Wednesday, December 3, 2008
An Evening with Sound Artist Aaron Ximm
Aaron Ximm is a field recorder whom I had the pleasure of meeting and experiencing two of his most recent works. Not entirely sure of what to expect from the event I headed over to his website, www.quietamerican.org in search for a bit of background information. Conveniently filed under comments/writings, Aaron provides his artist statement for the project and also imparts his perspective on the act of leaving or what it means to be an outsider or the observer. He wishes to accomplish a number of objectives so that one can wander through various levels of consciousness in order to trigger certain personal stories or memories. By this process, Aaron understands that although he captures these soundscapes to preserve his own memories, he also realizes that manipulation of said memories can help induce similar experiences in the drifting minds of his audience.
Before the commencement of the show, Aaron briefly describes his purpose and the proceedings. He invites his listeners to relax and to allow oneself to drift into a shallow slumber. The lights dimmed off swallowing the room in a void of darkness.
Slowing the sounds of machinery can be heard and soon an organic world begins to materialize within my mind. From a distance a train can be heard steadily approaching. As the large steel wheels of the train travel across the room, I open my eyes, still unable to physically see anything. I felt very uneasy sitting in a pitch black auditorium with so many familiar, yet unfamiliar sounds enclosing around me. However, this feeling of anxiousness was one quite memorable of the experiences I had during the drifts/treks last semester in film 116. As sound artists, both Aaron Ximm and Glenn Bach believe that in order to capture worthy recordings one needs to exit their comfort zones. Aaron performs this practice by traveling to other countries. Of course we may not all operate on such a grand budget and in light Glenn’s solution is to commit to four hour long walks.
Aaron made a distinct choice to present his work in darkness. That choice helps our minds isolate and focus purely on sonic stimuli. Another reason why Aaron might have made this decision is so that he forces us out of our comfort zone making us not only vulnerable to perhaps concealed memories in my instance, but also to insight and resolution. Another interesting feature of presenting in this fashion is how much heavier silence feels when vision is unavailable.
There were a few instances in Aaron’s first piece where the “noise” would fade out exposing low ominous tones. Slowly the harmonies evolve into a different but associated environment. This evolution of sound was particularly one of the more interesting aspects of that evening. There are two general layers of sound combined. There was a sense of recognizable ambiance that on occasion would grow faint revealing a hum or whirring mechanism of some kind. This of course was coalesce rhythmically.
Aaron uses the absence of certain sounds to create emphasis for others. He creates a dynamic experience in which one can imagine the setting where he might be in, but would rather prefer if you brought your own story in order to personalize and complete the work.
The second piece of sound art that Aaron presented was the documentation of his wife giving birth to their first child. I, like another member of the audience had already dozed off and was abruptly awaken by terrible intense groans of some kind. Initially, I thought these were the sounds of perhaps an ox or another kind of large animal in distress. The entire track was quite obscure and ambiguous to any kind of deciphering. It’s ironic that such a natural and common event felt reasonably haunting and other worldly. The silence between each contraction functioned to create tension and anticipation. Other than his wife’s voice, I don’t recall many other layers of sound. I believe there was a droning underneath the duration of the piece, however other than that, Aaron appears to focus his efforts in recontextualizing the experience into one that provokes the imagination into thoughts that are discomforting.
I imagine this strategy helps the audience share a similar state of concern that Aaron encountered, while simultaneously setting aside enough room for creative interpretation. At the conclusion of the composition we are granted the gift of innocence. Out of much pain and suffering is born the endowment of true love and euphoria. We hear his son’s precious voice and are rewarded for our patience.
Both of these works generated two distinct responses, yet I believe his approaches and/or strategies in constructing the two were fairly similar. Aaron incorporates silence as a technique to emphasize and isolate. He takes advantage of silence not on its own, but in conjunction with a singular sound. In this way, he is able assemble a symphony of natural resonances that can bring to mind unusual and surprising images. Time is another factor Aaron is considerate of. As time advances he adds supplementary layers of acoustics that help to conceive of a space, formed from one’s mind and influenced by his ears.
In the end, what is most important to take from this experience is that we are all “outsiders.” We are outsiders to other countries and sometimes even our own, however there’s no harm in this. In fact, to be an outsider is to wrestle the unknown and accept foreign ideas and perceptions. As a result, empathy grows and inspiration becomes international.
Before the commencement of the show, Aaron briefly describes his purpose and the proceedings. He invites his listeners to relax and to allow oneself to drift into a shallow slumber. The lights dimmed off swallowing the room in a void of darkness.
