Scanning this image from Vermis I: Lost Dungeons and Forbidden Woods by plastiboo1 made me consider the layers of processing necessary to make a reproduction similar to the original. To get this image to come close to the original image in Vermis, I had to not only use a high-resolution scanner with the matching software, but to distort the original itself. I had to hold the book at an awkward angle, pressing it against the glass of the scanner enough to grab the image clearly without causing the spine to crack or the pages to be damaged (While this was with my personal copy of Vermis and I do not mind a cracked spine and other signs of wear, I wanted to practice as if it were not my own book). Using a paperback copy likely helped this process but I still would have had to take additional time if I had wanted the complete page, as parts of the full page were cut off or too shadowed. Even with the portion clearly scanned, I had to add a sepia photo filter to achieve the closest possible reproduction of the original in the time allotted as the scanner had dramatically brightened the image. I also had to add a Gaussian blur in Photoshop to smooth the honeycomb texture the scanner adds to books.
Emma Stanford in “A Field Guide to Digital Surrogates” explains the long lineage of reproductions, photographs, and other surrogates used in the study of art history.2 Perhaps more importantly, Stanford argues that these surrogates often go unnoticed. They are such a necessary part of our study and pedagogical process that we no longer think of them as imperfect substitutions. If we do notice, we often do not think of just how distant our surrogates remain from the original artwork.
How far removed is my scan from the original image? Removing it from the book takes it out of context. It is also removed from the surrounding page graphics and faux signs of use that were cropped out. While that doesn’t make it useless for study, its use is not the same as the original image.
I can zoom in on the scanned image.
But what happens when the reproduction is all that remains of a work or the only accessible version?
I have mixed feelings on video game emulators. I acknowledge that they are invaluable for making video games accessible and have amazing archival potential. Despite legal challenges, emulators may be the only cost-effective, practical way to preserve some games. Still, what is lost when we consider a video game as software alone? Hardware is an important part of video-game art, whether the game is played on a console or a computer. Compatible hardware may no longer exist for the original physical game, making emulation a practical means of preserving access. Yet an emulator is still a surrogate, not a complete replacement for the original. Treating the code or software as the game itself can overlook the role of hardware in shaping the experience.
When an exhibit uses the same generic controller and display for all the games presented, what changes? Are the awkward shape and biting corners of an NES controller part of an NES game? I don’t believe there is a blanket answer to every exhibit, game, or situation. Without asking the question, we don’t explore other options.
How deep should the layers of surrogacy go? If original hardware could not be sourced, STL files for 3D models of consoles and controllers could probably be found. Is a printed hardware replica helpful surrogate or deception? Nintendo attracted considerable criticism after visitors discovered that its official museum relied on PC emulation.3 Nintendo has a long history of holding their copyright with an iron fist, pursuing legal action against mods and emulators. But when faced with presenting its own history, Nintendo also had to rely on the same surrogates used by game researchers to access their back catalog. Instead of facing this paradox, they attempted to hide it, using system controllers fed into a wall with the screen embedded above.
Even when the layers of surrogacy are not deliberately hidden, thinking of emulation in the same space as a slide projector in an art class calls into question what is included and what is excluded from the experience. The Internet Archive hosts playable MS-DOS games in it’s Software Library (Sorry not sorry for ruining any plans you had this evening if you didn’t know about this resource already).4 When you click play on a game, after a brief modern download screen for the emulator, a super-speed version of the DOS process of opening a DOS game flashes by. Are there circumstances where you should still have to type in the path in the blinking white text of the black DOS box while you frantically try to find the scrap of paper you wrote your save extension on? Should this process be part of the emulation? Should original load times or run times be emulated? Would doing so bring something valuable to the experience of video games as art? Would this surrogacy of nuance of experience be valuable or deceptive since modern technology does not require these processes?
Plastiboo, Vermis I : Lost Dungeons and Forbidden Woods : Official Guide, ed. Michele Nitri, with Marco Cirillo Pedri, Vermis 1 (2023; 11th printing, Hollow Press, 2026), Paperback (Regular Edition).
︎Emma Stanford, “A Field Guide to Digital Surrogates,” in The Routledge Companion to Digital Humanities and Art History, 1st ed., ed. Kathryn Brown (Routledge, 2020), https://doi.org/10.4324/9780429505188-19.
︎Andy Edser, “The Official Nintendo Museum Appears to Be Emulating SNES Games on a Windows PC, Which Is Slightly Embarrassing,” Hardware, PC Gamer, October 14, 2024, https://www.pcgamer.com/hardware/the-official-nintendo-museum-appears-to-be-emulating-snes-games-on-a-windows-pc-which-is-slightly-embarrassing/.
︎Internet Archive, “Software Library: MS-DOS Games,” Software Library: MS-DOS Games, accessed August 31, 2026, https://archive.org/details/softwarelibrary_msdos_games.
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