Listening to Landscapes is a program which explores how audiovisual artists engage with urban and rural landscapes and how sound can be a central component for exploration and discovery.
1.Wolimierz Windharps by John Grzinich
A series of 3 windharps was built for the Borderline Gallery in Wolimierz, Poland. Each windharp was build to respond to the conditions of a specific location
2. Flicker, Flow by Kate Carr from I had A Nuclear Spring-
A piece built from electrical interference recorded using hydrophones placed in small canals underneath high capacity electricity lines coming from a nuclear power plant in Marnay-sur-Seine, in France.
3. JÖKULSÁRLÓN GLACIER LAGOON, ICELAND, JUNE 2015 by Jez Riley French
Capturing the ultrasonics of sections of glacier moving across the lagoon
4.MEMORY II by Gloria Chung –
Snowland- A meditation on water, ice, floods, the memories of these, and a reflection on the glacial movements of time.
5.ON THE TRAIN TO KUTNÁ HORA…AND BACK by Ann Deborah Levy
A soundtrack of varied voices and percussive train sounds serves as counterpoint to footage from a day trip to the Czech village of Kutná Hora, rearranged and heavily edited, to emphasize the visual rhythms and realistic and abstract images viewed from the train windows.
6 A Walk in December by Chris H Lynn –
An audiovisual walk in a Norman forest.
This should be lots of fun ! More soon.
Thanks to Peter W for sending me this track to rework. I just added a bit of minimal piano and split the verse to add space. Big thanks to everyone one who was involved in putting this together.
Have a listen below.
The Black Art by Anne Sexton
A woman who writes feels too much,
those trances and portents!
As if cycles and children and islands
weren’t enough; as if mourners and gossips
and vegetables were never enough.
She thinks she can warn the stars.
A writer is essentially a spy.
Dear love, I am that girl.
A man who writes knows too much,
such spells and fetiches!
As if erections and congresses and products
weren’t enough; as if machines and galleons
and wars were never enough.
With used furniture he makes a tree.
A writer is essentially a crook.
Dear love, you are that man.
Never loving ourselves,
hating even our shoes and our hats,
we love each other, precious, precious.
Our hands are light blue and gentle.
Our eyes are full of terrible confessions.
But when we marry,
the children leave in disgust.
There is too much food and no one left over
to eat up all the weird abundance.
Poem read by Michelle Badillo
Idea & Concept: Peter Wullen
Piano rework by Chris H Lynn @framingsounds
Pic by Lu Semenova with kind permission of the artist