Screen x Sound 2022
Artworks are best experienced using headphones.
ds_admin2023-07-19T02:17:32+00:00
was too afraid to lose you, lost myself instead / Lǐ Xīng Yǔ (Echo Li)
Don’t trust what I say, feel me instead. My ongoing art project has always been to explore personal emotions and stories. Art has been a way to discover and unpack unhealed feelings. But when it comes to love, oh yeah, love is always in the mix with lots of things. In love we lose ourselves. No one can escape by sheer luck even if we are trying really carefully – so, was too afraid to lose you, lost myself instead. This is a cliché but real in that my art hurts me back this time. My personal relationship had let me research this idea of love while it was still fresh and ongoing. Our cultural common sense creates the chemistry and impetus to make the work. My psychoanalytic exploration, good for art, but also this was my life.
I want thank Yundi for giving me the permission to undertake this project. You have always inspired me, even to this today, and I know you are always there in some ways.
was too afraid to lose you, lost myself instead / Lǐ Xīng Yǔ (Echo Li)
Don’t trust what I say, feel me instead. My ongoing art project has always been to explore personal emotions and stories. Art has been a way to discover and unpack unhealed feelings. But when it comes to love, oh yeah, love is always in the mix with lots of things. In love we lose ourselves. No one can escape by sheer luck even if we are trying really carefully – so, was too afraid to lose you, lost myself instead. This is a cliché but real in that my art hurts me back this time. My personal relationship had let me research this idea of love while it was still fresh and ongoing. Our cultural common sense creates the chemistry and impetus to make the work. My psychoanalytic exploration, good for art, but also this was my life.
I want thank Yundi for giving me the permission to undertake this project. You have always inspired me, even to this today, and I know you are always there in some ways.
was too afraid to lose you, lost myself instead
Lǐ Xīng Yǔ (Echo Li)
Don’t trust what I say, feel me instead. My ongoing art project has always been to explore personal emotions and stories. Art has been a way to discover and unpack unhealed feelings. But when it comes to love, oh yeah, love is always in the mix with lots of things. In love we lose ourselves. No one can escape by sheer luck even if we are trying really carefully – so, was too afraid to lose you, lost myself instead. This is a cliché but real in that my art hurts me back this time. My personal relationship had let me research this idea of love while it was still fresh and ongoing. Our cultural common sense creates the chemistry and impetus to make the work. My psychoanalytic exploration, good for art, but also this was my life.
I want thank Yundi for giving me the permission to undertake this project. You have always inspired me, even to this today, and I know you are always there in some ways.
ds_admin2024-05-15T02:21:54+00:00
Mire / Rebecca Bracewell
Mire weaves together fragments of field recordings and hearing aid feedback, merging natural and mechanical sonic landscapes. Hearing aid feedback is the sound that my hearing aids make, a high-pitched scream that occurs when the microphone picks up the sounds of the speaker, and it continues sounding in a loop. My hearing aids function as an extension of my body, and Mire is my attempt to give them life by contextualizing their sounds within an existing ecosystem. In the process of finding such a place, I was drawn to sounds that reminded me most of my hearing aids – water birds, frogs, crickets – leading me to make my recordings in the Alphington Wetlands. Though feedback tends to disrupt my ability to communicate with others in daily life, it comes alive in conversation with the creatures that inhabit the wetland. Mired in this physical landscape the feedback can grow, transforming into something new.
Mire / Rebecca Bracewell
Mire weaves together fragments of field recordings and hearing aid feedback, merging natural and mechanical sonic landscapes. Hearing aid feedback is the sound that my hearing aids make, a high-pitched scream that occurs when the microphone picks up the sounds of the speaker, and it continues sounding in a loop. My hearing aids function as an extension of my body, and Mire is my attempt to give them life by contextualizing their sounds within an existing ecosystem. In the process of finding such a place, I was drawn to sounds that reminded me most of my hearing aids – water birds, frogs, crickets – leading me to make my recordings in the Alphington Wetlands. Though feedback tends to disrupt my ability to communicate with others in daily life, it comes alive in conversation with the creatures that inhabit the wetland. Mired in this physical landscape the feedback can grow, transforming into something new.
Mire
Rebecca Bracewell
Mire weaves together fragments of field recordings and hearing aid feedback, merging natural and mechanical sonic landscapes. Hearing aid feedback is the sound that my hearing aids make, a high-pitched scream that occurs when the microphone picks up the sounds of the speaker, and it continues sounding in a loop. My hearing aids function as an extension of my body, and Mire is my attempt to give them life by contextualizing their sounds within an existing ecosystem. In the process of finding such a place, I was drawn to sounds that reminded me most of my hearing aids – water birds, frogs, crickets – leading me to make my recordings in the Alphington Wetlands. Though feedback tends to disrupt my ability to communicate with others in daily life, it comes alive in conversation with the creatures that inhabit the wetland. Mired in this physical landscape the feedback can grow, transforming into something new.
ds_admin2023-07-19T03:53:22+00:00
How long do you let yourself spiral for? / Monique Gawne
A lament and a love song, Monique uses field recordings of authentic conversations to explore the mental processes of healing from trauma. Monique works manually within the sonic field, using physical objects of symbolic significance to warp and manipulate her field recordings. From fans, to beer cans, to rusty speakers found at hostels, to the mug he gave her. Monique re-records her field recordings into and through these objects, creating new layers of ambience and emotion. Monique works intuitively. All decisions are guided by conceptual and symbolic direction. The work not only explores her healing process, but is the healing process. While making the artwork, the microphone becomes a point of release, intimate thoughts and feelings are shared to this device, now a therapeutic tool. It goes further: the microphone becomes a tool of accountability as Monique records her daily actions and the self-surveillance motivates her into positive behaviours. She records herself as she gets out of bed, brushes her teeth, gets changed, says “hi” to friends, and walks into town. Monique recommends listening with your throat and your chest.
Content Warning: This artwork references trauma and abuse.
How long do you let yourself spiral for? / Monique Gawne
A lament and a love song, Monique uses field recordings of authentic conversations to explore the mental processes of healing from trauma. Monique works manually within the sonic field, using physical objects of symbolic significance to warp and manipulate her field recordings. From fans, to beer cans, to rusty speakers found at hostels, to the mug he gave her. Monique re-records her field recordings into and through these objects, creating new layers of ambience and emotion. Monique works intuitively. All decisions are guided by conceptual and symbolic direction. The work not only explores her healing process, but is the healing process. While making the artwork, the microphone becomes a point of release, intimate thoughts and feelings are shared to this device, now a therapeutic tool. It goes further: the microphone becomes a tool of accountability as Monique records her daily actions and the self-surveillance motivates her into positive behaviours. She records herself as she gets out of bed, brushes her teeth, gets changed, says “hi” to friends, and walks into town. Monique recommends listening with your throat and your chest.
Content Warning: This artwork references trauma and abuse.
How long do you let yourself spiral for?
