Nordens Hus, Island
The opening took place outdoor close to the Nordic House on Wednesday the 20th of June. The Norwegian Ambassador Cecilie Landsverk and Mikkel Harder, Director of the Nordic House were present and opened the exhibition.
Welcome to the new artists from Iceland:
They join the group:
Norway: Maia Urstad, Siri Austeen, Tine Surel Lange, Luca Forcucci (Switzerland), Signe Lidén
Denmark: Trine Hylander Friis, Flopper, Ane Østergaard
Sweden: Anna Hedberg
Finland: Joonas Siren
Iceland: Thurid Jonsdottir
What we know so far cold water corals are deep down in the oceans outside Lofoten and around Iceland and play a significant role in the ecosystem. The Walk’n Bike In has been inspired by these tiny and beautiful corals.
The project was launched at the Icelandic Radio P1/Culture program the 20th of June just before the opening.
Supported by: Norwegian Arts Council/Fund of Sound and Image, Nordic Culture Point, Nordic Culture Fund and Norwegian Artists Vederlagsfond.
Artists participating in this exhibit:
Sound Letter From My Holiday In Space
Dear family. It has been some trip. It’s difficult to describe in words what really happened instead I photographed the past 100 years in one picture, and translated that picture into sound. The 'Sound Drive In' is my portal from space and where you can hear my letters.
Big hugs and take care, Band Ane
Can You Hear the Grasshoppers Sing?
I remember one childhood summer, when I first realized that my father couldn’t hear the grasshoppers singing. I felt confused; why are there sounds that can not be heard by everybody?
This memory resurfaced a few years ago, when I was thinking more about my personal relation to sound.
To my knowledge the sound of singing grasshoppers is perhaps one of the few specific aural phenomenon that can be lost from hearing. Grasshoppers and crickets sing in a very high pitch between 12 – 20 kHz and these frequencies can be lost because of normal aging.
I find it poetic that there are sounds that are connected to the process of aging. The disappearance is somehow a reminder of our limited, transient existence.
"Can You Hear the Grasshoppers Sing?" is a generative sound-work, where the different field recordings of grasshopper sounds are transposed/pitchshifted. A computer program continuously pitchshifts the recordings in real-time up behind the 20 kHz human hearing threshold, emulating the disappearance from everybody.
The computer also pitchshifts them down to 5 kHz enabling those have lost them to hear the grasshoppers again.
Composed and produced by Konrad Korabiewski at Skálar | Sound Art | Experimental Music, East Iceland, June 2018"
Tine Surel Lange
Water and Stone
In a time where we are constantly surrounded by sound, have we forgotten how to listen?
Have we forgotten to hear the music in the mountain stream, the tone colours in the wind? Have we forgotten to notice the interaction between and natural orchestration of the sounds in our surroundings?
With my art I want to make people listen, with the hope that we through listening get more in contact with and care more about our surroundings and the changes happening around us.
Revisiting Possible Spaces
In Revisiting Possible Spaces I use my own sonic experiences and memories as a starting point for this sound piece which is specially composed for Drive In Rebild. Aural horizon, scale and abstracted sonic everyday life is here key words. Through reflection on a handful of memory-based soundscapes * this notion of a familiar room at an unknown location was made.
I have long been committed to relationship between sound, place and identity and thereby become interested in the actual listening as action. Listening as both artistic practice and as a way of being in the world. Sound and listening is directly associated with time spent and therefore also with how time is used. How we spend our time and how we live our lives.
fathers bird feeders
mothers sewing Machine
a girlfriends beehive
my water flute
song to vacuum cleaner
water can on water
Trine Hylander Friis
I am driving slowly through the forest with a rolled-down window, absorbing the details. Dark vertical closely spaced trunks, prickly crooked branches interspersed with tiny flashes of light, soft mossy ground, a smell of soil and half rotten leaves. I draw it all in. Accumulate.
The light changes, the landscape opens, the horizon makes my eyes water. I force them wide open, note how the clouds rapidly drift, the grass surge and bow flat on the ground. Filling my lungs to bursting point-
With support from Danish Composers' Society / Koda's Cultural Funds
Þegar ég var barn voru enn nokkrir sveitabæir með kindum og fleiru á örfáum stöðum í Reykjavík. Mörg svæði borgarinnar voru enn með ósnortnum melum og móum á milli húsa og hverfa. Fyrir hundrað árum eða svo var borgin auðvitað enn meiri sveit og margir bæjarbúar áttu eigin mjólkurkú og jafnvel nokkrar hænur. Gaman væri að geta skyggnst aftur í fortíðina í borginni og hlustað á hljóð gamla tímans í bland við hljóð nútímans. Hvernig ætli hljóðin í borginni verði í framtíðinni?