Slowing the sounds of machinery can be heard and soon an organic world begins to materialize within my mind. From a distance a train can be heard steadily approaching. As the large steel wheels of the train travel across the room, I open my eyes, still unable to physically see anything. I felt very uneasy sitting in a pitch black auditorium with so many familiar, yet unfamiliar sounds enclosing around me. However, this feeling of anxiousness was one quite memorable of the experiences I had during the drifts/treks last semester in film 116. As sound artists, both Aaron Ximm and Glenn Bach believe that in order to capture worthy recordings one needs to exit their comfort zones. Aaron performs this practice by traveling to other countries. Of course we may not all operate on such a grand budget and in light Glenn’s solution is to commit to four hour long walks.
Aaron made a distinct choice to present his work in darkness. That choice helps our minds isolate and focus purely on sonic stimuli. Another reason why Aaron might have made this decision is so that he forces us out of our comfort zone making us not only vulnerable to perhaps concealed memories in my instance, but also to insight and resolution. Another interesting feature of presenting in this fashion is how much heavier silence feels when vision is unavailable.
There were a few instances in Aaron’s first piece where the “noise” would fade out exposing low ominous tones. Slowly the harmonies evolve into a different but associated environment. This evolution of sound was particularly one of the more interesting aspects of that evening. There are two general layers of sound combined. There was a sense of recognizable ambiance that on occasion would grow faint revealing a hum or whirring mechanism of some kind. This of course was coalesce rhythmically.
Aaron uses the absence of certain sounds to create emphasis for others. He creates a dynamic experience in which one can imagine the setting where he might be in, but would rather prefer if you brought your own story in order to personalize and complete the work.
The second piece of sound art that Aaron presented was the documentation of his wife giving birth to their first child. I, like another member of the audience had already dozed off and was abruptly awaken by terrible intense groans of some kind. Initially, I thought these were the sounds of perhaps an ox or another kind of large animal in distress. The entire track was quite obscure and ambiguous to any kind of deciphering. It’s ironic that such a natural and common event felt reasonably haunting and other worldly. The silence between each contraction functioned to create tension and anticipation. Other than his wife’s voice, I don’t recall many other layers of sound. I believe there was a droning underneath the duration of the piece, however other than that, Aaron appears to focus his efforts in recontextualizing the experience into one that provokes the imagination into thoughts that are discomforting.
I imagine this strategy helps the audience share a similar state of concern that Aaron encountered, while simultaneously setting aside enough room for creative interpretation. At the conclusion of the composition we are granted the gift of innocence. Out of much pain and suffering is born the endowment of true love and euphoria. We hear his son’s precious voice and are rewarded for our patience.
Both of these works generated two distinct responses, yet I believe his approaches and/or strategies in constructing the two were fairly similar. Aaron incorporates silence as a technique to emphasize and isolate. He takes advantage of silence not on its own, but in conjunction with a singular sound. In this way, he is able assemble a symphony of natural resonances that can bring to mind unusual and surprising images. Time is another factor Aaron is considerate of. As time advances he adds supplementary layers of acoustics that help to conceive of a space, formed from one’s mind and influenced by his ears.
In the end, what is most important to take from this experience is that we are all “outsiders.” We are outsiders to other countries and sometimes even our own, however there’s no harm in this. In fact, to be an outsider is to wrestle the unknown and accept foreign ideas and perceptions. As a result, empathy grows and inspiration becomes international.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Act/React Response
The act/react exhibition is an event that invites curiosity, experimentation, contemplation and communicative relationships not only with the interface of the pieces themselves but with one’s self as well. Each installation offers unique and creative styles of interactivity intended to bring to surface the means by which sensational communication can manifest. Not all dialogues adopt the form of text. Conversation is a system by which information is absorbed, interpreted and usually followed by a response. Stimulation can be diverse ranging from text, words read or heard, and visual stimuli from colors, movement, composition and even sonic environments that are clearly familiar or ominous. Some of the work at the gallery had only one stimulus; however the more interesting and engaging pieces had several.
