A field of sound.

My sound investigation continues...

I am beginning to get a better idea of how my composition is most often dependent on visualisation with the page acting as a window to imagination.

When I am writing here I leave my immediate context, I escape to other places.

Yes, that's how it feels in 'Touches of Sense..." - each new page is a door to an adventure. It is very rarely a piece of paper or a table on which I can sort through ready made ideas.

Ideas gradually emerge through my fingers.  Ideas are for me most often visual scenes.

This is what makes trying to compose with sound so destabilising and so revealing.

When I am writing orally, my immediate context is foregrounded, I escape within the place.

There appears, bizarrely to be more introspection.

I wonder if this will last?

Perhaps I am able to ignore the page in a way that I am incapable of ignoring the sound of my voice, the sound field in which I am immersed, the novelty of the sound recording interfaces?

In order to really grasp what is going on, I resort to typing out transcripts of my audio captures.

That's it - to grasp it, to touch it, to objectify my thought.

I see myself a different light.

I've been reading widely recently to map out my research.

I shall make a few notes to come back to.

I am putting together pieces to sort in a Flipboard.

I shall return to the pieces along the way...

View my Flipboard Magazine.


Aside the Field

ONG: "The field of sound is not spread out before me but is all around me." #digiwrimo

— Simon Ensor (@sensor63) October 9, 2015

Immediately, I am faced with a decision: shall I try to describe the foregrounded/backgrounded sound? I decide not....

Shall I italicise my spoken words? I think I shall...


Transcription

So here I am, I'm writing somewhere else. I'm walking...
So I've been thinking through this business of sound recording, while walking along a bridelway aside a ploughed field, in beautiful autumn sunshine....

I had to move aside a 4x4 nearly run us over. 

So clearly the running over bit wasn't scripted.

Jazz is pulling at the lead wants us to hurry up.

I have that feeling that I should be taking photos.
I have that feeling that I want to find out where those birds are. 

I wonder if you have an impression of the geography, of the topography.

I wonder if you can hear the breeze that I can feel on my skin.

This is writing differently. 

I'm more aware of the listening.
I'm more aware of wanting to listen...to myself while I am recording.

There's that light breeze which is picking up a bit of strength.

Walking along between the ploughed field and the stream.

It's very difficult to get an over-view.

I can't see a page.

I can't see the words...

There's a bird of prey circling above the field.

Let's wait. 
Let's wait.

Will it plunge?

It's circling.

That's Jazz getting impatient.

He runs back to me.
He runs into me.
He wants to go.

I suppose we had better move on...

Strange.

My writing has never been (pause as he remembers another walk described here) that often rythmed by dogs.

He's writing this too.


Post script. 

The time and the wealth of the recording are reduced to words...

A world is feebly annotated.


"senses make place and places make sense" Feld.