issue #3 Here we are again, Little Gis, Little Gat, issue #3. I’m glad you’re here. Each month as I begin putting together this newsletter, I ask myself, “wait, what is this, why am I doing this, is t
issue #3
Here we are again, Little Gis, Little Gat, issue #3. I’m glad you’re here.
Each month as I begin putting together this newsletter, I ask myself, “wait, what is this, why am I doing this, is this even interesting, does anyone even care, do I care, what’s the point of it, am I just yelling into the void, etc., etc., etc.?” Sometimes I come up with an answer that satisfies for a little bit, other times I don’t. Regardless of where I land, I maintain a fundamental belief in the process of discovery, the following of one’s own interests and passion purely for the sake of it.
With that said, let’s see where this thing leads.
Some things I’m thinking about
I gravitate towards work that softens the edges of our everyday experience and spaces. Work that is gentle and unassuming. Really, I like when a piece of music, design, art or landscape makes me feel more at home in the world, as if I’m supported and helped along by my environment instead of alienated and aggravated by it.
Over the coming months I’ll be exploring this idea through a series of work, ideas and thoughts revolving around environmental sound design, specifically, for our everyday environments and public spaces called, Public Works as Public Art. The series will explore some ways our public spaces could sound, and how intentional environmental sound design could soften the hard edges of the places we inhabit.
Some things I made
Public Works as Public Art Crosswalk Drone
A subtle drone designed to exist as an equal part of the environment, not louder and not softer than the birds or cars, but in concert with them. Created from wind chime tones
Public Works as Public Art Crosswalk Button
Celeste tones designed to accent the tactile and interactive quality of pressing the crosswalk button.
When I first learned about Max Neuhaus in art school I was immediately attracted to his work. In particular, I was drawn to his piece titled, Times Square which features sound generators installed beneath subway grates in Times Square that constantly generate an ambient drone. There’s no plaque acknowledging the work, and if you didn’t know it existed you’d likely never notice it, or if you did, you’d think it was the subway droning on beneath you.
There’s a quality to this work that speaks deeply to me. It demonstrates the direct and primal impact sound has on us without us ever consciously knowing it exists. It also speaks to the idea of phenomenology, and the always present potential of being snapped out of our slumbers and malaise and into the present, caught of guard and slack jawed by the equivalent of a whisper.
It’s obvious the way we are all moved by sound, the information it tells us about the world, and the way it connects us. Without the sweeping orchestral score, the scene when Elliot and E.T. lift off on their bikes is far less moving. Without the band on stage we are all left feeling more alone and unaware of what transcendence can feel like. But, what I think has always swirled in my mind most about Neuhaus’s Times Square is the potential of being moved by sound in far less obvious ways, especially within the chaos and loudness of an environment like Times Square.
“We all live our lives dangerously, in a state of jeopardy, at the edge of calamity. You have discovered that the veil that separates your ordered life from disarray is wafer thin. This is the ordinary truth of existence from which none of as are exempt. In time we all find out we are not in control. We never were. We never will be.”
I love Nick Cave so much. If he were a cult leader, I’d join his cult.
