Lately, I’ve been listening. To the sounds of summer in the neighbourhood during the day. To cats snoring in the afternoon sun. And while listening to podcasts and stories, to the audio portion of the environment, listening for what’s behind the main dialogue.
I suppose it’s because I’ve been concentrating on crafting audio-oriented language as the base layer of a project that integrates sound, vision and text fly-overs to help the progression of a concise little story. I find that I’m spending a lot of time refining the original concepts, transposing the language and rhythm into natural speech with each pass. I also have been thinking of how the visuals and music selections will build on this base.
All this reminded me of Chris Brookes’s work. If you haven’t heard of Battery Radio in St. John’s, Newfoundland, you need to check it out. Chris and his team are amazing storytellers and sound artists. Documentaries he has produced are phenomenally rich, brimming with emotion. They’ve been recognized and lauded internationally. If you're looking for a good place to start, visit his archives and listen to Hark!
I first heard Chris give a talk about soundscapes close to eight years ago. He was playing a sample of one of his documentaries and it was brilliant. His instructions were simple: close your eyes and listen. During the exercise, your brain worked to form a clear picture of what you were hearing, creating an indelible vignette. For the piece we were listening to, your brain constructed the shoreline, the gulls and added the wooden boat moving through the water. Focused in on the movement, you keyed into the steadiness of the rowing, listening as the oars in their rigging quietly repeated themselves. When the speaker’s voice came in, you crafted an image of what he looked like, where he was standing and what he was wearing. Your mind carefully constructed everything, placing it in the scene as you discovered each sound. It was a living diorama. Like reading the book before seeing the movie – everything was your own design. In the end, I didn’t need to see it. I’d formed my own reality.
Maybe I’m gravitating towards audio these days for that reason – to take a breather from the constant bombardment of so many visual stimuli. I’m longing to use my imagination as the basis to anchor memories. Calling upon use of one of my senses that will create new neural paths and associations – so I can close my eyes anytime to recall what I created, stirring and refreshing the images, reinforcing them in my memory.
With this pull, I find I’m getting more nostalgic. I’m loving how I can hear songs I haven’t heard since I was a kid and still sing along to all of the words.
Listening to the saved messages on our answering machine that with each passing day, increase in value as they become too precious to erase. In series, those messages tell a story of growing older and loneliness. Together, they serve as a reminder to reach out to loved ones – especially to hear the sound of a voice. Perhaps too much of our communication these days relies on visuals.
I suppose it’s because I’ve been concentrating on crafting audio-oriented language as the base layer of a project that integrates sound, vision and text fly-overs to help the progression of a concise little story. I find that I’m spending a lot of time refining the original concepts, transposing the language and rhythm into natural speech with each pass. I also have been thinking of how the visuals and music selections will build on this base.
All this reminded me of Chris Brookes’s work. If you haven’t heard of Battery Radio in St. John’s, Newfoundland, you need to check it out. Chris and his team are amazing storytellers and sound artists. Documentaries he has produced are phenomenally rich, brimming with emotion. They’ve been recognized and lauded internationally. If you're looking for a good place to start, visit his archives and listen to Hark!
I first heard Chris give a talk about soundscapes close to eight years ago. He was playing a sample of one of his documentaries and it was brilliant. His instructions were simple: close your eyes and listen. During the exercise, your brain worked to form a clear picture of what you were hearing, creating an indelible vignette. For the piece we were listening to, your brain constructed the shoreline, the gulls and added the wooden boat moving through the water. Focused in on the movement, you keyed into the steadiness of the rowing, listening as the oars in their rigging quietly repeated themselves. When the speaker’s voice came in, you crafted an image of what he looked like, where he was standing and what he was wearing. Your mind carefully constructed everything, placing it in the scene as you discovered each sound. It was a living diorama. Like reading the book before seeing the movie – everything was your own design. In the end, I didn’t need to see it. I’d formed my own reality.
Maybe I’m gravitating towards audio these days for that reason – to take a breather from the constant bombardment of so many visual stimuli. I’m longing to use my imagination as the basis to anchor memories. Calling upon use of one of my senses that will create new neural paths and associations – so I can close my eyes anytime to recall what I created, stirring and refreshing the images, reinforcing them in my memory.
With this pull, I find I’m getting more nostalgic. I’m loving how I can hear songs I haven’t heard since I was a kid and still sing along to all of the words.
Listening to the saved messages on our answering machine that with each passing day, increase in value as they become too precious to erase. In series, those messages tell a story of growing older and loneliness. Together, they serve as a reminder to reach out to loved ones – especially to hear the sound of a voice. Perhaps too much of our communication these days relies on visuals.