 Sound Sculpture One month ago, near the end of February, I stayed in Surrey near the Surrey Art Gallery, so I went to see what was on display. The main room contained a curious installation which I’d heard about from someone who had seen it earlier in the year. It was a sound installation by artist Janet Cardiff. I was vaguely familiar with her after having read reviews of the sound-based sculptures she installed in Europe, but this was the first time I’d attended an exhibit. I don’t know if ‘exhibit’ is the right word for such an artwork; with the exception of a large elliptical area formed by about 50 inwardly pointing speakers on stands, sound was the essence of the artwork. The sound was provided by the voices of a choir (I don’t recall the name of the choir) and this constituted the sound sculpture. The viewer, or in this case, listener, entered the elliptical space and interacted with the voices as they wished. There were chairs set at the very centre of the speakers, but I shunned those immediately because I felt that sitting immobile would be tantamount to just listening to a choir. Instead I stopped by the nearest speaker and began walking in the direction of the loudest section of the choir. Each section of voices sang for a short duration so I covered a lot of ground. As I reached each bank of speakers I turned my back and imagined myself a mute in a group of singers with all the voices coming over my shoulder. After a few minutes I became familiar with several of the speaker voices. So I chose just one speaker and listened while it emanated a very low voice, and a very high voice. As the choir sang, various voices fell silent, and I noticed a relationship between the voice to which I listened, and all the other voices. It was as if I could feel this voice’s place in the invisible ensemble. It was my first time hearing a sound installation in an art gallery, but not my first experience with sound sculpture. This morning it’s near the end of March, I’ve returned to the Cariboo and decided to treat myself to a similar performance. This time the space is a shoreline on a small lake and the choir is the dawn voices of birds. As darkness cloaks the lakeshore, I have my coffee in hand and I’ve seated myself on a wooden structure on a wharf. Snow covered ice spreads outwards to every shore and a light breeze blows from the east. The sky is clouded and a red glow to the east is the only suggestion that morning is on its way. The first sound is the strident clamoring of Canada Geese. Long before seeing them, their racket suggests at least one flock, but instead just one pair pass by noisily. Their voices are reminiscent of hack-saw blades sawing through thin sheets of tin. Black shoreline bumps returned the Canada’s clamor. Obviously, some geese were already standing on the ice. From across the lake one Raven croaked, then another. From the direction of the house came another Raven sound; this time a pleasant murmuring. A Robin started up. ‘Zee-pup’ it repeated, a moderate alarm sound, no doubt the Robin was still a little disturbed by the darkness which might hide a hungry Owl. >From across the lake Red-winged Black birds began a cacophony of noise filled with “er-lee” sounds, and bubbling vocals. Interspersed with rollicking Red-winged Black bird voices came the occasional call of the Yellow-headed Blackbird - a terse statement, an expletive which sometimes sounds like ‘Wee-kowk’ but some hear as another familiar angry suggestion. As the darkness relents, the pleasant sound of a male Black-capped Chickadee begins. Some hear its call as “hi sweety” but I hear the call as “he did it.” I call this song, the fink song. Now many other birds join in. A flock of Evening Grosbeaks cheer from across the lake; their voices appear as streaks in a growing wall of sound. Siskins chime in; their rising emphatic mini-trumpets heralding the day. A Woodpecker, though essentially voiceless did not want to be left out, so it rapidly drummed ‘Grawwwrr.’ A Hairy Woodpecker I confidently decided. Soon bird sound overlapped bird sound, and I broke the spell by looking around. Light crept its way under the trees and night was at an end. I had immersed myself in the audio sculpture of nature – sound in the round. I rose from the wooden bench and returned along the dock to the cattail margin. There was no guest book to sign and no particular artist to credit. There was only the sound of life all about, a sound that sometimes reaches a union inside the listener, if he becomes very still, still enough to listen until he hears. To e-mail Tom CLICK HERE To look at previous column CLICK HERE |
