Journal

An idea is starting to form at this point in regards to my portfolio, but before I attempt to put it into words I thought I’d make a blog post on all of the practitioners that have inspired and directed my interests over the last few weeks. Annea Lockwood and her sound maps of various rivers has been something I have continuously returned to. After having visited Tolworth Court Farm Fields, I feel as if I am beginning to hear her works in a new light. In an interview with Cathy Lane, Lockwood describes the patterns and textures of rivers as ‘phrasings’ that are “not quite repetition but feels like it.” Could this be a reason why we are so magnetised to such sounds. A synergy we could entertain here is that we start life in amniotic fluid, and life itself too began underwater – although one we should approach with caution if we have learnt anything from Despret’s book. Interestingly so, Lockwood references an old Peruvian custom of taking patients who are mentally ill to sit by rivers for days. And yet it is not only rivers that have this calming effect on our temperament. The crackling sound of fire, birdsong, rain – all of these also produce the same sensations, some studies even proposing that certain naturally occurring sounds even reduce our blood pressure. Whether we equate these effects with evolutionary associations of safety, or the “soft fascinations” of natural stimuli posited by Attention Restoration Theory, the expressive force of nature is undeniable.

Listening again to ‘A Sound Map of the Danube’, every trickle, ripple and swell of water reveals the architecture of the riverbed itself, as well as the geological features of the surrounding landscape. Lockwood highlights that the cultural differences in the environment also feed into its intrinsic characteristic sound. Recognising this reminds me of Despret’s conclusions regarding differences, as a vehicle to connect. The soundscapes Lockwood creates prompts us to, not only reconsider the source of each sound, but to continue tracing these sources back as far as our imagination might allow us. Her sustained engagement with the River Hudson also gave way to conversations with those whose lives were inextricably linked with the river. Hearing their personal stories and memories, I imagine, increased her ability to honourably embody all the facets of the river within her recordings.

When I started this course I used to struggle to understand how a collection of recordings, or abstract composition, could carry any tangible meaning. Looking back I now realise that I approached listening with quite a detached mindset that separated the art from its creator. I think I understand that now art is not meant to be experienced in isolation. At least in the context of field recording, it is the field recordist that is changed through their experiences, acknowledgement of differences, and introspection into the multiple modes of knowing and being in the world. It is the creator that brings their affections, influenced by these changes, to their art. And through direct and indirect interactions with an audience, the opportunity of an expanded sensibility is offered; If not immediate, it is most likely kickstarted by the very process of coming to terms with some perceived absurdity and, one hopes, the drive to make sense of it. Art in itself, is an invitation to engage with the myriad of experiences and interactions that brought it to life, and the visual or sonic component is perhaps only the surface of its figurative river, and not something we can experience in isolation from process.

Jana Winderen is another sound artist that has repeatedly found her way into my research. I was made aware of her work earlier this year when looking into ecological sound artists and her installation The River at the Natural History Museum, made in collaboration with sound specialist Tony Myatt, is one that I have been meaning to visit for some time now. Her use of hydrophones and the piezo technique that utilises contact microphones, is again reminiscent of the ideas explored in Living as a Bird. By this I mean that these microphones give us new ways to explore material resonances, environmental changes and bioacoustics, increasing our intimacy with the natural world in a way that pays tribute to subjectivities outside of our own. Jana Winderen states herself in her own interview with Cathy Lane: “What I decided I really wanted to do was to go out there and to find the best recordings from the very smallest creatures, like an insect eating a leaf, for example; to seek out the sounds that we do not notice or cannot perceive.” In listening to her recordings, people are made aware of these intangible sounds, and maybe stimulated to seek out the same – I feel that the growing accessibility of hydrophones and contact mics make this endeavour all the more important!

Winderen readily admits that she is very much drawn to interesting sounds, as opposed the everyday mundane, something that I have read Lockwood say too. In doing so, do we forget to recognise sounds of the everyday as important tools for reflection? I guess this is something that might require more research to unpack. Either way, we are driven by our aesthetic sensibilities, and in honouring that, I feel can lead one to their most authentic work. Her work has come a long way since she began field recording, having acquired increasingly expensive microphones that surpass the shortcomings of cheaper equipment and their noisier preamps and narrower frequency spectrums. Her work involving recordings of bats, whales and dolphins have allowed her to explore ultra-sonic animal communication, outside the human range of audibility. This reminds of the presence of bats at Tolworth Court Farm Fields, something I had overlooked up until now. During my time field recording for the Wadhurst Conservation Team, I had the pleasure of joining ecologists on a Bat Survey, familiarising myself with different kinds of bat detectors. I wonder whether I could reach out in the next few weeks to borrow one for a weekend or so.

Lastly, Winderen also mentions that her composition process is not one that begins in front of her computer, but in the choices she makes out in the field such as microphone placement, guided by her sensibilities. Thinking in terms of layers, she records multiple perspectives of the same location in order to get a fuller picture. Lane challenges her on this, asking – “But if you are choosing to pursue a criterion of sounding ‘good’ or of beauty then are you, to the extent that you do that, also leaving behind a more documentary focus, one that reflects the place where the sounds were recorded?” My response to this would be that Winderen’s compositional process is one that is guided by sensitivity and respect, and so even if she is guided aesthetically as opposed to pure realism, the very nature of her aim to create connections as opposed to divisions make her resulting work less susceptible to misinterpretation – perhaps in the same way that a naturalists affections for bird life arises from observations of their differences in behaviour, if we once again refer back to Despret’s book. Winderen states herself that the extent of her processing only happens in the field – her choice of microphone, how she uses them, where she places them, when to push record – and not manipulated in software, out of the need to respect the sonic material and the bodies they originate from. I am excited to return to Tolworth Court Farm Fields, guided by both Lockwood’s and Winderen’s techniques.