Monique Gawne
A lament and a love song, Monique uses field recordings of authentic conversations to explore the mental processes of healing from trauma. Monique works manually within the sonic field, using physical objects of symbolic significance to warp and manipulate her field recordings. From fans, to beer cans, to rusty speakers found at hostels, to the mug he gave her. Monique re-records her field recordings into and through these objects, creating new layers of ambience and emotion. Monique works intuitively. All decisions are guided by conceptual and symbolic direction. The work not only explores her healing process, but is the healing process. While making the artwork, the microphone becomes a point of release, intimate thoughts and feelings are shared to this device, now a therapeutic tool. It goes further: the microphone becomes a tool of accountability as Monique records her daily actions and the self-surveillance motivates her into positive behaviours. She records herself as she gets out of bed, brushes her teeth, gets changed, says “hi” to friends, and walks into town. Monique recommends listening with your throat and your chest.
Content Warning: This artwork references trauma and abuse.
ds_admin2023-07-19T03:29:46+00:00
Music credit: Leah Alysandratos
This Bug is Not a Bug / Amy Manson
This Bug is Not a Bug is an experimental work exploring the tension between the natural world as embodied by insect samples and the gaze of technology. The film is a stop motion sequence of images shot through a microscope objective mounted to a camera. Due to the objective’s extremely short depth of field, creating this work was a labour almost machine-like, each frame made up of 30 – 70 focused stacked images. The repetitive and tedious nature of capturing each image, accumulating and compiling masses of data, then running it all through a focus stacking algorithm, mirrors the way much modern scientific research is conducted, with computers and predominantly automated. Confronted by vibrant colours, alien seeming formations and striking patterns, elements of nature previously inconspicuous are rendered unexpectedly awe inspiring, grotesque and beautiful, but ultimately unrecognisable. This Bug is Not a Bug speaks to the way in which technology takes nature out of context, seeing only the useful parts while obscuring the importance of the interrelated whole.
This Bug is Not a Bug / Amy Manson
This Bug is Not a Bug is an experimental work exploring the tension between the natural world as embodied by insect samples and the gaze of technology. The film is a stop motion sequence of images shot through a microscope objective mounted to a camera. Due to the objective’s extremely short depth of field, creating this work was a labour almost machine-like, each frame made up of 30 – 70 focused stacked images. The repetitive and tedious nature of capturing each image, accumulating and compiling masses of data, then running it all through a focus stacking algorithm, mirrors the way much modern scientific research is conducted, with computers and predominantly automated. Confronted by vibrant colours, alien seeming formations and striking patterns, elements of nature previously inconspicuous are rendered unexpectedly awe inspiring, grotesque and beautiful, but ultimately unrecognisable. This Bug is Not a Bug speaks to the way in which technology takes nature out of context, seeing only the useful parts while obscuring the importance of the interrelated whole.
Music credit: Leah Alysandratos
This Bug is Not a Bug
Amy Manson
This Bug is Not a Bug is an experimental work exploring the tension between the natural world as embodied by insect samples and the gaze of technology. The film is a stop motion sequence of images shot through a microscope objective mounted to a camera. Due to the objective’s extremely short depth of field, creating this work was a labour almost machine-like, each frame made up of 30 – 70 focused stacked images. The repetitive and tedious nature of capturing each image, accumulating and compiling masses of data, then running it all through a focus stacking algorithm, mirrors the way much modern scientific research is conducted, with computers and predominantly automated. Confronted by vibrant colours, alien seeming formations and striking patterns, elements of nature previously inconspicuous are rendered unexpectedly awe inspiring, grotesque and beautiful, but ultimately unrecognisable. This Bug is Not a Bug speaks to the way in which technology takes nature out of context, seeing only the useful parts while obscuring the importance of the interrelated whole.
Music credit: Leah Alysandratos
ds_admin2023-07-19T03:54:08+00:00
開飯喇 /緊呷 (hoi faan laa /gin jia) / Monique Gawne and Carmen Yih
開飯喇 /緊呷 (hoi faan laa /gin jia) is a collaborative video and performance work from artists Carmen Yih and Monique Gawne. Carmen and Monique both cook alone in public spaces – one at dawn and one at dusk, connected across distances through the ritual process of cooking meals close to their heart. What they are cooking is hidden from view, yet, they welcome you to cook with them. Monique and Carmen explore how food, cooking, and sharing a meal are all common ways of communicating love. 開飯喇 /緊呷 (hoi faan laa /gin jia) is also an homage to all the unspoken acts of love shown to them by their Asian family members. The work also explores the nuances of Asian-Australian identity. Cooking an Asian meal in public that is usually reserved for the private familial home references the need to consciously and observably practice aspects of our Asian culture in order to ‘keep our asianness alive.’ Monique and Carmen imbue deeply personal, emotional connections into the artwork and invite viewers to reflect on their own cultural identity and connection to food.
開飯喇 /緊呷 (hoi faan laa /gin jia) / Monique Gawne and Carmen Yih
開飯喇 /緊呷 (hoi faan laa /gin jia) is a collaborative video and performance work from artists Carmen Yih and Monique Gawne. Carmen and Monique both cook alone in public spaces – one at dawn and one at dusk, connected across distances through the ritual process of cooking meals close to their heart. What they are cooking is hidden from view, yet, they welcome you to cook with them. Monique and Carmen explore how food, cooking, and sharing a meal are all common ways of communicating love. 開飯喇 /緊呷 (hoi faan laa /gin jia) is also an homage to all the unspoken acts of love shown to them by their Asian family members. The work also explores the nuances of Asian-Australian identity. Cooking an Asian meal in public that is usually reserved for the private familial home references the need to consciously and observably practice aspects of our Asian culture in order to ‘keep our asianness alive.’ Monique and Carmen imbue deeply personal, emotional connections into the artwork and invite viewers to reflect on their own cultural identity and connection to food.
開飯喇 /緊呷 (hoi faan laa /gin jia)
Monique Gawne and Carmen Yih
開飯喇 /緊呷 (hoi faan laa /gin jia) is a collaborative video and performance work from artists Carmen Yih and Monique Gawne. Carmen and Monique both cook alone in public spaces – one at dawn and one at dusk, connected across distances through the ritual process of cooking meals close to their heart. What they are cooking is hidden from view, yet, they welcome you to cook with them. Monique and Carmen explore how food, cooking, and sharing a meal are all common ways of communicating love. 開飯喇 /緊呷 (hoi faan laa /gin jia) is also an homage to all the unspoken acts of love shown to them by their Asian family members. The work also explores the nuances of Asian-Australian identity. Cooking an Asian meal in public that is usually reserved for the private familial home references the need to consciously and observably practice aspects of our Asian culture in order to ‘keep our asianness alive.’ Monique and Carmen imbue deeply personal, emotional connections into the artwork and invite viewers to reflect on their own cultural identity and connection to food.
ds_admin2023-07-19T03:54:52+00:00
We Will / April Guest
In essence, We Will is a musical celebration of identity and queerness. In it, I explore the integral link between one’s voice and identity, and use that connection as a catalyst to empower people to reshape and liberate themselves, both personally and creatively. Despite broad societal advancements towards acceptance of transgender people, we are still faced with social rejection when we deviate from our expected gendered performances, including how we use our voices. We Will brings contrasting gender presentations of my own voice to the forefront, challenging societal preconceptions of queerness while displaying how embracing one’s identity and overcoming societal shame can unlock an array of new creative possibilities. Musically, I combine this with an expansive list of vocal and beatbox techniques to showcase the often overlooked, vast capabilities of the human voice. By displaying my own vulnerabilities, struggles with and rejection of gender norms, I inspire others to take control of their own lives and reshape their identities in the face of a society that has often rejected them.
