Hi there, this is my first post/monthly newsletter, Little gis, Little gat.
This is an experiment and an attempt to share more of myself with you my friend, colleague and/or collaborator.
The primary focus of the newsletter will be on things you can hear. I’ll be sharing my work and interest in environmental sound design, sensory urbanism, art, music, plants/nature/landscape design and architecture, psychology and things that bring me joy, all in an attempt to offer a glimpse into my little corner of the world.
I welcome your engagement, so please reach out if anything strikes you and you want to talk more, or next time we see each other in person, let’s chat about it!
I’ve always longed for a more pleasant way to wake up. I’m not a morning person and so the more I can foster a gentle, soft and warm entry to the day, the better. A few years ago I decided to make my own alarm clock sounds.
Influenced tonally by Brian Eno’s Music For Airports, and conceptually by Max Neuhaus’s Time Piece Beacon (2005)and Silent Alarm Clock, Good Morning utilizes a subtle combination of morning birdsong, minimal Rhodes piano and string beds, designed to wake the sleeper softly, easing them into their day. Often the alarm is noticed only when it disappears, leaving the ambient environment absent of something, which in turn wakes the sleeper with silence rather than sound. This is most notably present in the piece titled Warmer which gradually increases in volume and density from complete silence over the course of 2 minutes, and abruptly ceases at it’s peak.
Listen and download the 4 alarms (Morning Bird, Morning Glory, Softest and Warmer)
I recently collected all of my music available for licensing into one convenient location here. The catalog can easily be searched by instrument, mood, tempo, genre or via curated playlists, and will be updated regularly with new music.
Send me an email if you are looking to license one of my pieces for your project. All tracks are customizable and can be tailored to a project’s specific needs.
I Heard It In A Magazine is an online destination for sound culture and the listening-obsessed.
They cover sound across our human experience by exploring how sound shapes our lives and drives the world forward, offering coverage of how sound is used in film, art, science, the internet, and everywhere else.
Launched by audio professionals during the pandemic, they aim to connect our global community, elevate sound as art, emphasize the importance of listening, and make concepts of audio accessible.
Some things I’m thinking about
Plants as future kindness
As spring is nearing and bulbs are pushing up through the ground I’ve been thinking about this idea quite a lot. When I tend to the land that has been lent to me, my tending becomes a present and future kindness. There is present kindness towards myself: I feel pleasure from planning, designing, digging, planting, checking each day for new growth. There is a present kindness towards the land and ecosystem: providing pollinator plants, rejuvenating soil, shelter for wildlife, oxygen and CO2 absorption. And there’s present kindness for others: friends and neighbors experience comfort and joy from being surrounded by plants, the color green, the sound of crickets.
The above are all examples of a present kindness, but it also enacts a future kindness. For my future self that will feel relief upon the sight of new spring growth, the future self that will feel protected and engulfed by plants that provide privacy and sound deflection/absorption, my future self that will forget and be surprised year after year by the way something flowers, the bulbs I buried, the way grasses turn gold in the summer and sway.
There’s future kindness and connection for others too. When I move from my current home, the next people to inhabit the space will benefit from mature plantings, surprise flowerings, a rich sensory experience, much the way I’ve benefited from generations that have planted before me. We become connected through these acts of kindness, joy and pleasure.
I think there’s something really wonderful about this idea. The byproduct of choosing and pursuing joy and pleasure for ourselves, becomes joy and pleasure for others in the present and future. Despite whether it’s even consciously recognized, we are all undoubtedly impacted. I’d argue it’s all the better that it’s invisible, that we don’t think about the hands that make it, that we just experience it as if it’s always been, and we are moved and connected, and at times drawn out of our unconsciousness and into our bodies and the spaces we inhabit.
Some things that brought me joy
Every February, the Portland, Oregon skies feel extra grey and heavy, oppressive really, and spring and summer feel years away.
In years past I’ve been walking down a neighborhood sidewalk thinking of nothing, or everything, and all of the sudden been swept off of my feet by the sweetest and strongest and loveliest perfume you could imagine. I take another step and the smell is gone as if it was a thin, invisible dimension that I passed through. I’ve looked around for something as visually bold as the smell and find nothing aside from some simple evergreen shrubs.
It wasn’t until a few years ago that through extensive sniffing I found the source…well two sources. One is the lovely Daphne Odora and the other is Sarcococca (also known as Sweet Box, which is the perfect, mildly sexual name).
In 2020 I bought my first home and designed my front garden (more on this in a later newsletter). When deciding on plantings I wanted to be sure to include some of these wonderful plants right by the front door so that when the winter blues are weighing me or my mail carrier down, out of nowhere we will find ourselves struck by an exotic and truly divine smell coming from god knows where, but reminding us that no feeling is final, and that, yes, spring will return. These past few weeks I can’t help but to crouch down each time I pass my tiny plants and breathe in.