I found the installations constructed by Daniel Rozin and Janet Cardiff to be the most captivating. Daniel Rozin’s work Snow Mirror is a beautiful recreation of a poetic snowfall. A quick glance from the entrance attracted and encouraged my eagerness to enter the space. Upon entering the dark room one immediately is compressed onto the hanging screen at which point the falling ashes begin to distinguish your presence within it. No sounds could be heard. At first it appears as if the purpose of this piece is to play with the virtual particles and maybe reminisce of childhood winters. What I found to be of better interest was how the image of me was positioned from a low angle. This conscious choice made by Rozin never really allowed me to look directly at myself. Forced to gaze onto myself represented in such a gesture that implied power and authority and yet I had none was very interesting to me. This act of looking is not to be read as a reflection. This is an act of looking at how one observes oneself through the eyes or in this case, the eye of something else. I felt as if every pixel is symbolic to the objective eye. Each white flake represented someone’s vision upon my body. As more snow accumulates I gain a better view of myself, but still that figure is obscure because appearance is not the only factor that contributes to my identity.
Janet Cardiff’s To Touch was another installment that I could spend infinite hours with. I approached the various works in the exhibition through a two-step process of emotional experimentation and systematic explanation. In the room where Cardiff’s work was set up was a single worn down table. I circled the table a few times until I found a spot, stain, crevice or scratch that seemed complex with personality. As I ran my finger down the long and troubled scratch a women’s voice whispers behind me. Her words were interesting. She spoke of pain and misfortune. I listened attentively to her voice for a few seconds and imagined her descriptions unfold in my mind. She pauses for a breath, only her voice does not return. Understanding that I must physically interact with the table to hear more I begin to pass my hand all over the dry and splintery wood. In the pursuit of discovering the table’s response to chaotic and indiscriminate movement versus one or two light touches spaced far apart in time I began touching every part of the table as fast as I could. Soon, many voices began to speak over one another. The volume reached higher and higher levels. Dialogues that barely made any sense before make even less now as the ideas begin to contradict themselves. Gunshots can be heard in the background and then suddenly a car crashes. When I heard the tires screech and smack into I assume another vehicle I stopped moving. I literary thought what have I done? Only a few seconds ago I had witnessed an accident, but now it has amounted to nothing but a memory. The room is silent. I leave feeling that somehow my experience or memory has too become inscribed into the wise and elder table.
I think these two pieces are similar in that they both tend to conjure memories but dissimilar in their approach. Snow Mirror made me recall all the small sounds of winter or the lack there of, which is why I feel there were no sounds accompanied in this work. I thought of how differently snow crunches depending on how cold it is outside and how there are no chirping yellow birds. I thought of how snow erases everything, but here it actually made me visible. However, in To Touch memories were brought about by verbal association and less visual stimulation. Of course the table itself did have me considering how time accumulates and manifest itself through features like scratches, rust, or mold. Cardiff’s work allowed me to consider past versus present versus future and how they might all collapse onto one object, place or being.
I found the installations constructed by Daniel Rozin and Janet Cardiff to be the most captivating. Daniel Rozin’s work Snow Mirror is a beautiful recreation of a poetic snowfall. A quick glance from the entrance attracted and encouraged my eagerness to enter the space. Upon entering the dark room one immediately is compressed onto the hanging screen at which point the falling ashes begin to distinguish your presence within it. No sounds could be heard. At first it appears as if the purpose of this piece is to play with the virtual particles and maybe reminisce of childhood winters. What I found to be of better interest was how the image of me was positioned from a low angle. This conscious choice made by Rozin never really allowed me to look directly at myself. Forced to gaze onto myself represented in such a gesture that implied power and authority and yet I had none was very interesting to me. This act of looking is not to be read as a reflection. This is an act of looking at how one observes oneself through the eyes or in this case, the eye of something else. I felt as if every pixel is symbolic to the objective eye. Each white flake represented someone’s vision upon my body. As more snow accumulates I gain a better view of myself, but still that figure is obscure because appearance is not the only factor that contributes to my identity.
Janet Cardiff’s To Touch was another installment that I could spend infinite hours with. I approached the various works in the exhibition through a two-step process of emotional experimentation and systematic explanation. In the room where Cardiff’s work was set up was a single worn down table. I circled the table a few times until I found a spot, stain, crevice or scratch that seemed complex with personality. As I ran my finger down the long and troubled scratch a women’s voice whispers behind me. Her words were interesting. She spoke of pain and misfortune. I listened attentively to her voice for a few seconds and imagined her descriptions unfold in my mind. She pauses for a breath, only her voice does not return. Understanding that I must physically interact with the table to hear more I begin to pass my hand all over the dry and splintery wood. In the pursuit of discovering the table’s response to chaotic and indiscriminate movement versus one or two light touches spaced far apart in time I began touching every part of the table as fast as I could. Soon, many voices began to speak over one another. The volume reached higher and higher levels. Dialogues that barely made any sense before make even less now as the ideas begin to contradict themselves. Gunshots can be heard in the background and then suddenly a car crashes. When I heard the tires screech and smack into I assume another vehicle I stopped moving. I literary thought what have I done? Only a few seconds ago I had witnessed an accident, but now it has amounted to nothing but a memory. The room is silent. I leave feeling that somehow my experience or memory has too become inscribed into the wise and elder table.
