days collapse days collapse night, by Judith Hamann

days collapse days collapse night

by Judith Hamann

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days collapse days collapse night 09:29

about

days collapse days collapse night
feedback, humming, cello, and sensorimotor drawing recording
un-"mixed" or mastered (sorry)
Recorded at HIAP Suomenlinna, mid- late March 2020

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My ‘quarantine’ feels like many things collapsed on top of each other: collective and individual grief crashing into each other, various contractions and dilations of time on itself, the opaqueness of the future mixed up with the vague sense of paralysis of the present.

I haven’t been able to do much of what I perhaps *should* have been doing this last two weeks, instead I might find myself going for long windy walks, or spending the afternoon humming and modulating feedback with a washing basket (spoiler alert), or finding just practicing scales on cello incredibly comforting, or reading an unauthorised biography of Black Sabbath I found in the laundry room etc. I am trying to remember grief is weird and that all of this is ok.

One thing I have managed as a nearly daily exercise is doing and recording small sensorimotor drawings which are part of a larger project of accumulation. That all feels a little ‘but to what end?’ now, but I am still doing them. It’s nice to have something tactile to do which doesn’t have to be ‘good,’ or seen, or finished, it just has to be, a tiny demand of 10 or so minutes of labour and listening. This piece feels something akin to that perhaps.

Here is a drawing on a windy day, and some feedback, humming, and cello on a still one: day collapsed into day.