Week 3: This week in the studio, we saw a wider variety of specialized recording equipment used for different specific scenarios, like devices specifically designed for recording sound in liquids, or equipment commonly used for location sound recording in film production. In class, we also viewed many interesting works by artists. One that left a deep impression on me was the recording of balloon popping sounds in different environments. This week, we also imitated artist Alvin Lucier's work ["I Am Sitting in a Room"] by performing diagonal recordings in groups. Alvin Lucier's work gave me deep insight – it is a profound exploration of sound and space. It transforms a simple spoken text into a mesmerizing soundscape through a process of repeated recording and playback.

Each iteration acts as an acoustic filter, where the room's specific resonant frequencies are reinforced and amplified. Gradually, the human voice—its meaning and the composer's stutter—is entirely erased. What emerges is a pure, environmental music created not by the composer, but by the architecture itself.

The piece demonstrates that the medium (the room and tape recorder) becomes the message, revealing the hidden sonic character of a space and liberating sound from human intention.

This week, I also had a preliminary discussion with the teacher about my concept for Assignment 1. The idea is titled "Kitchen Symphonic Poem – Rhythm and Texture in Everyday Life." The concept is to treat the kitchen as a percussion studio, exploring the rhythmic qualities and tonal textures of chopping vegetables, boiling water, and the clinking of dishes. By arranging these sounds, the goal is to transform everyday noises into a musical composition with rhythmic flow.

I started collecting sound this week.

Inspiration: Experimental Sound Artists & Projects

We looked at the work of several inspiring artists, including:

· Dylan Martorell: Focused on collaboration and creative creation.

· Peter Blamey: Double Partial Eclipse uses solar panels and light bulbs as instrumentation.

· Janet Cardiff: Her work experiments with narrative and sound in library spaces.

· Paul Greedy: Creates sound visualisation through kinetics, like a Chladni Plate.

· Aeolian Harps: Environmental instruments that use wind to create music.

· Ros Brandt: Her work Lake Mungo connects place, history, and sound memory.

These case studies show that sound can be a material, a medium, and a carrier of environmental and personal memory.

Personal Reflection

The most captivating part of this week was understanding the interaction between sound and space. We often overlook how much our environment shapes what we hear. The experimental sound project feels like a perfect opportunity to re-examine how we listen and to push the boundaries of what we consider "sound."

The parts that worked well were the beginning and the ending: they both correspond with each other and frame the piece clearly. At the start, the kitchen sounds act as signals — footsteps, the fridge, washing — while the ending echoes this intimacy by returning to boiling water, the hood switching off, and the light click. Together, they create a sense of closure.

The more difficult part was handling the transitions between the four stages. I wanted the shifts to feel natural and not abrupt, but this was not easy to achieve. To manage this, I used fade-in and fade-out effects, but I also experimented with layering overlapping sounds for a few seconds to smooth the handover between different environments. For example, I overlapped the end of the rain with the first kitchen sizzles, so the listener would not feel a sudden cut.

Another challenge was mixing multiple tracks. I had to think carefully about how to balance volume and spatial placement. If too many layers overlapped at the same intensity, the sound became messy. I experimented with lowering background levels slightly and giving each sound its own “space” in the mix. This process taught me that editing is not just technical — it is about deciding which sounds should lead and which should stay in the background.

My piece is divided into four stages, and I found that the third stage was the hardest to edit. This section introduces city sounds — traffic, trains, and bus announcements — colliding with the frying pan sizzles. The problem was that both sets of sounds are already strong and noisy, so when layered together they risked overwhelming the listener. I solved this partly by staggering their entrances and partly by reducing certain frequencies, so they could coexist without cancelling each other out.

By the end of the week, I felt more confident in the overall shape of the work. I learned that editing is not only about polishing but also about making creative decisions: which details to highlight, how to pace the energy, and how to guide the listener through the sound journey. Although transitions and balance remain challenging, I feel that my piece now has a much clearer direction.

My teacher recommended me to look at Janet Cardiff’s work. Last week in class we had already experienced her piece Lam sitting in a library, and this gave me a new perspective on how sound recording and spatial layering could work. After our conversation, I did some more research on Cardiff’s practice, and I was especially inspired by her “audio walks” and installations, which blur the line between reality and imagination. Like her, I also want to use sound to create new perceptual spaces.

