Digital America interviewed Julianne Aguilar in November of 2024 about her work julianne.
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Digital America: julianne (2024) acts as a self-portrait that investigates our appearance and disappearance on the internet. You mention in your artist statement that “The internet once promised to be a beautiful place of free information, loving connection, and creative expression” and “was a lovingly handcrafted place that reflected the unique aesthetics of the user.” This reminds me of early community boards and early hypermedia before platforms and search engines dominated the web. In what ways does julianne reflect a reminiscence of the early internet aesthetically and experientially?
Julliane Aguilar: Way back when, back in the late 90s/early 2000s, there was a network of homepages made by girls and young women. Links would get exchanged, they spread by word of mouth. Really organic discovery. Many of these girls had journals. This was before LiveJournal, or any blogging platform. These websites were hosted on Angelfire and Geocities. These girls were journaling about their private lives, all of which seemed more glamorous and exciting than my own. They were fearlessly putting themselves out there, showing themselves to whoever took the time to read.
I’ve always felt very inspired by that. Not only because they were revealing themselves so readily, but because they had to go through the trouble of building the platform to do it. In this piece, julianne looks up at the URL bar just as she’s about to disappear. Our online selves are so strong, and yet so fragile. I don’t want any of us to disappear like that, but it’s not up to me. Everything changes, nothing is permanent. I know that, but it’s a difficult reality to accept. All those early internet journals are gone now. I know I can’t be the only one who remembers them, but it still makes me sad. I hope all those girls are doing ok. I hope julianne lives forever, though I know that one day, she too will become a memory that no one can google.
DigA: You say that you don’t often put yourself in your artwork, but you felt the need to “be seen, and heard” in response to those currently in power. However, after visiting works such as nirvana and dreams amongst others, I notice personal reflections woven throughout your art. You even write that your artist website is “lovingly hand-coded by me”—can you talk about the significance of using your likeness in julianne.
JA: I both crave and fear being noticed. I usually cut the difference by making super personal works like the ones you mentioned, but then hiding behind the plausible deniability of pop culture or less scrutable visuals. I suppose the changing political environment, paired with approaching 40, has made me feel a little bolder about putting my actual face into my work. And still, when I watch this piece, I feel like I’m looking at someone else, and I feel so sorry for her. She’s so small. Her place in the world is so tenuous. This little space, this little website, can be all her own. There’s no worry or stress or pain there. Just the code that lets her live.
DigA: The present internet is fueled by an attention-based economy, with applications and industries fighting for more clicks, more users, and more interaction. julianne, like your other works such as feelgodream and tuesday, is slower-paced and mysterious, creating space and time for the user to exist with the work. How do you work with time and attention (or lack thereof) within your work?
JA: I readily acknowledge that a lot of my work will not hold everyone’s attention, and I’m ok with that. But I also think there’s more of a craving out there for slower, soothing web experiences than we think. I don’t get too caught up in wondering if something I’m making will hold someone’s attention. Either it will or it won’t, just like any other piece of media out there. As far as time goes, I experiment a lot with pacing in my work. I don’t want a piece to outstay its welcome, nor do I want it to feel cheap. I’ve found that my personal sweet spot for timing is 4-5 minutes. I feel I can comfortably say what I want to say in that time.
DigA: Upon first viewing of julianne, the user is invited to press “Login” and “Logout”, but interaction with your GIF is limited. Can you talk about how you approach the concept of being both touchable and untouchable within the piece?
JA: I feel that’s the experience of revealing yourself in any way on the internet. There’s a sense of intimacy that’s at least partially fabricated. Touch is invited, but impossible. There’s safety in that, but also vulnerability. Do you want to touch me? Go ahead. I won’t feel it. But you will. We’re together, but we’re alone. I’m here, but I’m not. I’m all yours, but I don’t know you. The connection begins and ends with a click, but that click is as loud as a cannon. If that’s all I have to offer the world, then it will have to do.
DigA: You say that you are “doing your part, one website at a time.” What website or project are you working on now to fulfill the promises of the World Wide Web?
JA: I always have a handful of websites in progress at any given time. I have a short story that I’ve been picking away at for the last few years that I’d like to turn into a web-based experience. It’s about magic and love and curses. But I don’t think it’s just art that makes the internet beautiful. There are many little ways we can make the World Wide Web a more visually appealing place. There’s a movement out there of people who are hand coding their personal websites, or even making HTML-only websites, which is awesome. A website doesn’t have to be this big, impersonal thing. It can be smaller, bespoke, quick, fearless. We’ll never get Geocities back, but we can take more control over how we portray ourselves on the internet. We just have to learn a few lines of code. And that’s the real magic.
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Check out Julianne Aguilar’s work julianne.
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Julianne Aguilar is an artist, writer, and narrative designer. She’s an internet optimist, and believes there’s still beauty to be found on the World Wide Web. She has an MFA, and she’s shown work at various art spaces, and has been published by various publications, but what’s important is that she’s consistently had a handmade web presence since the late 90s. When she wants to feel inspired, she plays Quake. She’s originally from Texas, and now lives in New Mexico.