We Will / April Guest
In essence, We Will is a musical celebration of identity and queerness. In it, I explore the integral link between one’s voice and identity, and use that connection as a catalyst to empower people to reshape and liberate themselves, both personally and creatively. Despite broad societal advancements towards acceptance of transgender people, we are still faced with social rejection when we deviate from our expected gendered performances, including how we use our voices. We Will brings contrasting gender presentations of my own voice to the forefront, challenging societal preconceptions of queerness while displaying how embracing one’s identity and overcoming societal shame can unlock an array of new creative possibilities. Musically, I combine this with an expansive list of vocal and beatbox techniques to showcase the often overlooked, vast capabilities of the human voice. By displaying my own vulnerabilities, struggles with and rejection of gender norms, I inspire others to take control of their own lives and reshape their identities in the face of a society that has often rejected them.
We Will
April Guest
In essence, We Will is a musical celebration of identity and queerness. In it, I explore the integral link between one’s voice and identity, and use that connection as a catalyst to empower people to reshape and liberate themselves, both personally and creatively. Despite broad societal advancements towards acceptance of transgender people, we are still faced with social rejection when we deviate from our expected gendered performances, including how we use our voices. We Will brings contrasting gender presentations of my own voice to the forefront, challenging societal preconceptions of queerness while displaying how embracing one’s identity and overcoming societal shame can unlock an array of new creative possibilities. Musically, I combine this with an expansive list of vocal and beatbox techniques to showcase the often overlooked, vast capabilities of the human voice. By displaying my own vulnerabilities, struggles with and rejection of gender norms, I inspire others to take control of their own lives and reshape their identities in the face of a society that has often rejected them.
ds_admin2023-07-19T03:55:37+00:00
Look… the grass is singing / Sofie McClure
Look… the grass is singing is a self-reflexive investigation into the relationship between the film director, the camera, and the viewer. The film playfully investigates the position of the director through my delivery of choral instructions to a field of grass. At the beginning of the video work, the viewer is invited to see the movements and sounds of the grass as responding to my commands. However, as the camera shutter opens and closes, the viewer’s capacity to ‘see’ becomes increasingly obstructed, the video image resembling an eye half closed. Immersing the camera deep within the grass and allowing the sound of the grass to guide the camera’s movements, the work seeks to destabilise the position of the director as someone commanding the visual field. As my choral instructions dissolve into broken vowels and the video image disintegrates, the grass is finally heard. Through this work, I mediate on how my environment is always leading the camera ‘astray’, redirecting my own gaze and in turn, the direction of my filmmaking practise.
Look… the grass is singing / Sofie McClure
Look… the grass is singing is a self-reflexive investigation into the relationship between the film director, the camera, and the viewer. The film playfully investigates the position of the director through my delivery of choral instructions to a field of grass. At the beginning of the video work, the viewer is invited to see the movements and sounds of the grass as responding to my commands. However, as the camera shutter opens and closes, the viewer’s capacity to ‘see’ becomes increasingly obstructed, the video image resembling an eye half closed. Immersing the camera deep within the grass and allowing the sound of the grass to guide the camera’s movements, the work seeks to destabilise the position of the director as someone commanding the visual field. As my choral instructions dissolve into broken vowels and the video image disintegrates, the grass is finally heard. Through this work, I mediate on how my environment is always leading the camera ‘astray’, redirecting my own gaze and in turn, the direction of my filmmaking practise.
Look… the grass is singing
Sofie McClure
Look… the grass is singing is a self-reflexive investigation into the relationship between the film director, the camera, and the viewer. The film playfully investigates the position of the director through my delivery of choral instructions to a field of grass. At the beginning of the video work, the viewer is invited to see the movements and sounds of the grass as responding to my commands. However, as the camera shutter opens and closes, the viewer’s capacity to ‘see’ becomes increasingly obstructed, the video image resembling an eye half closed. Immersing the camera deep within the grass and allowing the sound of the grass to guide the camera’s movements, the work seeks to destabilise the position of the director as someone commanding the visual field. As my choral instructions dissolve into broken vowels and the video image disintegrates, the grass is finally heard. Through this work, I mediate on how my environment is always leading the camera ‘astray’, redirecting my own gaze and in turn, the direction of my filmmaking practise.
ds_admin2023-07-19T03:56:18+00:00
Disconnection Connects / April Guest and Lǐ Xīng Yǔ (Echo Li)
This collaboration is a fusion between our own vulnerabilities and shared emotional struggles. Both of our solo works expressed personal sides to ourselves, and we used this idea as the catalyst for our collaboration. We created this work by sharing our own intimate poetry, videos, music and voice recordings with each other. From there we expanded upon it with our own ideas, experiences and interpretations. Without much verbal communication, by sharing each other’s work, we were both sensing each other’s vulnerabilities and able to converge on something we both resonated with. This connection of hearts vibrating together is our work. We both want to deliver a sentimentality of frustration, sadness, pain. We both created art while going through difficult periods of our lives. In our lowest moments, sometimes only thing you can do is move your hand or sing one note. But despite this, our desire to create and express is still there and it feels like there is some hope. Luckily, we are not alone in facing the baggage that weighs us down.
Disconnection Connects / April Guest and Lǐ Xīng Yǔ (Echo Li)
This collaboration is a fusion between our own vulnerabilities and shared emotional struggles. Both of our solo works expressed personal sides to ourselves, and we used this idea as the catalyst for our collaboration. We created this work by sharing our own intimate poetry, videos, music and voice recordings with each other. From there we expanded upon it with our own ideas, experiences and interpretations. Without much verbal communication, by sharing each other’s work, we were both sensing each other’s vulnerabilities and able to converge on something we both resonated with. This connection of hearts vibrating together is our work. We both want to deliver a sentimentality of frustration, sadness, pain. We both created art while going through difficult periods of our lives. In our lowest moments, sometimes only thing you can do is move your hand or sing one note. But despite this, our desire to create and express is still there and it feels like there is some hope. Luckily, we are not alone in facing the baggage that weighs us down.
Disconnection Connects
April Guest and Lǐ Xīng Yǔ (Echo Li)
This collaboration is a fusion between our own vulnerabilities and shared emotional struggles. Both of our solo works expressed personal sides to ourselves, and we used this idea as the catalyst for our collaboration. We created this work by sharing our own intimate poetry, videos, music and voice recordings with each other. From there we expanded upon it with our own ideas, experiences and interpretations. Without much verbal communication, by sharing each other’s work, we were both sensing each other’s vulnerabilities and able to converge on something we both resonated with. This connection of hearts vibrating together is our work. We both want to deliver a sentimentality of frustration, sadness, pain. We both created art while going through difficult periods of our lives. In our lowest moments, sometimes only thing you can do is move your hand or sing one note. But despite this, our desire to create and express is still there and it feels like there is some hope. Luckily, we are not alone in facing the baggage that weighs us down.
ds_admin2023-07-19T03:57:01+00:00
Code-Switch / Fetle Wondimu Nega
Code-Switch is a conversation between my voice and an emergent code-based music creation tool, Sonic Pi. It explores the sometimes dissonant, sometimes harmonious interaction of languages within my bilingual mind, where meaning is constructed at the intersection of two identities. When I entered kindergarten, speaking English became a necessity to interact with the Western world, suddenly encroaching on my understanding of self and the image I’d built of the world around me in my native tongue of Amharic. Now, English is my dominant language, and often the scaffold with which I build meaning and communicate my ideas. There are times, however, when it swallows up my Amharic and spits it back at me in disjointed sequences. Code-Switch describes my bilingual experience as an arc of loss into acceptance. It begins with a harmonic vocal-laden soundscape, an uncomfortable introduction symbolising language dissonance, followed by a hard-hitting Western drum pattern, and a final incorporation of African drums signalling the slow transition into acceptance.