I have now booked a slot to go see Winderen’s installation at the Natural History Museum in order to directly experience her work, but also to get a better idea of how to display my own work in a gallery setting.

I’ve been reading the book Living as a Bird by Vinciane Despret, a Belgian philosopher of science, that covers various studies of avian life and unpacks and dissects a multitude of perspectives on territoriality, paying particular attention to ethological insights, ethology being the study of animal behaviour. In scientific history, territorial behavior in birds has often been linked to aggressivity and rivalry. Early theories suggested that territories served primarily to guarantee exclusive access to resources necessary for survival, including mates. This notion that females are simply resources for males is one that faced much reluctance to abandon by scientists, in part due to the introduction of darwinian theory, but most likely also because of the patriarchal zeitgeist of the 19th century. Synchronicities are rife throughout Despret’s writing, one example being the first appearance of the word ‘territory’ in ornithological literature, with its very strong connotation of ‘the taking over of an exclusive area or property’ coinciding with the redefinition of land ownership in the 17th century as a resource to be controlled, owned, and exploited for economic gain – i.e. reappropriated. Modernist ideologies, influenced by industrialisation, capitalism, and the Enlightenment gave way to a philosophical theory on the subject of land use, as one of “possessive individualism, that reconfigured political society as a mechanism for the protection of individual property” (Despret, 2021), resulting in the expulsion of peasant communities from their homes and the eradication of the ‘commons’ – i.e shared resources. Nevertheless Despret is quick to challenge her perceived connections, offering the insight that this early use of the term ‘territory’ in ornithology was in fact used only in the description of the methods used to confine birds within aviaries. She goes on to list a plethora of other connections, that weaken her initial correlation, and yet this process of considering all associations, free of a self-seeking confirmation-driven internal probe encourages her to be vigilant of the word ‘territory’ and its many manifestations that might bring on impoverished habits of thinking.

It seems that projection, or a reflection of prevailing human attitudes can all too easily show up in our understanding of other-than-human beings. By focusing on aggressiveness and territorialisation, we prevent ourselves from considering all the other dimensions of bird life. Despret outlines that many of the conclusions of aggressivity derived from competitive behaviour have arisen from fragmented observations, and in settings completely displaced from birds’ natural habitats (e.g. laboratories). Naturalists, on the other hand, such as Henry Eliot Howard, challenged theories of competition around females, pointing out that “in other species females fought with other females, couples with couples, or even sometimes a couple of birds might attack a solitary male or female” (Despret, 2021). Female ornithologists Margaret Nice and Barbara Blanchard too, noticed other attributes in female birds that negated submissive tendencies. All three of these individuals are linked in their methodology, placing more importance on sustained observation and engagement with birds, consequently obtaining deeper insights into what mattered most to them when they defined their territories. This attribution of bird biography was an alternative way of creating a certain kind of intimacy with birds, turning them from isolated test subject, to beings with subjectivities in their own right. If it can be argued that what we discover is closely related to the question we are asking however, might we say that Nice and Blanchards findings were an overcompensatory result of being women themselves within the midst of academic male chauvinism? I would disagree with this assertion, as they broke away from the prevailing fields of ornithology, to focus instead on behavioural variations, superseding the unduly simplifications of specimen classification. Perhaps the truest synergies can only be found as a result of increasing intimacy.

These ‘bird biographies’, fostering such intimacies, was initially made possible by attaching colored bands to their legs. Through this, Nice and Blanchard were able to know and understand birds individually, and through this recognise a whole host of differences between their behaviours. Certain birds tolerated others in their territory due to personal relationships, where conflict might be expected otherwise. Others changed territory without any obvious pressure to do so. Some assumed their previous territory upon returning from migration, in some cases maintaining this behaviour throughout the course of their entire lives. Others changed frequently. The examples given here hardly cover the vast amount of observations made, and to truly pay tribute I would need to write a book on the topic, something that Despret has fortunately already done so. What I have gleaned from her book is that observational practices matter, as they allow us to understand what matters to birds, with their own responses demonstrating a multiplicity of ‘modes of being’ as Despret puts it – “summer resident, winter resident, male, female, intruder, resident, resident taking on the role of intruder, intruder taking on the role of resident, male tyrant subsequently calming down, distracted female, combative female” (2021). Territory then becomes a process, rather than a static entity purely bounded by geographical lines, and the perception of resemblances become reliant on the differences that emerge from such modes of attentiveness.

In a clear failure to acknowledge this level of curiosity in ‘otherness’, The sociologist, Zygunt Bauman, in his book ‘Does Ethics Have a Chance in the World Of Consumers’ attributes newly-found habituating social habits of wasps, who were previously thought to confine their sociability to their nests, to the experiences of interlocking diasporas had by the investigating foreign scholars in their new multicultural home, the forests of Panama. In a similar method to Nice and Blanchard’s observations of birds, this discovery was only made possible by marking a certain number of wasps in order to take note of their individual behaviour. The problem here lies in Bauman’s indifference towards this change in method of observation, viewing the revelation of such fluidity of membership as the byproduct of a changed human attitude. While it is important to note that evolving circumstances can give rise to fresh questions, Despret argues that we must remind ourselves it is “the binoculars, tags, chips, statistics, sonograms, notebooks, paint markings, wired-up nests – in other words all the instruments which help make things visible, which establish connection, which bring an intimacy to our understanding and which throw light on similarities and differences, on trajectories and habits,” (2021) and not the anthropocentric ideas of the scientists themselves. To understand differently is, above all, to understand more.

