Sound Journal, To the Sea August 26, 2017
Sound Journal, To the Sea
It’s a bit funny coming into this project with presumptions on what my aural experience would be; and in response finding an otherwise different, candid experience. But I suppose that was the point of the assignment. To discover and appreciate the impromptu minutiae of our surroundings. To key in on the sounds that permeate our passing experiences, and see how they can be both all-encompassing and ever-so subtle.
So, knowing I would have to write about a meditative experience with sounds, I thought that reviewing an upcoming haircut appointment would be a great focal experience. Reflecting on the preconceived notions of the chattering hum of salon patrons, high-pitched sound of a blow-dryer breathing warmly against my nape, or the crisp clip of scissors that always seems to come dangerously close to my ears. And, of course, the initial banal, conversational pleasantries with the stylist, that eventually carry on into genuine dialogue (such has been my prior experiences). And while these moments did occur and I certainly appreciated the value of these sounds- through my obligatory haircut, I ended up coming across another unexpected experience, even more rewarding.
As the anecdote goes I was driving Friday evening to a classmate’s house to pick up some materials for a group project (slightly embittered that this was the focus of my Friday night, coursework assuming the weekend once more). Having arrived I was surprised to see this beautifully oblong house set along the shore. I went inside to gather the project items to take back home, and as with many of those simple, yet serendipitous instances, I ran into some mutual friends and ended up hanging for the night. In short, the number of folks grew inside the house, as did my re-acquaintance with old classmates and friends, along with ensuing revelry of course.
Hours later I headed out back for some fresh air, following a sandy path towards the beach. Alone on the shore I encountered this symphony of sound, set against the otherwise silence of the night. Facing the ocean waves crashed in an uproar as they hit their cresting peak, tumbling over themselves. Behind me the sea oats dotting the dunes and their wind-swept reeds brushed against one another in sonorous delight. Flanked laterally and above, the wind carried these tones and more in swirling echoes, abounding almost indistinguishably around me. The only human sounds were the faint echoes of chatter and music (a lovely mix of Springsteen, and Jerry Garcia) coming from the glow of the house beyond the dunes. Curious how somewhere cut off from the din of man, basking in its own essence, sounds of nature can be so conversely voluble. Bathed in darkness and resounding tones, I dually felt like I was in my own inclusive bubble, yet also tethered to those all-encompassing voices of nature. A world so vastly rich in sound, without need or want of man.
This unexpected moment carried a newfound appreciation for my surroundings, if only then and there. A setting where one could rediscover the resonant, wafting sounds of air and sea, augmenting one another in rebounding discourse. Truly a beautiful instance of sound within an immediate environment, much better than any haircut.
So, knowing I would have to write about a meditative experience with sounds, I thought that reviewing an upcoming haircut appointment would be a great focal experience. Reflecting on the preconceived notions of the chattering hum of salon patrons, high-pitched sound of a blow-dryer breathing warmly against my nape, or the crisp clip of scissors that always seems to come dangerously close to my ears. And, of course, the initial banal, conversational pleasantries with the stylist, that eventually carry on into genuine dialogue (such has been my prior experiences). And while these moments did occur and I certainly appreciated the value of these sounds- through my obligatory haircut, I ended up coming across another unexpected experience, even more rewarding.
As the anecdote goes I was driving Friday evening to a classmate’s house to pick up some materials for a group project (slightly embittered that this was the focus of my Friday night, coursework assuming the weekend once more). Having arrived I was surprised to see this beautifully oblong house set along the shore. I went inside to gather the project items to take back home, and as with many of those simple, yet serendipitous instances, I ran into some mutual friends and ended up hanging for the night. In short, the number of folks grew inside the house, as did my re-acquaintance with old classmates and friends, along with ensuing revelry of course.
Hours later I headed out back for some fresh air, following a sandy path towards the beach. Alone on the shore I encountered this symphony of sound, set against the otherwise silence of the night. Facing the ocean waves crashed in an uproar as they hit their cresting peak, tumbling over themselves. Behind me the sea oats dotting the dunes and their wind-swept reeds brushed against one another in sonorous delight. Flanked laterally and above, the wind carried these tones and more in swirling echoes, abounding almost indistinguishably around me. The only human sounds were the faint echoes of chatter and music (a lovely mix of Springsteen, and Jerry Garcia) coming from the glow of the house beyond the dunes. Curious how somewhere cut off from the din of man, basking in its own essence, sounds of nature can be so conversely voluble. Bathed in darkness and resounding tones, I dually felt like I was in my own inclusive bubble, yet also tethered to those all-encompassing voices of nature. A world so vastly rich in sound, without need or want of man.
This unexpected moment carried a newfound appreciation for my surroundings, if only then and there. A setting where one could rediscover the resonant, wafting sounds of air and sea, augmenting one another in rebounding discourse. Truly a beautiful instance of sound within an immediate environment, much better than any haircut.
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