Code-Switch / Fetle Wondimu Nega
Code-Switch is a conversation between my voice and an emergent code-based music creation tool, Sonic Pi. It explores the sometimes dissonant, sometimes harmonious interaction of languages within my bilingual mind, where meaning is constructed at the intersection of two identities. When I entered kindergarten, speaking English became a necessity to interact with the Western world, suddenly encroaching on my understanding of self and the image I’d built of the world around me in my native tongue of Amharic. Now, English is my dominant language, and often the scaffold with which I build meaning and communicate my ideas. There are times, however, when it swallows up my Amharic and spits it back at me in disjointed sequences. Code-Switch describes my bilingual experience as an arc of loss into acceptance. It begins with a harmonic vocal-laden soundscape, an uncomfortable introduction symbolising language dissonance, followed by a hard-hitting Western drum pattern, and a final incorporation of African drums signalling the slow transition into acceptance.
Code-Switch
Fetle Wondimu Nega
Code-Switch is a conversation between my voice and an emergent code-based music creation tool, Sonic Pi. It explores the sometimes dissonant, sometimes harmonious interaction of languages within my bilingual mind, where meaning is constructed at the intersection of two identities. When I entered kindergarten, speaking English became a necessity to interact with the Western world, suddenly encroaching on my understanding of self and the image I’d built of the world around me in my native tongue of Amharic. Now, English is my dominant language, and often the scaffold with which I build meaning and communicate my ideas. There are times, however, when it swallows up my Amharic and spits it back at me in disjointed sequences. Code-Switch describes my bilingual experience as an arc of loss into acceptance. It begins with a harmonic vocal-laden soundscape, an uncomfortable introduction symbolising language dissonance, followed by a hard-hitting Western drum pattern, and a final incorporation of African drums signalling the slow transition into acceptance.
ds_admin2023-07-19T03:59:30+00:00
Photosensitivity Warning: This work contains flickering imagery.
一 层一层/Layer by Layer / Carmen Yih
I am a product of the millions of coincidences, decisions and sacrifices my predecessors have made. 一 层一层/Layer by Layer is a filmic homage to the forgone artistic dreams of my maternal lineage. Growing up, my mother and grandmother would often reminisce about the artistic ambitions they had in their youth – teaching me my first dance steps and showing me their old film footage from their performances. I struggled to understand why they abandoned their artistic careers so early on, letting me only live vicariously in these distant alternate lives. As I grew older, I became soberly aware of all the sacrificed dreams of my predecessors. Each choice – to sacrifice, to abandon, to forgo, has enabled me to reach this point. As I pursue my artistic ambitions, I experience these echoes of forgone dreams layered upon me.
一 层一层/Layer by Layer / Carmen Yih
I am a product of the millions of coincidences, decisions and sacrifices my predecessors have made. 一 层一层/Layer by Layer is a filmic homage to the forgone artistic dreams of my maternal lineage. Growing up, my mother and grandmother would often reminisce about the artistic ambitions they had in their youth – teaching me my first dance steps and showing me their old film footage from their performances. I struggled to understand why they abandoned their artistic careers so early on, letting me only live vicariously in these distant alternate lives. As I grew older, I became soberly aware of all the sacrificed dreams of my predecessors. Each choice – to sacrifice, to abandon, to forgo, has enabled me to reach this point. As I pursue my artistic ambitions, I experience these echoes of forgone dreams layered upon me.
Photosensitivity Warning: This work contains flickering imagery.
一 层一层/Layer by Layer
Carmen Yih
I am a product of the millions of coincidences, decisions and sacrifices my predecessors have made. 一 层一层/Layer by Layer is a filmic homage to the forgone artistic dreams of my maternal lineage. Growing up, my mother and grandmother would often reminisce about the artistic ambitions they had in their youth – teaching me my first dance steps and showing me their old film footage from their performances. I struggled to understand why they abandoned their artistic careers so early on, letting me only live vicariously in these distant alternate lives. As I grew older, I became soberly aware of all the sacrificed dreams of my predecessors. Each choice – to sacrifice, to abandon, to forgo, has enabled me to reach this point. As I pursue my artistic ambitions, I experience these echoes of forgone dreams layered upon me.
Photosensitivity Warning: This work contains flickering imagery.
ds_admin2023-07-19T04:01:25+00:00
With Love / Fetle Wondimu Nega and Amy Manson
With Love is a short work exploring the reciprocal connection between sound and visuals. Heavy on bold patterns, punchy beats and moody vocals, the film progresses from dark to light, sparse to chaotically colourful, soulful to upbeat, reflecting our innate tendency to move towards hope, optimism and joy. We wanted to have fun with it, making something both emotionally resonant and technically explorative and experimental. Amy used strata cut animation, shaping clay into patterns layered within a log shaped sculpture. As the log is sliced the animation is created, each slice revealing a frame. As much as it takes a lot of thought and planning, the results are often unexpected and joyous. Reflective of the notion that as much as we can plan and stress and worry, life will always surprise us. In response to the dark and light stratacuts, Fetle produced a piece that transitions from moody to upbeat, expressing the sharp entrapment of self-criticism to the release of self-acceptance. She developed the sound through playful experimentation hoping to, within the process, let go of encroaching self-critique. She started by collecting samples reminiscent of the tactile nature of clay, eventually layering them with vocal chops from various unfinished songs and voice memos. Making something new, and in the process accepting materials that had once been thrown away.
With Love / Fetle Wondimu Nega and Amy Manson
With Love is a short work exploring the reciprocal connection between sound and visuals. Heavy on bold patterns, punchy beats and moody vocals, the film progresses from dark to light, sparse to chaotically colourful, soulful to upbeat, reflecting our innate tendency to move towards hope, optimism and joy. We wanted to have fun with it, making something both emotionally resonant and technically explorative and experimental. Amy used strata cut animation, shaping clay into patterns layered within a log shaped sculpture. As the log is sliced the animation is created, each slice revealing a frame. As much as it takes a lot of thought and planning, the results are often unexpected and joyous. Reflective of the notion that as much as we can plan and stress and worry, life will always surprise us. In response to the dark and light stratacuts, Fetle produced a piece that transitions from moody to upbeat, expressing the sharp entrapment of self-criticism to the release of self-acceptance. She developed the sound through playful experimentation hoping to, within the process, let go of encroaching self-critique. She started by collecting samples reminiscent of the tactile nature of clay, eventually layering them with vocal chops from various unfinished songs and voice memos. Making something new, and in the process accepting materials that had once been thrown away.