Returning to bird territoriality, the Zoologist Warder Clyde Allee writes that researchers harbour a tendency to record and overemphasise dramatic incidents, whereas non-human life, under many conditions, may merely persist (1949). Such dramatic incidents may only seem so to us due to the appeal they have on our senses and as a result lead us to only comprehend otherness from the basis of our sensory limitations. “The quiet retirement of animals capable of extreme activity is often a fundamental part of living” (Allee, 1949). Tranquility then might be crucial to animal recuperation, making territory not only a place of competition, but one of refuge. To escape the trap of palpability, patience becomes a pre-requisite to observation. In Jared Verner’s sustained observations of polygamy between two groups of Long-billed Marsh Wrens in Washington State, he was able to establish multiple differences and similarities. Prolonged behaviours in both areas signaled that instead of a ‘male strategy’ it was in fact females who chose to cohabit with several others sharing the same partner, basing their decision on the quality of territory, creating unavoidable cohabitations. At one of the sites “the cycles of two females were synchronised in such a way that their nesting periods overlapped for less than two days: as the first brood began leaving the nest, the eggs of the second brood were starting to hatch. As a result, each female enjoyed almost exclusive care from the male throughout the nesting period. In contrast, at Turnbull, males only assist with feeding at the end of the season, and this synchronisation was not observed” (Despret 2021). Through these observations Verner assessed the quality of different territories and concluded that the size of a territory wasn’t as important as the quality of the resources available within it. Even so, some females still chose a male on an inferior territory, preferring exclusive help from the male, instead of an abundance of resource. This maybe alludes to the fact that birds themselves have personal personal preferences, and that not all of their choices are made out of a purely evolution-driven means. These examinations into the life of communities and relationships of interdependence bring us a little closer to how animals subjectively experience their lives. Their differences highlight their intentions and desires, or as Despret puts it, their ‘real stories and daily adventures’, bypassing the idea that humans are the only organism capable of conscious decision making.

Verner states in one of his writings that “the breeding nest was so placed precariously that I tied it firmly in place to prevent its dislodging,” breaking scientific conventions that require distance and indifference in observational matters. His supposed amateurish behaviour, stemming from an apparent need to help the bird in question brings into question whether love and appropriation amount to the same thing. In the introduction to ‘A Non-companion Species Manifesto: Humans, Wild Animals, and The Pain of Anthropomorphism’, June Dwyer states that the emotional attachments humans feel for many animals can lead to a manufacturing of reciprocity that does not exist. While a compelling read, and one that can offer another valuable mode of awareness, her solution seems a little too detached for my liking. In order to escape a harmful re-appropriation of animals she states that we must remain distant in our affections otherwise we risk the treatment of wild animals as stuffed animal companions. I do realise the inherent danger in this, but this mode of thinking attributes all modes of love to selfishness. It is true that in seeking the return of our affections love can be self serving, but the naturalist’s intervention does not necessarily ask for anything in return. In any case, if we are to completely reject our very human need for reciprocity, then we deny an emotional resonance that allows one to intervene in the first place. Such resonance is inescapable through the careful observations of another’s subjectivities. Perhaps then, it is not changing what we love, but how we love. (To avoid misrepresentation, I’d like to note that Dwyer does reach a very similar conclusion by the end of her essay). Verner’s particular mode of attentiveness is one that focuses on differences, and through this he became moved by what matters to birds.

The ecology of ideas associated with birds is a vast and intricate mapping of concepts and connections, and while models can be created, there are always exceptions to the rule, making it impossible to assign a definitive function to any given territory. What I’ve come to realize is that such exceptions are not anomalies but a vital part of life’s complexity. They challenge us to move beyond simplicity, offering a world that is harder to grasp yet infinitely richer and more captivating. This ‘poetics of attention’, as Despret dubs it, shows us how various layers of understanding can mutually enrich one another. A book I initially thought to solely represent bird subjectivity, instead offers a deeper lesson provided by an openess to all perspectives and individual life stories that might transform ‘realisation’ into a never-ending process as opposed to a cognitive space that one arrives at. Despret shows us that understanding is not an endpoint but a journey shaped by attentiveness. How might we cultivate this ‘poetics of attention’ in our own lives?

Bibliography

Despret, V. (2021) Living as a Bird. Translated by M. Buchanan. London: Polity Press.

Dwyer, J. (2007) ‘A Non-companion Species Manifesto: Humans, Wild Animals, and “The Pain of Anthropomorphism”’, South Atlantic Review, 72(3), pp. 73–89

W. C. Allee, A. E. Emerson, O. Park, T. Park and K. P. Schmidt (1949) Principles of Animal Ecology. Philadelphia: W.B. Saunders, p. 6.