I felt that this feedback and research were very valuable, and I am glad that I discovered this direction issue in Week 6 rather than later, so that I still had time to adjust. As a result, I decided to shift my focus: instead of creating melody, I will combine recordings of the city, natural sounds, and kitchen sounds. My aim is to use spatial dislocation to build a kind of virtual sonic environment that blends private and public spaces. After setting this new direction, my main task for the week was recording. I went out to capture environmental sounds such as rain, ocean waves, traffic, and bus announcements, while also recording everyday kitchen sounds like chopping vegetables, boiling water, and opening the fridge. These recordings now form the foundation of my work.

· How ambient sounds can be captured, arranged, and imbued with narrative qualities.

· How "noise" (such as street clamor) can be transformed into raw material for art.

· How sound can alter our perception and experience of a space, which is an extension of the exploration of "acoustic space."

This week was the presentation for Assignment 1. The focus of the class was listening to how everyone approached sound recording and sound composition. Even though many students collected similar sound materials – such as train announcements, traffic noise, or ocean waves – each project felt different because of its structure and editing choices. One student used elevator announcements to create a narrative structure, letting each floor become a new “chapter” in the piece. It made me realize that sound artworks are not about what sound we record, but how we organize and edit the sound. Sound can function like language.

The second part of the class was about the nature of sound: sound is vibration. Many vibrations are not audible to the human ear, but can be captured using transducers, especially contact microphones. Unlike regular microphones that record sound in the air, contact mics pick up the vibrations directly from a surface. We looked at several artists who use this technique, such as Stephen Vitiello, who recorded the vibrations of the World Trade Center windows, and Jodi Rose, who attaches contact mics to bridges to record the vibrations of cables and make the structure “sing.”

reflection:

This class made me realise that sound is not only something we hear — it is something we feel and perceive. Working with contact microphones feels like touching sound. It reveals a hidden layer of the world, showing that sound exists not only in the air but inside materials and structures, constantly vibrating around us even when we are not aware of it.

For Assignment 2, I continued the idea that I originally wanted to develop in Assignment 1: creating a “kitchen symphony.”

I considered two approaches:

1. Using kitchen objects to create rhythm, similar to percussion, building layers like musical composition.

2. Editing and collaging recordings of utensils to form a melody-like sequence.

At this stage, I was interested in how ordinary sounds could become musical and how editing creates structure.

We discussed that noise is not “an unpleasant sound,” but a sound without structure. Noise does not follow rhythm, melody, or musical rules. It can be chaotic, unstable, or disruptive. Noise can even be categorized by “colour,” such as white noise or pink noise, based on frequency distribution.

By contrast, music follows rules: the time signature determines rhythm, the key defines pitch relationships, the scale creates mood, and the structure organizes sections, repetition, and transitions. Sound exists somewhere between noise and music — more controlled than noise, yet more free than music. Sound does not require a structure; it may simply exist as frequency, texture, and duration.

We were also introduced to sonification, the idea that data can be translated into sound. For example, we saw EEG brainwave data converted into synthesizer output, and live performances like DJ_Dave or CodeKlavier, where computer code is used to generate sound — the code itself becomes an instrument.

We also explored artists who work with unconventional materials, such as Iona Vreme Moser, who builds sound machines using minerals and electronic components, or Céleste Boursier-Mougenot, whose works involve floating ceramic bowls or birds interacting with electric guitars to generate sound.

Before this week, I had never encountered the idea that sound could be generated from data, brainwaves or computer code. Watching EEG signals control synthesizers and seeing code literally become sound felt both strange and exciting. It made me rethink what it means to “make” sound. Instead of performing or composing it, sometimes sound just emerges from a system.

What surprised me most is that noise is not a mistake — it can be intentional, meaningful, and expressive. I began to understand that sound art is less about controlling sound and more about listening to how materials or data behave. The artist becomes a facilitator rather than a composer. This week shifted my mindset from “creating sounds” to “allowing sounds to happen.”

