The Gift of Sound and Vision

And I will sing

Waiting for the gift of sound and vision

Drifting into my solitude

Over my head

Don't you wonder sometimes

'Bout sound and vision?

I begin writing this first post with earbuds firmly pressed into my ears. Bass thumping. Melodic voice. Repetitive tones. Unashamedly, I am listening to Harry Styles’ new album, Kiss All the Time. Disco, Occasionally. The first track, “Aperture,” is a catchy, almost hypnotizing tune carried by a chorus singing, “We belong together…” over and over…“It finally appears, it’s only love.” Never being much of a “mega fan” of Styles, though appreciating a song here and there over the years, this new album has its grasp on me. Another reminder of the impact music has on my life—a celebration of sound, emotion, and the human condition. I cannot imagine a day without it, without the escape it provides, the rhythm.

Chasing the Chorus

I am aware of the dynamic role sound as a whole plays in my life. While music can serve to comfort and energize, my relationship with sound has been complicated. Four years ago, at 39, I learned some news about how my brain works. Always sensitive to sound, in both positive and negative ways, I struggled to process information if my ears and brain were having to take in multiple sounds at once. 

A little over a year after my diagnosis, I learned about the field of acoustic ecology–the study of how beings (human and non-human) interact with and are impacted by their sound environments. Since then, I’ve learned more about how changing soundscapes contribute to climate change and impact not only our own lives but the ecosystems we inhabit, including wildlife and plant life. Spoiler alert: it’s not looking good. But I believe there is always hope. And, for me, that hope is found in stories and connection.

The title of this project, Chasing the Desert Chorus, is rooted in my commitment to document these changes in the Chihuahuan Desert borderlands–the place I call home–and beyond. My definition of a “chorus” is constantly changing. At the start of this project, I understood it as the literal chorus of the sounds I hear and document through my recorder. But I think it’s more complicated than that. A chorus demands action–learning to listen. It involves striving to find connection and seeing our voice as one part of many, as contributing to something bigger than ourselves. A chorus is a partnership, a collaboration, a coming together and seeing no one as more important than the other, especially as we contend with an increasingly loud and destructive world. 

I embark on this journey with my senses as my starting point. Open to seeing (and hearing) where they take me…and who (and what) I meet.

Sound and Vision

David Bowie’s song “Sound and Vision” has been a soundtrack throughout the creation of this website. 

I keep coming back to the interplay of these two senses. All of my life I have been devoted to the visual. From feverishly drawing worlds from my imagination as a kid to putting myself in compromising positions capturing up-close photos of praying mantises as an adult, the visual has been at the heart of my own creativity. This venture into acoustic ecology and field recording over the past couple of years has opened eyes and ears to a new form of storytelling grounded in sound. 

This project incorporates both sound and visions. The Soundscapes section offers a growing archive of sound clips captured during my journey. The Photo Gallery is a collection of photographs, sketches, and other visual artwork inspired by both my field recording adventures and day-to-day life.

I am aware of the role that inspiration plays in both field recording and creating visual artforms. And, often, that inspiration can be a waiting game. Creative blocks happen. In the same vein, field recording is a practice in patience and missed chances to capture that sound you’re searching for. That bird call that stops just as you hit the record button. I’ve written before about chasing the dawn chorus–the outbreak of birdsong that signals the start of a new day. Scientists believe birds sing before dawn to let their mates know that they made it through the night. “Yo, I’m still here.” Mics struggle to capture that sound that may be just too faint–the hum of bees swarming a Palo Verde tree. But once you do, it’s precious. This chase involves patience but also recognizing the gifts that can be given when you hear that chorus–whether you record it or not. The hearing and being present is a gift in itself. 

***

I write the last words of this first post shedding the pressure and anxiety that comes with putting thoughts to paper in a public way. Digital paper? Is that a thing? I am still finding my way in this “blogging” format–a new medium for me unless you count my brief stint on Livejournal in the early 2000s. But I am allowing myself to explore and adapt without too many restrictions. I’ve created this space as a sort of outlet in addition to a sound and visual journal. Open to pushing beyond the parameters I set for myself and this project while remaining dedicated to my senses and commitment to record and create. In that process, this project will also be open to possibility. The themes and formats may expand in unexpected ways. The shape and sound of the chorus I am chasing may shift. I just know I want to be a part of it. 

For now, I will both seek and patiently wait for that gift of sound and vision.  

For a little bonus, check out this reimagining of “Sound and Vision” by Beck. Headphones highly recommended.