Listening to Stones
Sound installation with straw bales and an edition of 10 woodblock printed cassette tapes, Love/City Festival Melbourne, 2014
 
Love is a hollow word. I use it all the time but I also find it annoying, somehow inauthentic. Reverberating with the sentiment of endless Hollywood films, popular music and our dominant culture of self-help, it is a glaring example of simulacra. In the throes of passion, sincerely tell someone you love them and hear the endless slap of the echo-chamber Baudrillard has described as ‘the hyperreal’.
 
“Grief is different. Grief has no distance. Grief comes in waves, paroxysms, sudden apprehensions that weaken the knees and blind the eyes and obliterate the dailiness of life.”― Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking.
 
Opening a kind-of psychic mainline to New Zealand, Listening to Stones wove field recordings collected over the past 5 years into an intimate cassette tape woodblock edition. This work is for the people I have lost, and for the people I am still hanging onto.

Side B

Listening to Stones
Sound installation with straw bales and an edition of 10 woodblock printed cassette tapes, Love/City Festival Melbourne, 2014
 
Love is a hollow word. I use it all the time but I also find it annoying, somehow inauthentic. Reverberating with the sentiment of endless Hollywood films, popular music and our dominant culture of self-help, it is a glaring example of simulacra. In the throes of passion, sincerely tell someone you love them and hear the endless slap of the echo-chamber Baudrillard has described as ‘the hyperreal’.
 
“Grief is different. Grief has no distance. Grief comes in waves, paroxysms, sudden apprehensions that weaken the knees and blind the eyes and obliterate the dailiness of life.”― Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking.
 
Opening a kind-of psychic mainline to New Zealand, Listening to Stones wove field recordings collected over the past 5 years into an intimate cassette tape woodblock edition. This work is for the people I have lost, and for the people I am still hanging onto.

torpor