With Love
Fetle Wondimu Nega and Amy Manson
With Love is a short work exploring the reciprocal connection between sound and visuals. Heavy on bold patterns, punchy beats and moody vocals, the film progresses from dark to light, sparse to chaotically colourful, soulful to upbeat, reflecting our innate tendency to move towards hope, optimism and joy. We wanted to have fun with it, making something both emotionally resonant and technically explorative and experimental. Amy used strata cut animation, shaping clay into patterns layered within a log shaped sculpture. As the log is sliced the animation is created, each slice revealing a frame. As much as it takes a lot of thought and planning, the results are often unexpected and joyous. Reflective of the notion that as much as we can plan and stress and worry, life will always surprise us. In response to the dark and light stratacuts, Fetle produced a piece that transitions from moody to upbeat, expressing the sharp entrapment of self-criticism to the release of self-acceptance. She developed the sound through playful experimentation hoping to, within the process, let go of encroaching self-critique. She started by collecting samples reminiscent of the tactile nature of clay, eventually layering them with vocal chops from various unfinished songs and voice memos. Making something new, and in the process accepting materials that had once been thrown away.
Screen x Sound 2022
Artworks are best experienced using headphones.
ds_admin2023-07-19T02:17:32+00:00
was too afraid to lose you, lost myself instead / Lǐ Xīng Yǔ (Echo Li)
Don’t trust what I say, feel me instead. My ongoing art project has always been to explore personal emotions and stories. Art has been a way to discover and unpack unhealed feelings. But when it comes to love, oh yeah, love is always in the mix with lots of things. In love we lose ourselves. No one can escape by sheer luck even if we are trying really carefully – so, was too afraid to lose you, lost myself instead. This is a cliché but real in that my art hurts me back this time. My personal relationship had let me research this idea of love while it was still fresh and ongoing. Our cultural common sense creates the chemistry and impetus to make the work. My psychoanalytic exploration, good for art, but also this was my life.
I want thank Yundi for giving me the permission to undertake this project. You have always inspired me, even to this today, and I know you are always there in some ways.
was too afraid to lose you, lost myself instead / Lǐ Xīng Yǔ (Echo Li)
Don’t trust what I say, feel me instead. My ongoing art project has always been to explore personal emotions and stories. Art has been a way to discover and unpack unhealed feelings. But when it comes to love, oh yeah, love is always in the mix with lots of things. In love we lose ourselves. No one can escape by sheer luck even if we are trying really carefully – so, was too afraid to lose you, lost myself instead. This is a cliché but real in that my art hurts me back this time. My personal relationship had let me research this idea of love while it was still fresh and ongoing. Our cultural common sense creates the chemistry and impetus to make the work. My psychoanalytic exploration, good for art, but also this was my life.
I want thank Yundi for giving me the permission to undertake this project. You have always inspired me, even to this today, and I know you are always there in some ways.
was too afraid to lose you, lost myself instead
Lǐ Xīng Yǔ (Echo Li)
Don’t trust what I say, feel me instead. My ongoing art project has always been to explore personal emotions and stories. Art has been a way to discover and unpack unhealed feelings. But when it comes to love, oh yeah, love is always in the mix with lots of things. In love we lose ourselves. No one can escape by sheer luck even if we are trying really carefully – so, was too afraid to lose you, lost myself instead. This is a cliché but real in that my art hurts me back this time. My personal relationship had let me research this idea of love while it was still fresh and ongoing. Our cultural common sense creates the chemistry and impetus to make the work. My psychoanalytic exploration, good for art, but also this was my life.
I want thank Yundi for giving me the permission to undertake this project. You have always inspired me, even to this today, and I know you are always there in some ways.
ds_admin2024-05-15T02:21:54+00:00
Mire / Rebecca Bracewell
Mire weaves together fragments of field recordings and hearing aid feedback, merging natural and mechanical sonic landscapes. Hearing aid feedback is the sound that my hearing aids make, a high-pitched scream that occurs when the microphone picks up the sounds of the speaker, and it continues sounding in a loop. My hearing aids function as an extension of my body, and Mire is my attempt to give them life by contextualizing their sounds within an existing ecosystem. In the process of finding such a place, I was drawn to sounds that reminded me most of my hearing aids – water birds, frogs, crickets – leading me to make my recordings in the Alphington Wetlands. Though feedback tends to disrupt my ability to communicate with others in daily life, it comes alive in conversation with the creatures that inhabit the wetland. Mired in this physical landscape the feedback can grow, transforming into something new.
Mire / Rebecca Bracewell
Mire weaves together fragments of field recordings and hearing aid feedback, merging natural and mechanical sonic landscapes. Hearing aid feedback is the sound that my hearing aids make, a high-pitched scream that occurs when the microphone picks up the sounds of the speaker, and it continues sounding in a loop. My hearing aids function as an extension of my body, and Mire is my attempt to give them life by contextualizing their sounds within an existing ecosystem. In the process of finding such a place, I was drawn to sounds that reminded me most of my hearing aids – water birds, frogs, crickets – leading me to make my recordings in the Alphington Wetlands. Though feedback tends to disrupt my ability to communicate with others in daily life, it comes alive in conversation with the creatures that inhabit the wetland. Mired in this physical landscape the feedback can grow, transforming into something new.
Mire
Rebecca Bracewell
Mire weaves together fragments of field recordings and hearing aid feedback, merging natural and mechanical sonic landscapes. Hearing aid feedback is the sound that my hearing aids make, a high-pitched scream that occurs when the microphone picks up the sounds of the speaker, and it continues sounding in a loop. My hearing aids function as an extension of my body, and Mire is my attempt to give them life by contextualizing their sounds within an existing ecosystem. In the process of finding such a place, I was drawn to sounds that reminded me most of my hearing aids – water birds, frogs, crickets – leading me to make my recordings in the Alphington Wetlands. Though feedback tends to disrupt my ability to communicate with others in daily life, it comes alive in conversation with the creatures that inhabit the wetland. Mired in this physical landscape the feedback can grow, transforming into something new.
ds_admin2023-07-19T03:53:22+00:00
How long do you let yourself spiral for? / Monique Gawne
A lament and a love song, Monique uses field recordings of authentic conversations to explore the mental processes of healing from trauma. Monique works manually within the sonic field, using physical objects of symbolic significance to warp and manipulate her field recordings. From fans, to beer cans, to rusty speakers found at hostels, to the mug he gave her. Monique re-records her field recordings into and through these objects, creating new layers of ambience and emotion. Monique works intuitively. All decisions are guided by conceptual and symbolic direction. The work not only explores her healing process, but is the healing process. While making the artwork, the microphone becomes a point of release, intimate thoughts and feelings are shared to this device, now a therapeutic tool. It goes further: the microphone becomes a tool of accountability as Monique records her daily actions and the self-surveillance motivates her into positive behaviours. She records herself as she gets out of bed, brushes her teeth, gets changed, says “hi” to friends, and walks into town. Monique recommends listening with your throat and your chest.
Content Warning: This artwork references trauma and abuse.
