Jeroen Zwaap

Small, site-specific experiments allowed stories to emerge through interaction rather than control. In De Nieuwe Passage in The Hague, I explored how a shopping mall could become a narrative agent by linking visual and sonic systems: a body-mounted camera that produced a people-less 3D model, and a laptop translating light changes into rhythmic sound. Together, they revealed a tension between preservation and aliveness—showing technology as an active participant in meaning-making and turning the mall into a site of shared narrativity.

Small, site-specific experiments allowed meaning to emerge through interaction rather than control. In this experiment, I collaborated with storm Conall by translating shifts in light—caused by wind and trees—into sound. The result was not a recording but a sonic trace of an encounter between human, machine, and nature: a shared narrative space where the storm itself became a storyteller.

Small, site-specific experiments allowed stories to emerge through process rather than control. In Tokyo, I explored how sound could shape image by translating live city sounds into color — red for lows, green for mids, blue for highs. Each neighborhood created its own visual trace, revealing photography as a living process of listening, translation, and co-creation between city, technology, and time.

The Sensorium is an immersive, transductive installation; a space where environmental phenomena such as light, humidity, and plant breath are translated into sound. But more than that, the Sensorium is a site of shared perception, where the boundaries between sensing and being sensed dissolve.

The Watcher Within is a poetic, non-narrative film composed of found CCTV footage. It transforms surveillance imagery into a meditation on the internet’s gaze and the act of watching, where ordinary spaces become charged, living stages of human presence. The work invites viewers into the dynamics of voyeurism, making them complicit in turning everyday spaces into theatrical scenes.

Forgetting Man is a slow experiment with decay—of image, memory, and meaning. By reposting The Falling Man 1,140 times on Instagram, the image gradually erodes into a fragile residue of light and noise. The work exposes the fragility of digital memory and reflects on forgetting as a quiet, transformative form of remembrance.