Due to the exploratory nature of my outing to Tolworth Court Farm Fields I decided to take a pair of cardioid condensor mics, taking inspiration from Hildegard Westerkamp’s ‘Moving Microphone’ as a more active approach to field recording. On all previous visits there to record I have used a pair of EM272 Clippy omnidirectional microphones in a spaced, stationary array. While I have experimented with moving arrays using the EM272s in the past – clipping either one on opposite ends of my back pack during a hike up St Martha’s hill in Guildford, making for a discreet, easy and brilliantly portable way of field recording on the go – I have since learnt that cardioid microphones are more suited to highlighting the multidimensional nature of recording while in transit. The cardioid capsule is less sensitive to off-axis positions, with a null point in the 180 degree angle, giving it a heart shaped polar pattern. As a result the soundscape changes more dramatically as one focuses the microphone onto different surfaces, objects and in different directions, revealing a clear acoustic motion, sonic architecture and varying listening perspectives. The 360 degree patten of omnidirectional microphones render them less suited to provide the same depth of experience when sound-walking. I have found their strengths to lie in ambience recording however, offering a perspective on listening that might be likened to looking at a portrait all at once. Both have their values. In this case I used a pair of cardioid AT4021’s that I purchased over the summer due to their high sensitivity and low pre-amp noise despite being relatively on the cheap side. Still, this was at the sacrifice of the even higher sensitivity of the electret capsules found in the EM272s.

Using the AT4021s has meant that I have needed to alter the way I record when on the move. Fidelity and portability are elements that I have tried to reconcile in order to avoid hindrance or delay when encountering momentary sounds. This has proved harder than expected and my current system is one that is still in development. I am currently using my tripod as a replacement pistol grip so that I can switch from a ‘run and gun’ style of recording into a stationary setup quicker and more effectively. Below is a picture of this configuration. After today I have realised a few things. Despite its portability, it is quite a chunky and large bit of kit and this doesn’t make it so easy to navigate. The weight of the tripod also brings on carrying fatigue fairly quickly and I am regularly having to switch the burden to the other hand. I am also using a fold out stereo bar which is great for enabling me to record in both narrow and wide spaced AB, however in order to use other arrays such as XY or ORTF, I am forced to use a ruler in the field to exact the correct distances between my microphones which can be a bit laborious. I have also lost the thumbwheel that tightens the stereo bar into place. After some research I have decided to make a few changes and purchase some items that I feel will make field recording a little more seamless.

Instead of the tripod I will instead mount the stereo bar onto the more lightweight and smaller Rycote Soft Grip Extension Handle. Installing a quick release adapter onto the end of this grip will then allow me to effortlessly mount the entire handheld configuration straight onto my tripod (which I will carry in my bag’s side pocket), reducing the need to change and install adapters whenever changing from moving to stationary (this normally involves a lot of twisting of screws). Moreover, I will switch from my current fold out stereo bar to a smaller one offered by Rycote that has ruler markings along it, sacrificing the ability to record in a wide spaced AB setup, but allowing me to switch to ORTF and XY arrays more smoothly. I have also managed to find out the name of the pernickety thing – thumbwheel – that will hold the stereo bar in place and have located somewhere to purchase it from. Lastly, as I am using a Zoom F6 as my recorder/ mixer, I have purchased the BTA-1 adapter so that I can control certain elements of the Zoom F6, such as channel settings and the like, from my phone. I’m hoping that this new improved custom field recording setup will be capable of fulfilling all my portability needs with ease while providing high fidelity recordings.

I ventured out to Tolworth Court Farm Fields today and I don’t really know why I waited so long to get out and record. Its been two months since I went out armed with microphones and it felt comfortingly familiar. Ears pricked and mind open I started wandering whichever way felt right. Over the summer I developed quite a rigorous approach to field recording during my internship, taking note of wind speeds, flight paths, humidity, etc, as well as having specific locations in mind, helping me devise my now personal developing methodology. I feel now however, that this purpose driven approach to recording, while beneficial to my brief at the time, might have coloured my perception of the environment and perhaps prevented a deeper understanding of my sonic environment. On the other hand, I hadn’t really devised any sort of plan today and it felt very liberating to merely follow my ears, placing complete trust in my instincts. Over the past year I have developed a relationship to these fields due to repeated visits volunteering for the re-wilding initiative Citizen Zoo, as well as personal field recording trips. As a result my orientation of the area was already well established, and this helped to give me some sense of direction.

I haven’t actually listened back to the recordings I’ve made yet but I’ve had so many interesting thoughts during this outing that I thought best to unpack them first. I think first and foremost, what most surprised me was the unexpected encounters I had, directly and indirectly. As the fields are one of the few sites in London that are currently being re-wilded, my previous ventures here have always focused on capturing wildlife sounds such as that of birdsong and ‘singing’ insects. I realise this focus might have blinded me to all of the sounds that truly represent the fields. Within the first 5 minutes of assembling my mics, pressing record and beginning to walk, a couple of guys (who I later found out were 2nd year forensic students) sitting on a bench nestled in an alcove shaped space within a hedgerow, struck up conversation with me. Not long after, while perched in another spot listening out for some birdsong, I was taken aback by a loud mechanical growling sound accompanied by a flurry of voices. I soon realised this was the sound of a community of young men who use the fields regularly as a place to gather, smoke cannabis and ride their motorcycles, something I am sure most regular visitors have become accustomed to. Later on, while trying to find a good spot to record birdsong in the narrow wooded area along the perimeter of the fields, I stumbled upon another couple of young men inhaling nitrous oxide and laughing hysterically as a result, which made for a pretty awkward but funny encounter. I couldn’t help but feel their laughter against the backdrop of birdsong made for a fairly absurd soundscape, maybe highlighting the contradictory nature of this place. A place that urges mindfulness, yet simultaneously offers a safe space for mindlessness?