How long do you let yourself spiral for? / Monique Gawne
A lament and a love song, Monique uses field recordings of authentic conversations to explore the mental processes of healing from trauma. Monique works manually within the sonic field, using physical objects of symbolic significance to warp and manipulate her field recordings. From fans, to beer cans, to rusty speakers found at hostels, to the mug he gave her. Monique re-records her field recordings into and through these objects, creating new layers of ambience and emotion. Monique works intuitively. All decisions are guided by conceptual and symbolic direction. The work not only explores her healing process, but is the healing process. While making the artwork, the microphone becomes a point of release, intimate thoughts and feelings are shared to this device, now a therapeutic tool. It goes further: the microphone becomes a tool of accountability as Monique records her daily actions and the self-surveillance motivates her into positive behaviours. She records herself as she gets out of bed, brushes her teeth, gets changed, says “hi” to friends, and walks into town. Monique recommends listening with your throat and your chest.
Content Warning: This artwork references trauma and abuse.
How long do you let yourself spiral for?
Monique Gawne
A lament and a love song, Monique uses field recordings of authentic conversations to explore the mental processes of healing from trauma. Monique works manually within the sonic field, using physical objects of symbolic significance to warp and manipulate her field recordings. From fans, to beer cans, to rusty speakers found at hostels, to the mug he gave her. Monique re-records her field recordings into and through these objects, creating new layers of ambience and emotion. Monique works intuitively. All decisions are guided by conceptual and symbolic direction. The work not only explores her healing process, but is the healing process. While making the artwork, the microphone becomes a point of release, intimate thoughts and feelings are shared to this device, now a therapeutic tool. It goes further: the microphone becomes a tool of accountability as Monique records her daily actions and the self-surveillance motivates her into positive behaviours. She records herself as she gets out of bed, brushes her teeth, gets changed, says “hi” to friends, and walks into town. Monique recommends listening with your throat and your chest.
Content Warning: This artwork references trauma and abuse.
ds_admin2023-07-19T03:29:46+00:00
Music credit: Leah Alysandratos
This Bug is Not a Bug / Amy Manson
This Bug is Not a Bug is an experimental work exploring the tension between the natural world as embodied by insect samples and the gaze of technology. The film is a stop motion sequence of images shot through a microscope objective mounted to a camera. Due to the objective’s extremely short depth of field, creating this work was a labour almost machine-like, each frame made up of 30 – 70 focused stacked images. The repetitive and tedious nature of capturing each image, accumulating and compiling masses of data, then running it all through a focus stacking algorithm, mirrors the way much modern scientific research is conducted, with computers and predominantly automated. Confronted by vibrant colours, alien seeming formations and striking patterns, elements of nature previously inconspicuous are rendered unexpectedly awe inspiring, grotesque and beautiful, but ultimately unrecognisable. This Bug is Not a Bug speaks to the way in which technology takes nature out of context, seeing only the useful parts while obscuring the importance of the interrelated whole.
This Bug is Not a Bug / Amy Manson
This Bug is Not a Bug is an experimental work exploring the tension between the natural world as embodied by insect samples and the gaze of technology. The film is a stop motion sequence of images shot through a microscope objective mounted to a camera. Due to the objective’s extremely short depth of field, creating this work was a labour almost machine-like, each frame made up of 30 – 70 focused stacked images. The repetitive and tedious nature of capturing each image, accumulating and compiling masses of data, then running it all through a focus stacking algorithm, mirrors the way much modern scientific research is conducted, with computers and predominantly automated. Confronted by vibrant colours, alien seeming formations and striking patterns, elements of nature previously inconspicuous are rendered unexpectedly awe inspiring, grotesque and beautiful, but ultimately unrecognisable. This Bug is Not a Bug speaks to the way in which technology takes nature out of context, seeing only the useful parts while obscuring the importance of the interrelated whole.
Music credit: Leah Alysandratos
This Bug is Not a Bug
Amy Manson
This Bug is Not a Bug is an experimental work exploring the tension between the natural world as embodied by insect samples and the gaze of technology. The film is a stop motion sequence of images shot through a microscope objective mounted to a camera. Due to the objective’s extremely short depth of field, creating this work was a labour almost machine-like, each frame made up of 30 – 70 focused stacked images. The repetitive and tedious nature of capturing each image, accumulating and compiling masses of data, then running it all through a focus stacking algorithm, mirrors the way much modern scientific research is conducted, with computers and predominantly automated. Confronted by vibrant colours, alien seeming formations and striking patterns, elements of nature previously inconspicuous are rendered unexpectedly awe inspiring, grotesque and beautiful, but ultimately unrecognisable. This Bug is Not a Bug speaks to the way in which technology takes nature out of context, seeing only the useful parts while obscuring the importance of the interrelated whole.
Music credit: Leah Alysandratos
ds_admin2023-07-19T03:54:08+00:00
開飯喇 /緊呷 (hoi faan laa /gin jia) / Monique Gawne and Carmen Yih
開飯喇 /緊呷 (hoi faan laa /gin jia) is a collaborative video and performance work from artists Carmen Yih and Monique Gawne. Carmen and Monique both cook alone in public spaces – one at dawn and one at dusk, connected across distances through the ritual process of cooking meals close to their heart. What they are cooking is hidden from view, yet, they welcome you to cook with them. Monique and Carmen explore how food, cooking, and sharing a meal are all common ways of communicating love. 開飯喇 /緊呷 (hoi faan laa /gin jia) is also an homage to all the unspoken acts of love shown to them by their Asian family members. The work also explores the nuances of Asian-Australian identity. Cooking an Asian meal in public that is usually reserved for the private familial home references the need to consciously and observably practice aspects of our Asian culture in order to ‘keep our asianness alive.’ Monique and Carmen imbue deeply personal, emotional connections into the artwork and invite viewers to reflect on their own cultural identity and connection to food.
開飯喇 /緊呷 (hoi faan laa /gin jia) / Monique Gawne and Carmen Yih
開飯喇 /緊呷 (hoi faan laa /gin jia) is a collaborative video and performance work from artists Carmen Yih and Monique Gawne. Carmen and Monique both cook alone in public spaces – one at dawn and one at dusk, connected across distances through the ritual process of cooking meals close to their heart. What they are cooking is hidden from view, yet, they welcome you to cook with them. Monique and Carmen explore how food, cooking, and sharing a meal are all common ways of communicating love. 開飯喇 /緊呷 (hoi faan laa /gin jia) is also an homage to all the unspoken acts of love shown to them by their Asian family members. The work also explores the nuances of Asian-Australian identity. Cooking an Asian meal in public that is usually reserved for the private familial home references the need to consciously and observably practice aspects of our Asian culture in order to ‘keep our asianness alive.’ Monique and Carmen imbue deeply personal, emotional connections into the artwork and invite viewers to reflect on their own cultural identity and connection to food.
