Resonant Bodies {Oct 25 – Dec 2}

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Constellations returns on October 25 to Dec 2 with Resonant Bodies – an online exhibition and short season about the interactions between bodies and their environments. It features original works by:

We asked these artists to create works in response to this provocation by Walter Ong:

"Sight isolates, sound incorporates. Whereas sight situates the observer outside what [they view], at a distance, sound pours into the hearer."

In a time where the study and discourse around sound is becoming ever-popularized, we felt it was pressing to dig into this a bit – to spend time wondering how sound interacts differently with our bodies than other senses. What might we discover thinking about the constant feedback, and thus information, between our bodies and the sounds around us?

These 6 works – by Pabani, Melting Tallow, Paterson, Siirala, Tjhia and Wang respectively – are all unique in their shape, texture and approaches. They range from sound and video art, to experimental documentary and soundscapes – and all the places in-between. We’re excited to share them with you all!

We’ll be releasing a new piece each week on Fridays until November 29, then on December 2, we’ll be putting out an episode with all the pieces so you can experience it all in one go.

As always, keep listening and stay starry eared 💫👂

More on our website soon: constellationsaudio.com

hildegard westerkamp - whisper study

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Whisper Study was produced by Hildegard Westerkamp in 1975 and 1979. We’re honoured to feature this seminal sound artwork here on Constellations.

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Hildegard says:

Whisper Study started out as an exercise in exploring basic tape techniques in the studio, using the whispered voice as sound material. It’s based on the sentence "When there is no sound, hearing is most alert", a quote from the Indian mystic Kirphal Singh in Naam or Word. The content of that sentence appealed to me. I thought a lot about it and then decided I was going to whisper that sentence. I ended up with this very quiet recording of my whispered voice. In doing this, I was challenging myself, because whispered sounds in an analog studio create the issue of hiss and added noise. I learned that I had to make really clear and high volume recordings, then turn them down and therefore reduce the hiss. I learned everything about clarity through my choice of this whispered sound.

Afterward, I experimented with the whispered voice with techniques like delay and feedback, so I would get these overlays of my voice. This would result in certain kinds of textures that had a lot of high-frequency sounds in them. The more I experimented, the more surprised I was with what I was getting. The sound that I processed and developed became my instruments.

The piece starts with a very quiet 's' sound, then there's silence, and then eventually my voice comes up with that sentence. Things get denser and denser with overlays of the whispered sound. When I slowed this dense texture down, I got very liquid, almost watery sounds. This was stunning to me. It was like being beside a creek where you hear all these different sounds and voices. It drew me into this very magical world of transformation.

The piece starts very quietly but it ends with a poem by my then husband, and ends quite quietly with footsteps in the snow and icicle sounds. That was my very first composition.

Except for the distant horns, all sounds were derived from my own voice, whispering the above sentence and the word "silence". Eventually, Whisper Study became a piece about silence, aural perception, and acoustic imagination. 

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The poem When There is No Sound by Norbert Ruebsaat was written in direct response to the first version of Whisper Study and was later voiced by Hildegard and included in the 1979 version of the piece.

When There is no Sound

When there is no sound hearing is most alert.
There are places in the imagination
where the sound folds into itself
like freezing.

Where the soft crackle of ions
moves into the air on snow feet
made of fine wire.

Suddenly you are there
from behind a boulder
where you have been watching the moss begin

And it’s as if someone were filling a strangely-shaped cup
somewhere close to your ear

and you have the memory of vast distances
with hawks on the horizon
where the world became a kind of ache
a species of limb
that is part of the larger universe

And suddenly nothing is so real as these hands
wanting always to touch things
and these eyes

which disappear immediately into the rivers
like a breed of nocturnal salamander

At night you can hear the bones of the forest
making terrible love

you can hear the wind
the godfather
beating his ice wings

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Hildegard Westerkamp is a composer, radio artist and acoustic ecologist. She was born in Germany in 1946 and emigrated to Canada in 1968. After completing her music studies in the early seventies, Hildegard joined the World Soundscape Project under the direction of Canadian composer R. Murray Schafer at Simon Fraser University (SFU) in Vancouver.


Her involvement with this project not only activated deep concerns about noise and the general state of the acoustic environment in her, but it also changed her ways of thinking about music, listening and sound-making. Her ears were drawn to the acoustic environment as another cultural context or place for intense listening.

She is a founding member and is currently active on the board of the World Forum for Acoustic Ecology (WFAE). as well as the Canadian Association for Sound Ecology (CASE). Beyond this and many more accomplishments, Hildegard has composed stunning sound works that you should listen to including Beneath the Forest Floor and Cricket Voice.

These pieces and many more of her other works are available through her website, hildegardwesterkamp.ca

ayaz kamani - point pelee

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Point Pelee was produced by Ayaz Kamani. It was edited by Jess Shane.


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Ayaz says:

A friend and I went to record birds at Point Pelee in Ontario. One morning, amidst our 5 am grogginess, all the birds exploded to life simultaneously, like someone was conducting them. Like they were all conducting each other. It was beautiful, symphonic.

Naturally, we tried to record it the next morning, and even more naturally than our urge to try to record it the next day, it didn't happen. So that was hilarious. We come with all this equipment, and the most amazing sonic experience, we missed. It felt like a prank - like the birds were doing a very good prank.

I decided to try to capture that moment post-mortem. I began the painstaking and enjoyably obsessive task of resurrection. And it was very difficult. I used recordings from Point Pelee as a blanket or a bandaid to help nurture the memory from its palliative state, because it's was degrading and morphing from its original state. Those Point Pelee recordings were like touchstones, and the closest thing that I had to documentation of that experience, but the vast majority of the sounds used in the piece were sound effects from a library.

I've been cutting a lot of background sound effects lately for visual media. In this field, you're manufacturing what's natural. I've said to myself often, 'oh this isn't natural.' Yet when all the birds came together in such a rare musical way, I thought about how although this movement is part of nature, it’s considered unnatural, or feels unnatural, if it’s not in service the story being told by the visual images, or of the dialogue. Background sound always must be isolated, controlled so that nothing competes with the story.

What I create through sound design is a false representation of nature, but a constant reminder that it exists, because you're like ‘oh shit this room, no one's going to believe this room if there is no air and room tone.’ So you have to put all this stuff in to sell the room. You're always walking a fine line.

While making this piece, I thought a lot about where my urge to recreate this moment at Point Pelee really came from. What evolutionary need does it serve?

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Inspiring Ayaz in sound and beyond:

The sound of the hotel room door in the movie Barton Fink, but more than that, people at work and listening to the city while walking. I'm not sure, maybe everything, and everybody, so I guess nothing specific except for trees.

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Ayaz Kamani is an artist and sound designer, primarily for film, based in Toronto.

“I was born in Winnipeg, but only lived there for six months as a child before moving to Vancouver, so I can't truly call my self a Winnipegger. But sometimes when I feel insecure about my Canadianity due to certain questions, I clearly state that I was born in Winnipeg. Not sure where I'm going to die though, ideally on a spit of sand while a lazy tide tickles my feet, and a sand flea drinks sweat from my belly button. Currently, work-wise, I edit sound, conform dialogue, type out ADR scripts and complete a litany of post production tasks for television and movies.”