The noise of the bikers and the trash and vandalism left by youth that seek refuge here put them at odds with what these fields represent for a lot of people – a developing safe-haven for wildlife. For others perhaps, these fields represent a place to escape to and a place of community, even if these communities promote anti-social behaviour. But who is to blame for this dissonance? The individualism, inherent in capitalistic progress, that drives the heart of our cities encourages focus on personal achievement. The inequalities that arise from this, be it economic, social, cultural, and even environmental have cascading effects (like that of earth systems) on our attitudes and preconceptions. Yet empathy is required here to avoid pointing the finger of blame at the individual, taking into account every beat of life that preceded them and their decisions. If ignorance is not the fault of the individual, then perhaps it is a symptom of a wider, out of sync rhythm that we are all at the mercy of.

Thinking back to these sonic encounters earlier today I can’t help but feel that they are as much the soul of these fields as are the wildlife noises. Even so, as I listened out for birdsong, parakeet voices were the most dominant. In my 2nd year audio paper I used the settlement and spread of parakeets in the UK, as a symbol of human carelessness. The quote below commenting on their presence is taken from my audio paper.

Descendants of escaped pets that bred and multiplied, mass colonising pockets of spaces within Britain’s cities and home counties in the 19th century (Hunt, 2019). We are still largely unaware of the ecological repercussions caused by their presence, if any, but as evolution shapes birdsong to its place, could we learn something from their vocalisations?

In the same way that anthropocentric sounds impose on animal communication directly, even altering the evolution of birdsong, parakeet voices might be seen as an indirect human imposition onto native birdsong. Being the loudest biological voice in the soundscape of the fields, it made me wonder whether their mere presence encroaches on the ability of other birds to communicate and/or find mates. Birdsong, it seems, will evolve to be heard in an evermore louder world. Another quote from my audio paper stated that:

In the rainforest many aesthetics and narratives coexist, connected through bonds of evolutionary kinship. Vocal competition here however, has converged birdsong from different species into a communicative web, allowing for mediation of acoustic space (Krause, 1987). This interspecies collaboration is only possible, because all parties involved benefit, unlike the urbanised blackbird that has been pushed to the edges of its sonic environment.

One can speculate that parakeets and other native birds might find some common grounds to share their acoustic environment, nevertheless, industrial sounds do not evolve in tandem with the voices they muffle – a one sided evolution. What will then happen to organisms that are unable to evolve fast enough to be heard over the din of capitalism? In relation to Darwinian theory, playfully speaking, might we call this survival of the loudest? Listening to the parakeets triggered a thought process within me that recognised their voices as an extension of human-centric attitudes. Not to say that these critters are complicit in human dominance, but it has become undeniable to me that their chattering and squawks within the context I hear them in, carry far more information when truly listened to.

What stands out to the most is that none of these sounds are heard in a vacuum. These fields are immersed in beautiful contradictions, and yet they are all part of a connected whole, representative of endless perspectives and multiple layers of being. The lack of singing insects, highlighting the seasonal shift; The acousmatic sounds of the A3, blanketing the entire soundscape. What seemed like opposing forces at first, now feels more like an interconnected melting pot. Is there a way to represent this creatively, fostering a sense of empathy to all creatures, human and non human, intertwined with the fields’ past present and future?

I thought I would make a quick blog post reflecting on my shifting trajectory.

Up till now I’ve been juggling ideas of sonification, sonation, biocymatics and non-linear dynamics. These are all ideas I am genuinely interested in, but to my disservice, my curiosity can be as changeable as the wind. I’m certain these ideas will appear in and influence my eventual work but I can’t help but feel that my current path needs reassessing.

Portfolio work has been put on the back burner for a while now, as I’ve focused most of my efforts towards writing and submitting Element 1 of my research paper. In the last few days since my hand-in I’ve been feeling really stuck as to where to go from here. Looking back over the last couple of months, It’s becoming clear to me that I all too often fall into the trap of ambition, concentrating more on crafting brilliant, ostentatious ideas as opposed to truly appreciating what’s in front of me. In these conquests for recognition, accessing my creativity becomes an ongoing struggle, where the focus centres on realisation as opposed to process. I think there are probably some quite profound lessons to be learnt through engagement, but I haven’t yet been able to resolve my internal unwillingness to it. I’m starting to accept however, that a growing awareness of my self-inflating tendencies won’t resolve anything alone, and have decided to trace my interests back to some of my previous projects, in the hope that it might offer some insight into what it is that truly resounds with me.

Field recording and soundscape compositions have been my dominant creative endeavour over the last year. Field recording in particular, is a practice I have come to deeply appreciate, as it offers an engagement with the world around me, as opposed to the endless screen-time I have mostly been used to when creating. Field recording is synonymous with deep listening and by its very nature challenges us to question our preconceptions. And yet I feel somehow as if most of my field recording ventures have capitalised on the environment around me, as opposed to taking part in something that transcends a subject/ object dynamic – something that could be akin to developing a ‘sonic consiousness’? – In relation to my research paper.

Hildegard Westerkamp and Jez Riley French, whom I familiarised myself with during my Y2 Audio Paper research, gave me an inkling into how field recorded work can addresses social and environmental issues and it is this intersection that strikes me as most relevant to my developing practice. I have recently got my hands on the book Environmental Sound Artists – In Their Own Words, a selection of essays curated and edited by Frederick Bianchi and V.J. Manzo as well In The Field – The Art Of Field Recording, curated and edited in the same vein by Cathy Lane and Angus Carlyle, that I hope will provide some inspiration and direction. In the spirit of practice, I intend to visit a local rewilding site that I have recorded before in order to try and get things going. I suppose I’m searching for a sense of grounding, hoping being out in the field will take me out of my head.