開飯喇 /緊呷 (hoi faan laa /gin jia)
Monique Gawne and Carmen Yih
開飯喇 /緊呷 (hoi faan laa /gin jia) is a collaborative video and performance work from artists Carmen Yih and Monique Gawne. Carmen and Monique both cook alone in public spaces – one at dawn and one at dusk, connected across distances through the ritual process of cooking meals close to their heart. What they are cooking is hidden from view, yet, they welcome you to cook with them. Monique and Carmen explore how food, cooking, and sharing a meal are all common ways of communicating love. 開飯喇 /緊呷 (hoi faan laa /gin jia) is also an homage to all the unspoken acts of love shown to them by their Asian family members. The work also explores the nuances of Asian-Australian identity. Cooking an Asian meal in public that is usually reserved for the private familial home references the need to consciously and observably practice aspects of our Asian culture in order to ‘keep our asianness alive.’ Monique and Carmen imbue deeply personal, emotional connections into the artwork and invite viewers to reflect on their own cultural identity and connection to food.
ds_admin2023-07-19T03:54:52+00:00
We Will / April Guest
In essence, We Will is a musical celebration of identity and queerness. In it, I explore the integral link between one’s voice and identity, and use that connection as a catalyst to empower people to reshape and liberate themselves, both personally and creatively. Despite broad societal advancements towards acceptance of transgender people, we are still faced with social rejection when we deviate from our expected gendered performances, including how we use our voices. We Will brings contrasting gender presentations of my own voice to the forefront, challenging societal preconceptions of queerness while displaying how embracing one’s identity and overcoming societal shame can unlock an array of new creative possibilities. Musically, I combine this with an expansive list of vocal and beatbox techniques to showcase the often overlooked, vast capabilities of the human voice. By displaying my own vulnerabilities, struggles with and rejection of gender norms, I inspire others to take control of their own lives and reshape their identities in the face of a society that has often rejected them.
We Will / April Guest
In essence, We Will is a musical celebration of identity and queerness. In it, I explore the integral link between one’s voice and identity, and use that connection as a catalyst to empower people to reshape and liberate themselves, both personally and creatively. Despite broad societal advancements towards acceptance of transgender people, we are still faced with social rejection when we deviate from our expected gendered performances, including how we use our voices. We Will brings contrasting gender presentations of my own voice to the forefront, challenging societal preconceptions of queerness while displaying how embracing one’s identity and overcoming societal shame can unlock an array of new creative possibilities. Musically, I combine this with an expansive list of vocal and beatbox techniques to showcase the often overlooked, vast capabilities of the human voice. By displaying my own vulnerabilities, struggles with and rejection of gender norms, I inspire others to take control of their own lives and reshape their identities in the face of a society that has often rejected them.
We Will
April Guest
In essence, We Will is a musical celebration of identity and queerness. In it, I explore the integral link between one’s voice and identity, and use that connection as a catalyst to empower people to reshape and liberate themselves, both personally and creatively. Despite broad societal advancements towards acceptance of transgender people, we are still faced with social rejection when we deviate from our expected gendered performances, including how we use our voices. We Will brings contrasting gender presentations of my own voice to the forefront, challenging societal preconceptions of queerness while displaying how embracing one’s identity and overcoming societal shame can unlock an array of new creative possibilities. Musically, I combine this with an expansive list of vocal and beatbox techniques to showcase the often overlooked, vast capabilities of the human voice. By displaying my own vulnerabilities, struggles with and rejection of gender norms, I inspire others to take control of their own lives and reshape their identities in the face of a society that has often rejected them.
ds_admin2023-07-19T03:55:37+00:00
Look… the grass is singing / Sofie McClure
Look… the grass is singing is a self-reflexive investigation into the relationship between the film director, the camera, and the viewer. The film playfully investigates the position of the director through my delivery of choral instructions to a field of grass. At the beginning of the video work, the viewer is invited to see the movements and sounds of the grass as responding to my commands. However, as the camera shutter opens and closes, the viewer’s capacity to ‘see’ becomes increasingly obstructed, the video image resembling an eye half closed. Immersing the camera deep within the grass and allowing the sound of the grass to guide the camera’s movements, the work seeks to destabilise the position of the director as someone commanding the visual field. As my choral instructions dissolve into broken vowels and the video image disintegrates, the grass is finally heard. Through this work, I mediate on how my environment is always leading the camera ‘astray’, redirecting my own gaze and in turn, the direction of my filmmaking practise.
Look… the grass is singing / Sofie McClure
Look… the grass is singing is a self-reflexive investigation into the relationship between the film director, the camera, and the viewer. The film playfully investigates the position of the director through my delivery of choral instructions to a field of grass. At the beginning of the video work, the viewer is invited to see the movements and sounds of the grass as responding to my commands. However, as the camera shutter opens and closes, the viewer’s capacity to ‘see’ becomes increasingly obstructed, the video image resembling an eye half closed. Immersing the camera deep within the grass and allowing the sound of the grass to guide the camera’s movements, the work seeks to destabilise the position of the director as someone commanding the visual field. As my choral instructions dissolve into broken vowels and the video image disintegrates, the grass is finally heard. Through this work, I mediate on how my environment is always leading the camera ‘astray’, redirecting my own gaze and in turn, the direction of my filmmaking practise.
Look… the grass is singing
Sofie McClure
Look… the grass is singing is a self-reflexive investigation into the relationship between the film director, the camera, and the viewer. The film playfully investigates the position of the director through my delivery of choral instructions to a field of grass. At the beginning of the video work, the viewer is invited to see the movements and sounds of the grass as responding to my commands. However, as the camera shutter opens and closes, the viewer’s capacity to ‘see’ becomes increasingly obstructed, the video image resembling an eye half closed. Immersing the camera deep within the grass and allowing the sound of the grass to guide the camera’s movements, the work seeks to destabilise the position of the director as someone commanding the visual field. As my choral instructions dissolve into broken vowels and the video image disintegrates, the grass is finally heard. Through this work, I mediate on how my environment is always leading the camera ‘astray’, redirecting my own gaze and in turn, the direction of my filmmaking practise.
ds_admin2023-07-19T03:56:18+00:00
Disconnection Connects / April Guest and Lǐ Xīng Yǔ (Echo Li)
This collaboration is a fusion between our own vulnerabilities and shared emotional struggles. Both of our solo works expressed personal sides to ourselves, and we used this idea as the catalyst for our collaboration. We created this work by sharing our own intimate poetry, videos, music and voice recordings with each other. From there we expanded upon it with our own ideas, experiences and interpretations. Without much verbal communication, by sharing each other’s work, we were both sensing each other’s vulnerabilities and able to converge on something we both resonated with. This connection of hearts vibrating together is our work. We both want to deliver a sentimentality of frustration, sadness, pain. We both created art while going through difficult periods of our lives. In our lowest moments, sometimes only thing you can do is move your hand or sing one note. But despite this, our desire to create and express is still there and it feels like there is some hope. Luckily, we are not alone in facing the baggage that weighs us down.
Disconnection Connects / April Guest and Lǐ Xīng Yǔ (Echo Li)
This collaboration is a fusion between our own vulnerabilities and shared emotional struggles. Both of our solo works expressed personal sides to ourselves, and we used this idea as the catalyst for our collaboration. We created this work by sharing our own intimate poetry, videos, music and voice recordings with each other. From there we expanded upon it with our own ideas, experiences and interpretations. Without much verbal communication, by sharing each other’s work, we were both sensing each other’s vulnerabilities and able to converge on something we both resonated with. This connection of hearts vibrating together is our work. We both want to deliver a sentimentality of frustration, sadness, pain. We both created art while going through difficult periods of our lives. In our lowest moments, sometimes only thing you can do is move your hand or sing one note. But despite this, our desire to create and express is still there and it feels like there is some hope. Luckily, we are not alone in facing the baggage that weighs us down.
