/ Heterotopia
Despite their frequent oversight, I contend that the material aspects of interface, encompassing screens, fibre-optic cables, and computers, represent some of the most tangible and readily understandable elements of digital space. These components, while physically present, often recede into the background, leading theorists to grapple with more abstract questions about the nature and measurement of the space beyond the screen: a space that exists metaphorically, composed of signs and symbols. In his 1967 lecture, later published in 1984, ‘Of Other Spaces: Utopias and Heterotopias,’ Michel Foucault, though not specifically addressing digital spaces as understood today, introduced the concept of heterotopia (Foucault, 1984). 1 This term describes a space that physically exists yet concurrently encompasses elements unrelated to its physicality, thereby giving rise to a sort of non-existent or conceptual space. This idea of heterotopia is particularly resonant when applied to the concept of digital space.
For Foucault when defining heterotopia space “the mirror functions as a heterotopia in this respect: it makes this place that I occupy at the moment when I look at myself in the glass at once absolutely real, connected with all the space that surrounds it, and absolutely unreal, since to be perceived it has to pass through this virtual point which is over there”(Foucault, 1984, p. 3). 2 The interface establishes the same paradigm as the Foucauldian ‘mirror’ to some extent. The screen is a physical mirror that gives access to the virtual world of communication; though the space is non-material, it still holds the capacity to contract the space in the mind of its viewer. Foucault articulated six principles delineating the concept of heterotopia. In this discussion, I will focus on three of these principles to draw parallels between the notions of heterotopia and interface.
For the third principle, Foucault wrote ‘the heterotopia is capable of juxtaposing in a single real place several spaces, several sites that are in themselves incompatible’ (Foucault, 1984, p. 6). 3 Digital space has a unique ability to bring several places through the interface at the same time; albeit positioned in one physical space, it is capable of exhibiting different spaces in a much shorter period of time and with better credibility than the theatre example that was proposed by Foucault.
To illustrate how interfaces can bring together multiple spaces that are inherently incompatible, I will reference the pavilion Room Tour, curated by Vincent Duché in collaboration with Faustine de Bock for The Wrong Biennale No. 6 (Duché and de Bock, 2024). 1 Inspired by Guillaume Dustan’s autobiographical novel “In My Room”, which is part of The Works of Guillaume Dustan, Volume 1(Dustan, 2013), 1 where the author describes his interior as a shared space crossed by lovers and flows, In My Room presents a digital double of the curator's bedroom, accessible for exploration.
The artwork materialises the paradox of exposed intimacy: manipulable yet elusive, modelled yet fragmented. The 3D model serves as an imprint, a physical contact already lost to reality—a closed and fragile diegesis surrounded by indefinite space (Duché and de Bock, 2024). 2 This exhibition space is permeable to others via hyperlink objects and must be visited through a subjective, immobile perspective. Exploration requires meticulous attention, as links connect one intimate space to another, uncovering transitional objects that recall the strange absence of the works themselves. In My Room becomes a space to be tamed, one with which users develop familiarity and intimacy. Drawing inspiration from the “room tour” trend on YouTube, where personal spaces are shared and commented on, the final version of the 3D model allows users to navigate the space with a mouse cursor, with each artwork represented as a clickable object.
Returning to Foucault’s third principle of heterotopia, the physical space is the user’s reality, where interaction with the curated digital space occurs. The curated space, representing the curator's bedroom, is a separate reality that exists only through interaction with the interface. The 3D element of the exhibition enhances the reality of the space, resembling a theatre or film set where props create a comprehensive image. However, the interface adds an additional layer of reality achieved through interaction with the artworks presented via links.
