contours d`un imaginaire
installation-concert
for 2 performers, playing the oud and the gayageum, fieldrecordings and 4 speakers.
installation-concert
for 2 performers, playing the oud and the gayageum, fieldrecordings and 4 speakers.
Wind is a carrier of sound. Only through air with its many shapes of appearances (breeze, storm, turbulences, etc.) and its encounter with a surface, a contour, an object and the environment becomes sonically perceptible, reveals some of its strange and hidden properties.
Aeolian processes are the studies of how the wind shapes the surface of the world. Elements of this activity are erosion, abrasion, deflation, a.o. These activities serve as inspiration to find methods how to treat the instruments, how to attend to them, how to attune to them, and how to take position in our sonic environment
![]()
Certain objects appear white in the darkness.
When darkness is imbued with even the faintest light, even things which would not otherwise be white plow with a hazy pallor.
At night, I make up the sofa bed in the corner of the living room and lie down in that wan light. Instead of trying to sleep, I wait, feel my senses attune to the passage of time. The trees outside the window cast silhouettes onto the white plaster wall. I think about the person who resembles this city, pondering the cast of their face. Waiting for its contours to coalesce, to be able to read the expression it holds.
Certain objects in the darkness, The White Book, Han Kang
Aeolian processes are the studies of how the wind shapes the surface of the world. Elements of this activity are erosion, abrasion, deflation, a.o. These activities serve as inspiration to find methods how to treat the instruments, how to attend to them, how to attune to them, and how to take position in our sonic environment
Certain objects appear white in the darkness.
When darkness is imbued with even the faintest light, even things which would not otherwise be white plow with a hazy pallor.
At night, I make up the sofa bed in the corner of the living room and lie down in that wan light. Instead of trying to sleep, I wait, feel my senses attune to the passage of time. The trees outside the window cast silhouettes onto the white plaster wall. I think about the person who resembles this city, pondering the cast of their face. Waiting for its contours to coalesce, to be able to read the expression it holds.
Certain objects in the darkness, The White Book, Han Kang