Risa Puno’s Playfully Interactive Art Asks the Big Questions

When I was reading things about privilege, and looking at the comments, and listening to discussions, it seemed like a lot of it was getting bogged down in language, especially the term “ privilege.” Games can operate as metaphors for larger social systems, so it seemed like a way to talk about the mechanics of privilege without having to get bogged down in the language. Let me back up, though. I played my first escape room when I was visiting my family in Kentucky over the holidays. I remember walking out of it and looking at my mom and saying: I have to make one of these. It was like a nerd sport: the competitive aspect of it, the very real emotions you feel in the room. You feel frustration, you feel confusion, you feel this strangely immense sense of accomplishment when you solve a problem or you escape the room. There was such a dopamine hit that came from that that it seemed like a very rich medium. If people could have these very real emotions in these overblown, thematic constructs — like, there’s a serial killer who’s going to come back and murder you in exactly 60 minutes, which, you know, is problematic and triggering in so many ways. I thought about: what are the things we really want to escape from in society? And I started toying with the idea of white supremacy, toxic masculinity. But it felt like it would just be a different version of those triggering, overblown themes. Simultaneously, I had been talking about privilege with people — trying to unpack the ways in which I have it, as well as trying to explain to people the ways in which I, and other people, don’t. The dynamics of privilege are actually quite simple. When some people are structurally disadvantaged, it makes it easier for other people to succeed. But when it affects real life and real people, how it reverberates over generations — that’s when it gets very complicated, and hard for some people to accept their complicity. I liked the idea of making it disarmingly playful. And when people are having fun, they’re more open to new ideas.

I don’t think so. If I could change anything, I would just find a way to run the game longer. These structures have existed for a very long time, but more people care now. I assume there would be more people willing to engage with the game now. I don’t know if I would change the piece, but I would love to sit in on some of the conversations that would happen now, after the game. At the end of The Privilege of Escape, the research analyst says, “This concludes the first of The Institute’s research. In the next phase we’ll be asking the question: if people know that the game is unfair, will they work together to change it? We hope you’ll join us.” I’ve been toying around with the sequel to the project and part of me thinks that now I’d be able to get support for it. But escape rooms are tricky at the moment because you’re all touching the same things and enclosed in a space together, so we’ll see!

I get tagged as a game designer now, but I think that I came at it as an enthusiast. I just love games. I made a nine-hole miniature golf course where each hole presented a different emotional obstacle to overcome. Things like that. It’s not like I had any formal background in it. It was just that — for example, with mini golf, I saw this potential for narrative. You have a goal; you have obstacles to that goal. The ball acts as an avatar for yourself. Thinking about that path, that journey, and the ability to have people be part of a story. That’s why I love to make interactive art, public art. I didn’t grow up in a family of artists. I was actually in an 8-year medical program at Brown University. Having a family that was often intimidated by contemporary art, I wanted to make work that was accessible, that anyone could feel part of. But no, I don’t have a game design background. I just really like games. It’s the language I speak. Some people speak in paint, some people speak in video. I speak in games. 

I do believe that the concept of escape, in general, is a privilege in itself. That you can potentially remove yourself from a difficult and uncomfortable situation, because that takes means, mobility. In terms of the corporate world and capitalism, it’s not so much a commentary, but I borrow from that language — less in the corporate sense and more in the pop culture sense. The Institute had its own branding, and there’s something about that authority — the belief that something’s a real thing if it’s well packaged. I’m using that language, trying to create a feel of this neutral, vaguely do-gooder but potentially problematic, ominous authority. And by “neutral,” I mean rooted in whiteness, really. Sometimes my work does touch on corporate things, like I had a project called Please Enable Cookies, where I traded homemade cookies for personal identifying information. The cookies actually have social media logos like Facebook, and Twitter, and Instagram. You would trade it for the last four of your social security number, or your mother’s maiden name, or your fingerprints, or a photo of your face. When people asked, “What are you doing with this data?,” I would turn over the form and there was, in 6-point font, a terms of service. And I would say: it’s all here, you can either participate or not. A lot of people were like: “Oh these cookies are free!” But are they? Or are they really expensive cookies? It’s something my work uses, but it’s not the main focus. There’s also this nostalgic Americana aspect in my work. My parents are from the Philippines, but we grew up in Kentucky. This idea of working hard to assimilate but not really feeling connected to American history and part of American culture. But I’m not really connected to Filipinx culture or history either. Maybe this is something I’m trying to sort out. 

I do want to address the question we ended the first escape room with. If people know that the game is unfair, if they benefit from it, are they willing to change it?