R. Murray Schafer’s idea of the soundscape also changed the way I think. Now I notice the hum of my fridge, the echo in the hallway, even the rhythm of rain. “Ear cleaning” became a literal practice for me—I walked outside just to listen.

Next week, I want to try recording the quietest and noisiest corners of my daily life. Maybe the sound of the washing machine can be my first “composition.”

At first, I could still recognize my words. But after several layers, only rhythm and echo remained — like the room had “swallowed” my speech and turned it into its own song. It felt both strange and intimate, as if I had collaborated with architecture.

Learning about artists like Davide Tidoni and his Exaggerated Footsteps helped me understand sound as a physical presence — something that touches and transforms a place. Now, I realize every wall, hallway, and empty classroom has its own personality, waiting to be heard.

Next, I want to experiment with outdoor spaces — maybe record the same sentence in a tunnel or near water, to see how different environments “speak back.”

At first, the interface looked complex, but soon I discovered its creative rhythm — every waveform is a visual memory of sound. I experimented with importing multiple clips: one of crowd noise, one of a passing car, and another of sizzling food from last week’s field recording. By adjusting volume envelopes and cross-fading between them, I built a small “sound narrative” that travels from outdoor chaos to intimate kitchen warmth.

Following the tutorial’s advice, I practiced using fade-ins and fade-outs to make transitions smooth, and learned the value of noise reduction — not to erase imperfections completely, but to let the essential voice of the recording come through《Audacity_User_Guide》Editing sound made me realize: silence is also part of composition. Every pause, every breath carries meaning.

Next Step: I want to explore layering found sounds with my own recorded voice — blending environment and self, just like in Lucier’s I Am Sitting in a Room.

We also shared our Sound Ecology works-in-progress. My project focuses on how everyday environments can become musical ecosystems. The goal isn’t just to record, but to reveal hidden rhythms — the hum of lights, the pulse of air-conditioning, or the soft clicks of keyboards.

The lecture on Experimental Sound Art opened an entirely new direction. From Janet Cardiff’s “I am Sitting in a Library” to Paul Greedy’s kinetic sound mandalas, each artist shows that sound can sculpt space, memory, and emotion. The giant forest megaphones in Estonia especially fascinated me — the idea of listening to nature through art feels poetic and futuristic.

I’m beginning to think of sound not just as a medium, but as a living presence — a collaboration between humans, machines, and the environment.

Next: Start designing my Assignment 2 experimental sound project — maybe something with contact microphones to let objects “speak.”

The feedback I received was encouraging: my teacher suggested that I think of these sounds as characters in a story, each representing a small emotional or spatial shift. It made me realize how rich and musical our daily soundscape already is — we just forget to listen.

Recording and playing these sounds back in class felt intimate, almost cinematic. The transition from the mechanical tick of a turning signal to the soft rumble of purring was unexpectedly poetic.

I’m planning to weave these sounds into a short sound composition — maybe a three-minute “day in my life,” blending field recordings and gentle editing to create a quiet narrative about attention and memory.

It begins with the soft purring of my cat and the gentle ambience of my room, a moment of warmth and safety. Then, a campfire crackles before giving way to car indicator sounds, symbolizing departure. The rhythm of those indicators, edited at two different speeds, creates a sense of unease and anticipation.

As the listener moves into the outside world, rain, footsteps, and distant chatter merge with electric guitar notes — the chaos of city life. A sudden door closing leads to a quieter soundscape of birds, wind chimes, and grass. Eventually, the journey reaches the seaside — waves, splashes, and stone-skipping forming a playful interlude. Finally, the sounds slow, and the listener returns indoors: a door shuts, water runs, a towel brushes hair, and a blanket rustles. The cat’s purr returns, closing the loop.

Through this piece, I wanted to express how sound can capture both emotion and geography — how footsteps, water, or the hum of daily life can tell a story when arranged with care. It’s a reminder that every journey, even sonic, leads us back home.

The cat purring recording was the most meaningful. Instead of hearing the sound externally, the microphone allowed me to listen inside the body, as if sound was coming from within a living space. It felt gentle, warm, and deeply emotional.

Reflection

This experiment helped me understand that:

• Sound can express emotional intimacy, not just environmental texture.

• The closer we listen, the more sound becomes memory and feeling.

• This inspired my Assignment 2 (Dream-Themed) project, where I plan to use internal, soft, bodily or domestic sounds as emotional anchors within dream-like soundscapes.

The dream in my piece is not a literal story, but a feeling. In dreams, scenes shift without logic, and emotions often guide our experience more than visuals. Sound is a perfect medium for expressing this, because it can transition smoothly, blur edges, and dissolve boundaries between spaces.

I started by organizing the sounds I collected in previous weeks. These include the cat’s purring, running water, footsteps, wind, the sizzling sound of grilling, and distant human voices. Each of these sounds holds emotional associations: warmth, movement, openness, memory, and tension. When arranged carefully, they can guide the listener’s emotional direction.

This week, I experimented with layering and transitioning. I tried fading footsteps into wind to create the sensation of stepping into a dream. I used reverb to stretch the space and soften the edges of the sound. I also tested bringing the cat’s purring back near the end, as a gentle signal of returning home. These small adjustments made me realize how powerful sound can be when shaping emotional atmosphere.

The next step will be building the complete structure of the piece and refining how each transition feels. I want the dream to unfold slowly and naturally, without sudden jumps — just like drifting in and out of sleep.

I reviewed all of the recordings I have collected so far: cat purring, running water, footsteps, wind, sizzling meat, conversational crowd noise, and boiling water. I listened to each sound carefully and considered its emotional tone. Instead of thinking in terms of “what the sound is,” I tried to understand what it feels like.

After this, I created a three-part structure for the composition:

1. Entering the Dream
   Soft and familiar sounds — cat purring and indoor ambience — slowly merge with distant wind.
   The goal is to invite the listener into a relaxed, drifting state.

2. Dream Expansion
   More vivid textures appear — footsteps, conversations, sizzling and boiling — dissolving into layered reverb.
   Sounds overlap and blur, creating a floating, unreal atmosphere.

3. Returning
   The sound space gradually becomes smaller and closer again.
   Cat purring returns at the end, acting as an emotional homecoming.

During editing, I used reverb, gentle crossfades, and filtering to smooth transitions. I also experimented with slowing down and stretching some sounds; this added a dreamlike elasticity, as if time is not fully stable.

I am now preparing for the final arrangement and polishing. My aim is to ensure that the listener does not simply heardifferent environments, but feels the emotional shift between them.

Reflection:
The combination of guitar and small noises feels balanced now. The light helps people see the sound differently. I will slightly adjust the volume and echo before the final presentation.

This week I prepared everything for the final presentation.
I cleaned the glass jar and added more small decorations to make it look finished.
I tested the Bluetooth battery and made sure the sound loop plays smoothly.
I also tried different spaces — the classroom, hallway, and studio. The studio sounded best because it kept the sound clear but still soft.

Reflection:
Now the project is ready for showing. The Dream Jar feels like a small world where sound, light, and imagination connect. I learned how small changes in sound can completely change the atmosphere of a space.

Reflection:
This project taught me how sound can shape emotion and space. Even simple elements like a guitar or bubble sound can tell a story when combined carefully.
Through Dream Jar, I learned that sound art doesn’t need to be complex — sometimes the quietest ideas can touch people the most.