in the beginning), a medium that inherently mediates only sound and images. Through the use of props or specific performances, artists can deceive the audience, making them feel a haptic experience even when no [End Page 32] actual touch occurs. A similar phenomenon occurred during the pandemic when people engaged in webcam-based activities that extended beyond the audiovisual domain, such as eating, exercising, and other actions involving haptics. While fully aware that everything remained mediated through video, they sought to maximize the synesthetic potential that the medium could offer.
To close, a note is necessary. Regarding haptic media studies, the position advanced by Jason Edward Archer and David Parisi is interesting. They argue that touch “is a sense that can have a life in media irreducible to its indirect activation by vision and audition” (1536) and requires an independent field of studies separate from those of sight and hearing. This means that, for example, works of art that involve touch can be studied using theoretical frameworks capable of constructing an autonomous discourse regarding the haptic sense. As in other fields—where this approach is accepted by the respective scientific communities (consider, for instance, the terms visual studies or sound studies)—the same could be recognized as valid within a research community focused on haptics. Nonetheless, what is argued in this article about haptic illusion in early video art is that, through the examples illustrated, touch can be a sense summoned in the viewer through their eyes and ears, not by direct mediation but by evoking illusion and synesthetic experiences. But this suggests that the opposite is also true—that as an autonomous sense, touch can evoke other senses, such as sight or hearing, a possibility that future art aims to explore.