‘as of yet untitled’ is an installation which utilises the ambience of its exhibiting space as a tool to coerce participants into a state of listening / present moment focus.
The work is comprised of four microphones and four loudspeakers. Each microphone records the ambience of each day onto disk which is then played back, through its corresponding speaker the day following. The process then repeats resulting in a layering of successive ambiences and a present day soundscape that contains ( audibly ) the soundscapes of all the days prior.
Nothing is lost.
Through the severance of a sound from its source it ( the sound ) is granted objecthood; no longer just a product of some-thing in the physical, the sound anachronized is an object in its own right. This act of temporal displacement along with the mild qualitative abstraction that occurs through the process of recording / resounding alters the mundane rendering it other to the everyday. This process makes one attend to the sounds / moments which during their time were both negligible and unattended and births a reactivation of dormant experience.
excerpts taken from the piece’s running at the birmingham bike foundry during the Ten Acres of Sound festival. They present, from each microphone / speaker correlation (a,b,c and d; listed in that order) 4:20pm of the period elapsing 18.09.29 to 11.10.20.
The piece invites initially an interaction; the audience are performers who, wittingly or otherwise give instead of receive. The loudspeakers are big black and silent and, along with the microphones ( dangling unassumingly from their ceiling hooks ) elicit ( and audit ) utterances; questions such as “why isn’t it doing anything?” . This question repeats itself the next day coupled with the footsteps of the dejected couple leaving in a huff and stumbling down the stairs … as is observed by the couple ( another couple who’ve come two days later) to hear the non-sound as was advertised in the exhibition brochure… rattles and clatters, phantom voices and ringtones without phones belonging to all the ghosts who have come in, curious to listen to the non-sound as was advertised in the exhibition brochure and are all wondering ( audibly ) “why isn’t it doing anything?” until ( days later … maybe ) traffic rumble stimulates the walls to shake out the roomtone which grows ( doing a Lucier ) more and more present with every repetition of the same lorry pass which stimulates the walls to shake out the roomtone which grows larger and larger until subsonic swells engulf all past activity; space takes time and all the footsteps and the questions ( “why isn’t it doing anything?” ) dissolve into the sea of resonance resounded into nothing but presence.