I’ve finally managed to shift thought into action, delving into the world of sonification for the last few days or so. Sonifcation Tools, “a collection of unique creative devices designed by Ableton Certified Trainer Noah Pred to allow access to new musical ideas via real-world data sets,” has allowed me to breathe life into these thoughts. Finding, let alone understanding, applicable data sets has proved to be a lot more difficult then I first imagined. Complex language and obscure abbreviations have made it hard to extrapolate the supposed correct meaning from most I’ve come across; But after long enough I managed to find some that were comprehensible, using ‘Forest Area As Share Of Land Area’ data, taken from the online open access data platform ‘Our World In Data’, as material to sonify with. On their website, the data is represented as an animated graph, with the X-axis representing years and Y-axis representing share of land covered by forest. Downloading an excel sheet of the data embedded into this graph allowed me to copy and paste specific parts of it into Pred’s sonification device, with which I set pentatonic and dorian scales as compositional parameters. The resulting soundscape composition can be heard below. I have also left a description underneath the track to demystify my methodology.

Reflection

This was an interesting exercise that ultimately ending up being an enjoyable process once I had gathered all the material needed. On the art of sonification however, It is important to note that in a creative frenzy to sonify this data, I produced this mostly on the back of my personal aesthetic. As a result the work sounds beautiful to me, but I am aware that without the added description it is impossible (mostly) to gleam, purely from listening, what the data is telling us. In an attempt to retrace my steps, I reread the article from which I retrieved the inital data set from.

Continuing on from my previous blog post, I’m beginning to recognise a correlation within all the ideas I have been having; The relationship between audible and inaudible. Various forms of the same things, received through different senses. In the book ‘Water Sound Images: The Creative Music Of The Universe’, the universal phenomenon of resonance is demonstrated as striations in substances caused by specific frequencies of sound. The phenonemon of these ‘Chladni sound figures’, more commonly known as Cymatics, are evidence of the naturally occuring materialisations of resonance. The author Alexander Lauterwasser claims that the cosmogenetic power of sound is a “primordial phenomenon of all oscillations, rhythms and waves” (Lauterwasser, A, 2006).

In the realm of bioacoustics, identifying animal communication has traditionally been very difficult. With the advent of artificially intelligent, machine learning applications such as BirdNet and Merlin Bird ID, the speed and accuracy with which birdsong, and even ultrasonic bat calls, can be identified has increased dramatically. If we are to develop a less place-corrosive relationship with our planet, understanding the nuances of our non-human kin might catalyse a decentering process from anthropocentric perspectives. Expanding on my previous audio paper that delved into animal communication, I’ve been thinking on how to create sound figures of animal calls in order to challenge our preconceptions of the natural world. It’s an idea in its early stages, but I have been looking into similar experiments carried out by others.

The Cymascope Insitute have used Cymatic science to create a new type of scientific instrument, namely the ‘Cymascope’. “The basic principle of the CymaScope instrument is that it transcribes sonic periodicities to water wavelet periodicties, in other words, the sound sample is imprinted onto a water membrane” (Cymascope, 2020). In one incredible example, by using the echolocating sounds produced by dolphins to affect the water’s surface tensions in the Cymascope, they have made a breakthrough in regards to imaging from echolocation beams. Recreating the sound-vision sense of these cetaceans has now allowed the team at the Cymascope institute to recognise that dolphins employ a “sono-pictorial” form of language. One can only imagine the possibilities this holds for inter-species communication! Through their findings and experiments they have created a model in which dolphins can “not only send and receive pictures of objects around them but can create entirely new sono-pictures simply by imagining what they want to communicate” (Cymascope, 2020). It is evident then, that by visualising sound, there is the potential to overcome the biases that encompass our views on communication and bring us closer to understanding the world outside of our particular cognitions.

In an inverse sense, sonification translates the seen into the heard. Whilst this shift does not hold the same biological and metaphysical implications suggested by cymatic science, it remains similar in that it is a transference of one medium into another; A representation of the same element through a different sensory experience. Nevertheless, the dangers of misrepresentation here are all too easy when work is ill-defined. I have found some works that incorporate bio-sonification devices, while pleasing to listen to, falsely advertise their results, obtained within personally set musical parameters, as plant communication. I recognise the positive discourse that can be stimulated by collaboratively engaging with such biological processes, and yet I can’t help but feel that distorting a compositional tool as plant communication is a colonisation of bioelectric processes. Through this, misconceptions of flora are only maintained. On the flip side, when acknowledged as part of a wider compositional process, I do believe the art of sonification has the power to challenge our misconceptions.

In reference to my previous blog post, Helen Anahita Wilson’s appropriately describes her work ‘Linnea Naturalis’, as plant-derived music. In this work she converted bio-electricity readings into separate musical data tracks, which were then assigned to different instruments in an ensemble, depending on their own special patterns of pitch and rhythm. Using plants that cancer treatment drugs are derived from, the resulting music highlights these derivations, while allowing people to connect with nature. Helen’s ability to weave together various fields into a cohesive web is inspiring. In another example of her work, by making the inaudible sound of chemotherapy audible through carnatic Konnakol using numbers found on medical equipment, she was again able to link two completely separate elements to create a unique experience. The link between bio-cymatics, animal communication and data sonification might seem hard to make at the moment, but Helen’s work gives me renewed confidence that there might be something there yet.

Bibliography

Cymascope – Cymatics and the Cymascope Device for Sound Research. (2020). Oceanography – Cymascope. [online] Available at: https://cymascope.com/oceanography/ [Accessed 27 Oct. 2024].