I think these two pieces are similar in that they both tend to conjure memories but dissimilar in their approach. Snow Mirror made me recall all the small sounds of winter or the lack there of, which is why I feel there were no sounds accompanied in this work. I thought of how differently snow crunches depending on how cold it is outside and how there are no chirping yellow birds. I thought of how snow erases everything, but here it actually made me visible. However, in To Touch memories were brought about by verbal association and less visual stimulation. Of course the table itself did have me considering how time accumulates and manifest itself through features like scratches, rust, or mold. Cardiff’s work allowed me to consider past versus present versus future and how they might all collapse onto one object, place or being.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Field Report: Art Incounters
Last Sunday I was fortunate enough to meet both Professor Iverson White and filmmaker Charles Burnett in spite of all the cats and dogs. The work they presented was Self-Determination and Killer of Sheep respectively. The most interesting aspect I found that these two films shared was how they each found distinct but similar methods of allowing the viewer space and time to navigate alternative meanings and interpretations.
White spoke briefly of his inspiration for the short, stating that a story from a troubled woman on his block prompt him to write a poem on her situation. The fascinating tidbit of his anecdote was not so much of how he decided to present her story but of how he decided to end it. He does not offer a direct answer, but rather a suggestion of what the first step might look like. That step can be as misdirected as throwing a few bottles of liquor away, which would only dispose the product of the root problem (which in the case of Self-Determination, is the mistreatment, neglect, and betrayal of a domestic relationship) or it can acknowledge and commit to confrontation.
The structure and length of the piece lends itself to be shaped by our imaginations. We are only granted passing glimpses of who these two people were before they met each other, but even then with the conclusion of the film it seems they were talking of themselves all along, locked in a cycle of mouse and cat: disappointment and infidelity. This film isn’t so much about a situation as it is about the progression of participates involved. The tricky thing here is that we think we see the path these characters undertake, but all the while it is us who pave the way.
Like Killer of Sheep, the strength of the film depends on our imaginations and how open we allow ourselves to be. We don’t really know what lies at the heart of Stan’s insomnia. We don’t know why his son so desperately needs money. We don’t know why the man lying next to the car motor is hurt, nor do we know the significance of Stan’s daughter’s canine mask. At the end of the day we don’t much of the events prior and post the beginning and ending of Killer of Sheep, but that isn’t to say we can’t understand them.
These two films encourage the viewer to observe the unobservable. In turn, by understanding something that hasn’t been dictated, you engage with the world presented to you more dynamically. By allowing such open ended films to exist, we’re able to revisit old experiences finding that they too have changed with the passage of time.
White spoke briefly of his inspiration for the short, stating that a story from a troubled woman on his block prompt him to write a poem on her situation. The fascinating tidbit of his anecdote was not so much of how he decided to present her story but of how he decided to end it. He does not offer a direct answer, but rather a suggestion of what the first step might look like. That step can be as misdirected as throwing a few bottles of liquor away, which would only dispose the product of the root problem (which in the case of Self-Determination, is the mistreatment, neglect, and betrayal of a domestic relationship) or it can acknowledge and commit to confrontation.
The structure and length of the piece lends itself to be shaped by our imaginations. We are only granted passing glimpses of who these two people were before they met each other, but even then with the conclusion of the film it seems they were talking of themselves all along, locked in a cycle of mouse and cat: disappointment and infidelity. This film isn’t so much about a situation as it is about the progression of participates involved. The tricky thing here is that we think we see the path these characters undertake, but all the while it is us who pave the way.
Like Killer of Sheep, the strength of the film depends on our imaginations and how open we allow ourselves to be. We don’t really know what lies at the heart of Stan’s insomnia. We don’t know why his son so desperately needs money. We don’t know why the man lying next to the car motor is hurt, nor do we know the significance of Stan’s daughter’s canine mask. At the end of the day we don’t much of the events prior and post the beginning and ending of Killer of Sheep, but that isn’t to say we can’t understand them.
These two films encourage the viewer to observe the unobservable. In turn, by understanding something that hasn’t been dictated, you engage with the world presented to you more dynamically. By allowing such open ended films to exist, we’re able to revisit old experiences finding that they too have changed with the passage of time.
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