This is what I’m showing my kids is a series of cyanotype prints. These images are a compilation of found materials I gathered on my iPhone: Tumblr, YouTube, Instagram, the Safari search engine… etc. This work draws a parallel between the 19th-century cyanotype process and our modern digital imagery, I highlight the evolution of visual media and our consumption of information. The cyanotype, invented in 1842 by Sir John Herschel, was one of the earliest photographic techniques, used for creating blueprints and botanical studies. By employing this historical process to reproduce contemporary digital content, I create a temporal dissonance that invites reflection on how far our visual culture has progressed—and perhaps circled back. The deep Prussian blue of the cyanotypes, once a cutting-edge scientific tool, now serves as a tangible link between our digital present and photographic past. This juxtaposition not only emphasizes the rapid technological advancements in image creation and dissemination but also questions whether our fundamental relationship with images has truly changed over time. As we scroll through countless digital images daily, does the physicality of a cyanotype print alter our perception and interaction with these ubiquitous visuals? The images I worked with are often graphic (in regards to design or violence), absurd, and digitally produced. I have gathered a series of pictures I found to be appropriate in commentating on the popular culture of the 2020s. The gen-Z youthful desire for a Kimye (Kim Kardashian and Kanye West) kind of love, public and intense; the complacency with the rapid growth of internet-surveillance/ self-surveillance; the caricature of Justin Bieber and his representation of outgrowing heartthrob-hood; and our hyper fixation on early 2000s pieces of technology, somehow the bulkier the more dignified they are. These are images of handguns, profiles of the 2009’s iPhone 3GS, grills, screenshots of website links, surveillance footage screen-grabs, and absurd depictions of pop figures/ their faces. I cannot help to wonder, in an age of thriving media reproduction, what it means to reproduce the media that is accessible to me. Appropriating this digital culture I take part in, can I talk about the reproduction of images by reproducing these images myself? This body of work exists in the medium of cyanotype because of the print’s tactility. It’s all paper and chemistry, there are no visible screens involved. What does it mean for my source material to be taken out of their home- a phone/ the internet, and be placed abruptly onto such inescapable pieces of paper? Is the idea about teenage love, surveillance, violence, and idolatry the same once it’s placed outside the confines of the social media that feeds it? In creating this work, I've grappled with the ethical implications of reproducing found digital materials. This process raises questions about copyright and the nature of digital ownership in our interconnected internet landscape. By appropriating images from various online sources, I'm participating in the ongoing dialogue about fair use in art and the boundaries of creative transformation. The act of transferring these digital artifacts into physical cyanotypes blurs the lines between original creation and reproduction, challenging traditional notions of authorship. This work thus also becomes a meditation on the responsibility of artists in the digital age, prompting all of us to ask:  how we can ethically engage with and comment on the vast ocean of online content that surrounds us. By bringing these ethical considerations to the forefront, I invite people to reflect on their own digital consumption habits and the implications of sharing, reproducing, and transforming online content. The physicality of cyanotypes presents this contrast to the ephemeral nature of digital content, prompting reflection on the concepts of permanence, archiving, and the longevity of information in our digital age. While online images can be deleted, altered, or lost in the vast sea of data with a simple click, these cyanotype prints offer a tangible, enduring presence. The chemical impressions on paper resist the volatility of digital platforms, where content can vanish or transform instantly. This permanence raises questions about the value we assign to digital versus physical artifacts. In an era where our memories and experiences are increasingly stored in cloud servers and social media accounts, what does it mean to transform fleeting digital moments into lasting physical objects? The cyanotype process becomes a form of archiving, preserving snapshots of our digital culture in a medium that may outlast the very platforms they originated from. This juxtaposition invites us to consider the impermanence of our online lives and the potential loss of digital heritage, while also exploring the role of physical artifacts in an increasingly virtual world. This is what I’m showing my kids materializes as a tangible scroll (noun), bridging ancient storytelling traditions with our modern digital habits. By transforming the passive act of digital scrolling (verb) into a deliberate physical interaction, I invite viewers to engage more deeply with these images. The scroll format demands a different kind of attention—one that is more contemplative and intentional. As the audience unfurls the cyanotype prints, they are compelled to pause and consider each image both individually and as part of a larger narrative. This physical engagement encourages a reevaluation of content often consumed mindlessly in digital spaces. When removed from the rapid-fire context of social media and placed in the unhurried medium of a hand-held scroll, these images take on new significance. Through this work, I explore this shift in meaning that occurs when transferring images from digital to physical formats, challenging viewers to reconsider how the medium affects our understanding and retention of visual information.