NPR. (2020). The Lessons To Be Learned From Forcing Plants To Play Music. [online] Available at: https://www.npr.org/2020/02/21/807821340/the-lessons-to-be-learned-from-forcing-plants-to-play-music [Accessed 27 Oct. 2024].

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Helen’s recount of her journey to the current moment was an inspiring tale of resilience and perseverance through creative mediums in the face of serious medical calamities. By combining her research in south asian studies with experiments in corporeal acoustemology and developments in biophilic and interspecies music making she has created, what I find to be, an incredibly interesting compositional practice. In her reimagining of hospital radio through repurposed and rewired chemotherapy infusion machines, informed by her personal experience as a cancer patient, her work ‘Krankenhaus Funk And The Extrinsic Death Receptor Pathway’ fuses Indian mantras and the poetic form Ghazal with field recordings made in the hospital. These elements were treated with disintegrative sonic processes moulded after the naturally occurring process of ‘apoptosis’, whereby programmed cell death occurs in multicellular organisms and some single-celled microorganisms, further contextualising her work as a disruption of the traditional radiophonic dynamic. The end result is a listening experience that encourages emotional resonance with a patient’s experience and perspective.

What struck me as most interesting about her work was the idea of ‘sonation’, being the compositional method in which the combination of sonic elements are informed by processes and dynamics found in other fields, as I understand it. I have recently been looking into ‘sonification’ as a form of environmental sound art in order to give carbon sink data a new perceptual dimension. Sonification is the process of converting data into sound to analyze, interpret, and communicate it. I found it intriguing that sonification was only the first step in Helen’s creative endeavours, as she expressed that, as a sole tool, it was not creatively satisfying enough. As a means of perceiving and consuming data in a new way, I definitely recognise the value in sonification, and yet as a compositional process I can also see how it might feel a little shallow, leaving most of the creative task to the whims of the data at hand. Sonation, on other hand, pays tribute to context in a more conceptual way. Whether this or the other is more effective, in whichever creative purpose, I feel is ultimately down to circumstance, intention and interpretation.

As I reflect on which direction to take my upcoming portfolio work in, the interplay between these two processes have widened my creative prospects. Over the last few weeks, inspired by the laws of systems dynamics, I have thought about using non linear processes to affect audio. In this sense I have been thinking on the art of sonation, but I suppose I did not know the name for this process at the time. Perhaps I could somehow combine my ideas regarding sonification and sonation in the context of environmental sound art to increase the level of discourse formed between the listener and subject matter. I realise I am being quite vague at the moment. Solid ideas and themes are there but I am currently in the process of concentrating them and figuring out my focus, which for some reasons always happens to be quite an existential process. Aiming for process based realisations, but my brain always has other ideas. Learning to combine process with an unrelenting, and most likely ridiculous, need to understand the ‘whys’ behind my creative choices might be the way I get the better of my current creative block.

Over the first few weeks of term I’ve been overcome by a number of exciting possibilities and ideas, and in this flurry I’ve become lost to the motives that brought me here to begin with. After speaking with Milo in my last tutorial, his emphasis on using this year’s work as an opportunity to set a positive trajectory towards my long term goals have helped put my aims into perspective. Over the latter half of summer I had the privilege of working alongside a conservation team of ecologists, gardeners and rangers to create a soundscape of the ecological restoration site, Wadhurst Park. During my time here I spent an immense portion of my time going on hikes, mapping personal sound walks, listening intently, sound journalling, organising files and field recording. These habits, while gruelling, have been invaluable in honing my overall field recording practice and this is something I would like to continue to incorporate into this years endeavours. Most importantly however, this experience placed me within a team whose ecological ethos gave concrete form to my personal realisations. Being exposed to their sustainable practices, stewardship of the land and attitudes towards non-human life has been an experience I am profoundly grateful for. I think often of how to offer a similar experience to others through my creative practice.

It is debated when our proposed epoch, the Anthropocene, being the current geological age in which human activity has been the dominant influence on the climate and environment, was set into motion. Quantitative observations of trends following the agricultural or industrial revolution, can be used to determine so, as well as qualitative criterion (events), examples being the introduction of non-native materials to the environment such as radionuclides and numerous synthetic fertilisers.

The ‘frog in hot water’ analogy, is one that Andrew Fellows uses to demonstrate that, as a race, we are much better at recognising events than trends. This is implicit in Rachel Carson’s critique of the widespread use of newly developed pesticides in the U.S. (Specifically DDT), that supposedly catalysed the emergence of today’s environmental movement. However an over-reliance on events, simplified, speaks to me as an ‘act after its too late’ mentality. In one of the IGBP’s (International Geosphere-Biosphere Programme) publications, Global Change and the Earth System: A Planet Under Pressure (Steffan et al., 2004), “strong evidence that the rate of quantitative anthropogenic impacts has accelerated massively since the 20th Century” (Fellows, A…) is provided. By looking at the total Earth system, as opposed to isolated events, trends in human activity show how anthropogenic impacts cascade though the earth system in complex ways, creating positive feedback loops that bring us dangerously closer to irreversible tipping points; The sudden release of methane due to thawing of tundra permafrost, the reduction of Earth’s albedo (reflectivity) and resulting solar heat absorption as a consequence of large scale loss of sea ice, and the shutdown of the Atlantic Meridional Overturning Circulation (global oceanic thermohaline circulation) are some examples. The qualities of these irredeemable events will be outlived by the trends that precede them, as we continue to hurtle towards a state known as ‘Hothouse Earth.” Unless we change how action is catalysed.