When I was a child growing up in Reykjavík, there still remained a few farms scattered around the city that kept sheep and other livestock. There were also many undeveloped and wild parcels of land in between the buildings and districts. A century or so ago, the city was obviously much more rural. Many of its townsfolk had their own milking cow and even kept a few hens. What a joy it would be to be able to catch a glimpse of the city’s past and listen to the sounds of olden times, even if mixed with the sounds of modernity. What will the city sound like in the future?
kitchen sink realism
Is that a floor boards creak
What was that ... a low humming from a bumblebee
And the freezer in the supermarket goes berserk
Is that the neighbor shaving?
Does the person living below shout at the dog
Kids singing in the staircase
The tiny sounds of everyday life court and mixed...
Like wreckage piled together as an unique structure
Even rain finds its place.
In Hymni (meaning Psalm in Icelandic) I focus on a hidden voice of a blood centrifuge. All the material of the work derives from a recording of such machine found in the National University Hospital of Iceland in Reykjavik.
Southern Africa and Lofoten Islands are somehow related by their proximities to the (South and North) Poles. Sounds from those locations
have been recorded during long soundwalks in 2016. They are recombined here to resonate to each other, they are blended together in order to create a dialogue. Those distant territories become one single place and meet for once
within the Drive In installation. A unique territory made of sounds, the perceived visual mental imagery emanating from the careful listening is the
only possible vision one may have of such imaginary and utopian land.
With support from The Swiss Arts Council Pro Helvetia
The title refers to a story I read on internet when searching for information about the area around Rebild. It describes two bells from the Solberg Church, which are no longer in use. One bell is from around 1100 and represents one of the oldest of its kind in the country. The bells from that era are usually without inscription, but the Solberg bell has a cross and several tiny fonts, which are difficult to interpret because they are very small, and the characters are flipped. The first problems with the bell occurred in 1880, causing a sonic dissonance. Sixty years later, a crack was discovered, and after yet another 22 years, it was replaced. According to superstition, small shavings of a church bell had a healing effect on almost all human and animal suffering. Therefore, the bold and brave sneaked up to the bell around midnight - under the full moon when the magic was at its strongest - to obtain a piece of its healing power. The big Solberg bell carries traces of these nightly guests from ancient times. The little bell was dismantled in 1999. It has the inscription "Margrethe Wiffert 1610". This one, however, has no carved marks...
In this work, I build an imagined narrative around the bells, the nightly guests, Margrethe, and the inverted text on the big bell that is not possible to decipher. The voice is by Conrad Kemp.
Waveforms and Tunnel Visions III – Robert
There are certain precautions that an artist who records sound as a major part of one’s practice takes. No hocus pocus, just basic stuff like taking extra batteries, SIM card, cables. If you are doubting whether or not to bring a microphone, just do it, it is written in the stars that if you choose not to, you will regret.
I spent several weeks recording in Cagliari, Sardinia, in 2015. The city was named the culture city of Italy and curator Maria Paula Zedda had envisioned a program focusing on the city of sounds. I was one of the artists in residence and had set fore to explore the relationships of property and ownership between the subterranean and the city above ground.
I spent weeks listening to the changing echoes while descending down into the dark and recording the city filtered through its cavities. I think of field recording as a conversation with place, but had also sought co-listeners, fellow bodies, thinkers, experts to join the conversation.
All went well, I encountered great people and places and was very happy about the recordings. A month had passed and it was getting closer to the final exhibition. One morning on the way to the Antico Palazzo di Citta where my performance was going to take place, I stopped by at an excavation site next to the busy square Piazza Jenne. Enrico worked there, the archaeologist with whom I had visited several cavities in the city. I recorded him and his crew uncovering mosaics, a window fragment and a part of a vase under layers of earth and asphalt. I had not plan to record that day but there was something raw and rhythmic about that sound of digging; the metal tools meeting sand and stones, the workers’ comments, the traffic.
It started raining, so I put my binaural microphones inside a hole in the fence surrounding the excavation site. Soon after, I heard a voice, it was Robert’s but at that moment he was still a stranger. I remember he made me laugh although I cannot recall his joke. After explaining what I was doing, I asked if I could record our conversation. He answered "You want me to talk about property and ownership? How can I even talk about ownership when I have no legal body here, literally speaking, I barely exist." Increasingly troubled I asked if, from the perspective of his bare existence, he had a place he could call his and he answered without doubting: "the Horizon". Then the SD card was full and of course that very day, I had no extra. "Whatever", I thought and packed my equipment. Robert and I spent that day together visiting crypts, cisterns and caves. He was a poet, a joker, a griot and I tried to memorise his stories and readings of places.
My performances took place a few days after and I had hoped he would show up but I never saw him again.
Memories of fragments of his stories has often popped up during the three years that have passed but I did not manage to catch his words on paper. Recently I read Robert Smithson’s text Incidents of mirror-travel in the Yucatan from his Collected Writings, and while reading the opening lines, I heard an echo of the other Robert’s voice. So I borrowed Robert Smithson’s words and placed them in the mouth of a reimagined, reenacted Robert.
Many thanks to Robert, Remo and Robert.