For instance, the artwork RGB Tour (2022) by Nicolas Bailleul leads users to an evolving HTML page that accumulates video excerpts from room tours. These excerpts are downloaded and transformed into animated GIFs lasting 5 to 10 seconds by a program. Each GIF is categorised within a grid on the page based on the objects in the video and the lighting atmosphere. By clicking the button “Visit Artwork,” the user transitions to another interface—a website hosting this collection of GIFs, each representing the reality of a room contributed by project participants. From this perspective, several realities are linked through a single interface: the 3D model of the curator's bedroom serves as the initial space, and interaction with the artworks moves the user into different spaces, each with its own interface. To clarify this point, I created a diagram illustrating the various interfaces accessible through the curatorial space. While it may seem that the user leaves the original space (the 3D model), the window remains open and can be revisited within the same desktop session, as shown in the diagram. This setup creates multiple simultaneous spaces for interaction and observation. It expands Foucault’s third principle of heterotopia by demonstrating that an interface can generate a variety of interconnected spaces accessible from a single physical location.
The fifth principle for heterotopia was that heterotopia spaces “always presuppose a system of opening and closing that both isolates them and makes them penetrable” (Foucault, 1984, p. 7). 4 Digital space is constructed mostly on the Internet, where some ‘places’ need special access (login, password, etc.). It can be argued that they are not compulsory as Foucault proposed them to be; however, Facebook, Twitter and Instagram have become an irresistible attribute of our daily life, making them somewhat ‘compulsory’ for the social dynamics of our contemporary culture. At the same time, search engines are open for access, but the criteria for presenting the information based on the request have a closed structure consisting of paid advertisements and data mining algorithms that aim to predict what the end user might be interested in. The search engines like Google are capable of blocking different types of improper content, sending it forever into the deep corners of the deep web. To some respect deep web is a perfect example of a ‘Brazilian bedroom’ where the user is never allowed to experience the full space of the deep web and is left to be a constant ‘guest in transit’.
This idea of closing and opening spaces can work in two ways. On the one hand, search engines use algorithmic methods to represent information, as discussed earlier. On the other hand, website owners can "unlist" their websites from search engine registries. Unlisting means that the website owner has specifically restricted their site from being indexed by search engine algorithms, preventing it from appearing in search results when users look for specific information. A useful tool called https://builtwith.com allows users to input any website into its search bar and retrieve detailed information about its infrastructure, ranging from the servers it operates on to the scripts it runs, such as JavaScript or Python, to present information in a particular way. This tool also includes a section called "robots.txt," which is a specific protocol that can be installed on a website to prevent it from appearing in AI-powered search tools and other web scraping systems.
When examining how Rhizome is built, I noticed that its robots.txt file explicitly states that it does not want to be indexed by ChatGPT or Google’s AI search tools. In my interview with Mark Beasley, the lead developer at Rhizome, I sought to understand the reasons behind this decision and whether it was driven by technical limitations or ideological motivations. Mark explained:
We have been dealing a lot with AI scrapers trolling through all the old archives that we have. It actually does create a big resource burden because they are constantly clicking through all these old pages, often in parallel, which leads to a significant number of requests. We are a small, self-funded organisation, so we don’t have endless resources to support servers capable of handling this (Beasley, 2024, personal interview). 1
This demonstrates that such restrictions are not always about intentionally controlling user access but can also stem from resource management concerns and their environmental impact. Applying Foucault’s fifth principle of heterotopias to interfaces, two approaches to restricting access become evident. The first is organically built into search engines, relying on algorithmic manipulation to categorise searches or hide websites, particularly those within the deep web, such as hospital or police databases that hold private information. The second approach is the deliberate choice of a website owner to unlist or privatise their site, which can be driven by various factors, including resource management or ideological considerations.
The sixth principle outlined by Foucault presents a compelling perspective when applied to the understanding of the interface. For Foucault, heterotopias have the capability of operating on two extreme poles, both creating the illusory space and the perfect real space without it being “messy, ill-constructed, and jumbled” (Foucault, 1984, p. 7). 5 Digital space has the same abilities; on one side, it creates a metaphorical space, a place of illusion where the user can generate any content that their mind is capable of creating. On the other side, the user-friendly interface, easy-to-navigate pages, accessibility of the information in no time, and limitless space make it seem to be a perfect ‘reality’. To understand how the interface can construct a reality within its own space, one that is not alienating to the user and is perceived as a secondary digital space that can be navigated and understood, I propose, in the next section, to examine the spatial arrangement of digital space and how symbols and language are used to structure this space within the interface, allowing it to function as a commonly understood environment.