I started writing this blog as an exercise to help me comprehend some of the more complex theories I have come across recently in regards to systems dynamics. As I type this however, I wonder how systems thinking, popularised by Donella H. Meadows, can help us develop an ecological ethic.

The former half of this title is taken from an article by environmental sound artist, Jo Kennedy, that explores how pro-environmental behaviour arises within an individual through the lens of social science and psychology. His resulting hypotheses, that identifies connectedness, knowledge and structural support as essential building blocks of ecological behavioural change, works as a model within which ecological sound art might stand a better chance at initiating said change.

The second half of this title however, is more of a personal examination into my own motivations. For long I have struggled to articulate my impulses, favouring instinct and feeling as opposed to logic and reasoning. My biases, derived from comfortability, resulted in a disdain for clear articulation and concrete conceptualisation of my innermost motivations. A quote by the American psychologist and philosopher, William James, that reads: “The unreasoned and immediate assurance is the deep thing in us, the reasoned argument is but a surface exhibition. Instinct leads, intelligence does but follow” (James, 1902/ 1905: 74), on one hand satisfies my thoughts on the importance of instinct, but on the other hand demonstrates value regarding clear formulation of one’s drives that I was perhaps unwilling to acknowledge. Self-containment can be a trap, creating a cosy enough space to cocoon and protect our ideas from opposition and the, at times, intense process of reflection and introspection that allow thoughts to flourish into other intriguing and valid forms. Projection of my ideas onto the works of others, I think prevented me in the past from drawing value when outside insights did not align with my own. Learning to consider the absurdity of this self-importance has led me much further away from my creative compulsions than I was ever willing to go, yet this process, I think, has fostered a more honest relationship and deeper connection to my personal values, in turn transforming my creative aspirations. Grappling with creativity and learning to channel it healthily has been, unexpectedly so, a lesson in humility. A process of letting go.

When asked ‘why?’ in relation to my growing interest in ecological sound art, I have often found myself stumbling over words (which is potentially what motivated me to make this my first blog post of the year). There was no ‘aha! moment of clarity that set me on my current path, but more of a yearning to relate to the world around me, without the mirror of self conception. Without doubt, I am still finding my way, but I believe that as our perceptions of the world become a practice in compassion instead of a reflecting surface, our ideas become entrenched in a sort of mycorrhizal root system of subjectivities that can ultimately benefit every individual within the collective. Relational at heart, my evolving outlook is about seeing through the lens of others, and how that can inadvertently bring people closer to their true nature. I’m beginning to understand that this is why I have been drawn towards ecological texts and practices over the last year or so. A quick google search tells us that the definition of an ecosystem is a system that environments and their organisms form through their interaction, with the earth’s surface being a series of connected ecosystems. Considering the vast diversity of creatures, human and non-human, and their ability to thrive within these systems, it seems that interactivity and connection are pillars of self gain. This notion transforms the conception of self interest into one that holds the “world as self” (Joanna Macey), as opposed to the ego as self. Attempting to comprehend the experience of the ‘other’ makes us aware of our misconceptions and sensory limitations, and in turn, one hopes, to help clear the foggy territory of self-understanding that political and corporate structures guard with consumerist temptations at every corner of the industrial world.

Thus, a long held belief of mine that I am finally able to put into words, somewhat, is that a changed relationship to our natural environment can act as a powerful vehicle for individuation, and the ‘metanoia’ that arises from this will ultimately seep into our relations with all things, familiar and unfamiliar, organic and inorganic, mental and physical, self and other. Jungian Analyst and Scientist, Andrew Fellows, in his book ‘Gaia, Psyche and Deep Ecology: Navigating Climate Change in the Anthropocene’, proposes a world-view that has animated my own. By drawing parallels between analytical psychology, a school of psychotherapy that focuses on the individual psyche and the relationship between the conscious and unconscious mind, the Gaia hypothesis, an ecological theory that proposes that the Earth and its life forms are a single, self-regulating system, and Deep Ecology, an environmental philosophy that states all living beings have inherent worth, regardless of their usefulness to humans, he attempts to dismantle the hubris of current wide-scale anthropogenic values, challenging our preconceptions while maintaining psychological implications as the common root between environmental, social, political and economic downfall. Fellows argues that ‘heroic development’, understood archetypally, is attributable to our reasonings, or self assurances, in regards to our dominion over other things. And yet, it becomes evermore apparent that the ‘hero’s cleaving sword’, borne from patriarchal culture, is leading us to our demise.

Some time ago, a friend of mine offered an alternative theory to mine regarding climate activism, surmising that those among us who support the preservation of earth only do so out of the selfish need to preserve themselves. I would argue now that his theory only holds value when considered from an egoistic standpoint, and falls apart with the acknowledgement of the holism and interdependency inherent in ecosystems. Here self-realisation becmes neither selfish, nor sacrificial and through it we can assume that when one thing thrives, everything benefits, whether the nature of these benefits elude us at the time. I believe the embodied experience of ecological activism can bring about the necessary behavioural change to reap these benefits. Intrinsic change however, is also a pre-requisite to external action. So what comes first? Chickens and eggs come to mind. And this is where I believe ecological sound art might play a role. By identifying the key components of stimulating behavioural ecological change, I wish to explore how sound art can evoke our collective imagination, propelling us into an internal dialogue that considers the similarities between our notions of ‘self’ and the unified. Although situated within the domain of Eco-psychology, Theodore Rozsaks assertion that “the psyche is rooted inside a greater intelligence once known as the anima mundi, the psyche of the earth herself” (Roszak, 1995: 16), I feel is one that lies at the core of my evolving thoughts.