Tinnitus and Noise

After this week's lecture about the difference between sound, noise, and music, we experimented with a device (Soma Ether) that detects electromagnetic noise from electronic objects. When placed close to phones, chargers, or lights, the device produced high-frequency noise.

During the exercise, I suddenly realized that my Kitchen Symphony idea would be difficult to perform live. It requires very precise timing, a lot of physical manipulation of objects, and does not offer flexibility during presentation.

At the same time, the electromagnetic noise reminded me of the ringing in my ears when I can't fall asleep. The high frequency, the subtle buzzing, and the tension felt similar to tinnitus.

That moment triggered a shift: instead of composing "music, wanted to explore noise as a psychological state. Noise can be emotional, intrusive, and overwhelming - not just sound.

We also discussed sonification, which refers to transforming data into sound. Examples included EEG brainwaves controlling synthesizers, and Jasmine Guffond’s browser plug-in that converts online tracking data into audio. Through sound, invisible information becomes perceivable. This opened up a new understanding for me: sound can reveal hidden systems and signals that we do not normally notice.

During the hands-on workshop, we used contact microphones and a Soma Ether device. Before this week, I mistakenly believed that the Soma Ether was a type of contact microphone. In reality, the two work in completely different ways:

A contact microphone picks up physical vibrations from a surface.

The Soma Ether captures electromagnetic noise from electronic objects and from the surrounding space.

When I placed the Soma Ether near lights, chargers or power outlets, each object produced a different type of electrical buzzing noise. These sounds are always present, but without the device we do not hear them.

Reflection:

This week helped me understand that sound is not only something we hear; it can also be information, emotion, or a translation of invisible data into an audible experience. The world is never silent — we simply lack access to certain sounds.

I began drafting my proposal and continued collecting recordings: electrical hums, high-frequency tones, breathing, and soft mechanical noise.

I researched the artist Ryoji Ikeda, especially his work Test Pattern, which transforms data into rapidly flashing visuals and intense sound. The sound doesn’t just exist in the ear; it affects the body. The audiovisual intensity produces physical discomfort and psychological pressure.

This inspired me to think about tinnitus and insomnia not as a “sound problem,” but as a bodily experience.

Proposal draft:

My project is titled “Tinnitus: The Sound of Sleeplessness.”

It explores how noise can become a physical and emotional experience, especially during moments of insomnia.

The work is inspired by my own sleeping problems and the constant ringing in my ears — a sound that seems to exist somewhere between the body and the mind.

At night, ordinary noises like the hum of a laptop, the vibration of a phone, or even my own breathing can become amplified.

These small, almost invisible sounds turn into an overwhelming presence that makes it hard to rest.

Through this project, I want to externalize those inner noises — to make the audience hear what anxiety sounds like.

I will use the device we have been using these past few weeks to record materials: electrical hums, high-frequency tones, breathing, and soft mechanical noises.

A space where the boundary between body and machine disappears,

and where noise becomes the texture of the mind.

This week I discussed my idea during a 1-on-1 session with the teacher. The tutor encouraged me to think about audience participation — not just passive listening.

I realised insomnia is not only about sound; it is about the body.

So I decided to abandon the idea of a video or stereo sound piece and design an interactive installation: a pillow that produces sound.

Plan:

1. A small sound module will be placed inside a pillow.

2. The audience must press their ear onto the pillow, in a sleeping position, to hear the sound.

3. Inside the pillow, I will play edited recordings of electromagnetic noise, tinnitus-like frequencies, and possibly my whispered narration describing sleeplessness.

The work recreates the feeling of trying to sleep but being disturbed by intrusive sound. The audience becomes the performer — the moment they lie down and listen, they enter the experience of insomnia.

This week helped me recognize that my project is not about playing sound to people — it’s about making them feel sound inside their body.

Over the next two weeks, I will:

1. edit and organise the sound materials (electromagnetic noise, tinnitus-like frequencies, breathing, subtle mechanical vibrations, etc.),

2. purchase a sound module that can record or loop audio,

3. upload the edited audio into the module,

4. sew the module inside the pillow so that the sound is transmitted through physical contact when the audience presses their ear against it.

I attempted to cut open the pillow and insert the audio block inside it, so that the audience could only hear the sound clearly by getting close to the pillow, to simulate the effect of tinnitus when sleeping.