An invitation is a delicate thing, filled with the sender's hopes of seeing you at a specific place and time. They come in many forms; some require an RSVP, others are mass-mailed for promotional purposes. Somewhere in between lies the show card. A show card exists for promotion and a reminder but also as an invitation. Like many things in the art world, promotion is somewhat overlooked or shunned. As a hypermedia artist, an invitation or show card may be the only real physical piece that exists as a traditional object. In response, I decided to make my show card a slightly more involved affair.

Early on in my thesis, I knew I wouldn't be creating objects that easily enter the world of commerce. They exist somewhere between experience and game. The objects that arise are merely prisms to view and lens an idea best expressed through an experience as a hybrid form or a piece of hypermedia. The show card had to be a thing. It was inescapable. So, I chose to invest in it and make it the one sellable piece, and I intend to sell it out. For this, you have all my apologies.

Invite/Archive exists in 3 parts and 3 acts. The physical parts are the invitation(the show card itself), the visitation card, and the return card. The 3 acts are broken up into online experiences. Act one is the lead-up to the opening, comprised of documentation and build-up hype through an email newsletter subscription. Act two serves as a reminder of the opening with updates on the interaction between the visitation card and the return card, documented with reminders of when the artist was present. Act Three starts upon the show's closing, and the archive becomes live as an HTML expression of the documentation generated throughout the show's week-long duration.

The invitation or show card is a laser-cut QR code with a mash-up of the lyrics of two songs that deal with my feelings about invitations. On the one hand, I want everyone invited. I want everyone to be in this place and always desire it to exist;

You are invited. You are so needed… "You Are Invited." Emergency & I, by The Dismemberment Plan, DeSoto Records, 1999.

and because of this,

I feel naive. I feel so naive. "Naive." The Return of the Rentals, by The Rentals, Maverick Records, 1995.

The QR code links to a website that will become an archive of the show. That is the only way I know to make anything exist forever. And even that is a naive feeling, knowing deep down that tech is fleeting, everchanging, and ever malleable. The second part of the invitation is a Visitation Card. One can consider it an elaborate RSVP. Each Visitation card represents one of the 256 pixels that comprise the character Link from The Legend of Zelda. This second piece returns to this space of invitation and memorializes that mixture of hope and naivete the invitation represents. The visitation card can be exchanged on-site and placed in a wall piece. The goal is for everyone who purchases an invitation to mark their visit by transitioning the link from a defensive posture to a link animation state where he has received yet another tool of progress.

The third part is the note on the back of the defensive posture cards. The exchange is personal. I'll know through commerce who supports me. The visitation cards can be returned to me instead of meatspace presence so I can send the personal note from the defensive posture. An Action that closes the loop of invitation and visitation. I can't expect everyone to be there, but their support of the show will have enabled me to achieve and create the show. It's fitting that they have a little piece of it returned to them with my gratitude.

The three acts of the invite and archive piece are represented by shifting tangible objects to the intangible flux of HTML. The first act is the purchase of access. In buying the invitation card, you receive a transparent QR code and links to an interactive piece where the supporter is engaged in a short, randomized experience of the lyrics cut into the card. After the minimum possible attempts, visitors are invited to subscribe to a newsletter. The newsletter treats them as a supporter, much like Kickstarter. Their purchase gives them access to the most recent updates on the show's progress. Things will change, erasures and edits will be made, and as a supporter, they will receive a front-row seat in the many ways I can show progress and ROI for my lovely supporters.

Once the show opens, the second act begins. Physically, the visitation cards manifest either through in-person action or redemption through old-fashioned post mail, internationally and domestically. Online, the newsletter and previews switch to reminders to attend and open hours, as well as updates on the status of the visitation display. The show will only remain open for a week, so this second act remains short and sweet.

The third and final act is the final archive of the show to the web. We find ourselves enmeshed in the blending of the physical and the digital space. A simple invitation QR code forever linked to the archive of my thesis show. All the myriad of decisions and zig-zag switchbacks and turnabouts will remain intact as a reminder of this experiment in hypermedia. For better or worse. Married forever and buried in the depths of the web with 256 QR codes and their inflated pixel counterpart, a link to the past of a semi-abandoned future.

The interaction of these three parts and 3 acts creates a playing field where hope and commerce collide. Is a thesis show worth this much effort? Maybe. Will it sell out? Probably not. The visitation card and return card are the leavings of hope unrealized but prepared for. This refers to the old visitor counters that used to be on every web page. A little snippet of code preparing for the author’s hope of validity through numbers. The very bedrock of our internet experience today. Validity through pageviews, subscriptions, and likes. Little counters, blown out of proportion and made a stand-in for credibility, truth, and reality.