Disconnection Connects
April Guest and Lǐ Xīng Yǔ (Echo Li)
This collaboration is a fusion between our own vulnerabilities and shared emotional struggles. Both of our solo works expressed personal sides to ourselves, and we used this idea as the catalyst for our collaboration. We created this work by sharing our own intimate poetry, videos, music and voice recordings with each other. From there we expanded upon it with our own ideas, experiences and interpretations. Without much verbal communication, by sharing each other’s work, we were both sensing each other’s vulnerabilities and able to converge on something we both resonated with. This connection of hearts vibrating together is our work. We both want to deliver a sentimentality of frustration, sadness, pain. We both created art while going through difficult periods of our lives. In our lowest moments, sometimes only thing you can do is move your hand or sing one note. But despite this, our desire to create and express is still there and it feels like there is some hope. Luckily, we are not alone in facing the baggage that weighs us down.
ds_admin2023-07-19T03:57:01+00:00
Code-Switch / Fetle Wondimu Nega
Code-Switch is a conversation between my voice and an emergent code-based music creation tool, Sonic Pi. It explores the sometimes dissonant, sometimes harmonious interaction of languages within my bilingual mind, where meaning is constructed at the intersection of two identities. When I entered kindergarten, speaking English became a necessity to interact with the Western world, suddenly encroaching on my understanding of self and the image I’d built of the world around me in my native tongue of Amharic. Now, English is my dominant language, and often the scaffold with which I build meaning and communicate my ideas. There are times, however, when it swallows up my Amharic and spits it back at me in disjointed sequences. Code-Switch describes my bilingual experience as an arc of loss into acceptance. It begins with a harmonic vocal-laden soundscape, an uncomfortable introduction symbolising language dissonance, followed by a hard-hitting Western drum pattern, and a final incorporation of African drums signalling the slow transition into acceptance.
Code-Switch / Fetle Wondimu Nega
Code-Switch is a conversation between my voice and an emergent code-based music creation tool, Sonic Pi. It explores the sometimes dissonant, sometimes harmonious interaction of languages within my bilingual mind, where meaning is constructed at the intersection of two identities. When I entered kindergarten, speaking English became a necessity to interact with the Western world, suddenly encroaching on my understanding of self and the image I’d built of the world around me in my native tongue of Amharic. Now, English is my dominant language, and often the scaffold with which I build meaning and communicate my ideas. There are times, however, when it swallows up my Amharic and spits it back at me in disjointed sequences. Code-Switch describes my bilingual experience as an arc of loss into acceptance. It begins with a harmonic vocal-laden soundscape, an uncomfortable introduction symbolising language dissonance, followed by a hard-hitting Western drum pattern, and a final incorporation of African drums signalling the slow transition into acceptance.
Code-Switch
Fetle Wondimu Nega
Code-Switch is a conversation between my voice and an emergent code-based music creation tool, Sonic Pi. It explores the sometimes dissonant, sometimes harmonious interaction of languages within my bilingual mind, where meaning is constructed at the intersection of two identities. When I entered kindergarten, speaking English became a necessity to interact with the Western world, suddenly encroaching on my understanding of self and the image I’d built of the world around me in my native tongue of Amharic. Now, English is my dominant language, and often the scaffold with which I build meaning and communicate my ideas. There are times, however, when it swallows up my Amharic and spits it back at me in disjointed sequences. Code-Switch describes my bilingual experience as an arc of loss into acceptance. It begins with a harmonic vocal-laden soundscape, an uncomfortable introduction symbolising language dissonance, followed by a hard-hitting Western drum pattern, and a final incorporation of African drums signalling the slow transition into acceptance.
ds_admin2023-07-19T03:59:30+00:00
Photosensitivity Warning: This work contains flickering imagery.
一 层一层/Layer by Layer / Carmen Yih
I am a product of the millions of coincidences, decisions and sacrifices my predecessors have made. 一 层一层/Layer by Layer is a filmic homage to the forgone artistic dreams of my maternal lineage. Growing up, my mother and grandmother would often reminisce about the artistic ambitions they had in their youth – teaching me my first dance steps and showing me their old film footage from their performances. I struggled to understand why they abandoned their artistic careers so early on, letting me only live vicariously in these distant alternate lives. As I grew older, I became soberly aware of all the sacrificed dreams of my predecessors. Each choice – to sacrifice, to abandon, to forgo, has enabled me to reach this point. As I pursue my artistic ambitions, I experience these echoes of forgone dreams layered upon me.
一 层一层/Layer by Layer / Carmen Yih
I am a product of the millions of coincidences, decisions and sacrifices my predecessors have made. 一 层一层/Layer by Layer is a filmic homage to the forgone artistic dreams of my maternal lineage. Growing up, my mother and grandmother would often reminisce about the artistic ambitions they had in their youth – teaching me my first dance steps and showing me their old film footage from their performances. I struggled to understand why they abandoned their artistic careers so early on, letting me only live vicariously in these distant alternate lives. As I grew older, I became soberly aware of all the sacrificed dreams of my predecessors. Each choice – to sacrifice, to abandon, to forgo, has enabled me to reach this point. As I pursue my artistic ambitions, I experience these echoes of forgone dreams layered upon me.
Photosensitivity Warning: This work contains flickering imagery.
一 层一层/Layer by Layer
Carmen Yih
I am a product of the millions of coincidences, decisions and sacrifices my predecessors have made. 一 层一层/Layer by Layer is a filmic homage to the forgone artistic dreams of my maternal lineage. Growing up, my mother and grandmother would often reminisce about the artistic ambitions they had in their youth – teaching me my first dance steps and showing me their old film footage from their performances. I struggled to understand why they abandoned their artistic careers so early on, letting me only live vicariously in these distant alternate lives. As I grew older, I became soberly aware of all the sacrificed dreams of my predecessors. Each choice – to sacrifice, to abandon, to forgo, has enabled me to reach this point. As I pursue my artistic ambitions, I experience these echoes of forgone dreams layered upon me.
Photosensitivity Warning: This work contains flickering imagery.
ds_admin2023-07-19T04:01:25+00:00
With Love / Fetle Wondimu Nega and Amy Manson
With Love is a short work exploring the reciprocal connection between sound and visuals. Heavy on bold patterns, punchy beats and moody vocals, the film progresses from dark to light, sparse to chaotically colourful, soulful to upbeat, reflecting our innate tendency to move towards hope, optimism and joy. We wanted to have fun with it, making something both emotionally resonant and technically explorative and experimental. Amy used strata cut animation, shaping clay into patterns layered within a log shaped sculpture. As the log is sliced the animation is created, each slice revealing a frame. As much as it takes a lot of thought and planning, the results are often unexpected and joyous. Reflective of the notion that as much as we can plan and stress and worry, life will always surprise us. In response to the dark and light stratacuts, Fetle produced a piece that transitions from moody to upbeat, expressing the sharp entrapment of self-criticism to the release of self-acceptance. She developed the sound through playful experimentation hoping to, within the process, let go of encroaching self-critique. She started by collecting samples reminiscent of the tactile nature of clay, eventually layering them with vocal chops from various unfinished songs and voice memos. Making something new, and in the process accepting materials that had once been thrown away.
With Love / Fetle Wondimu Nega and Amy Manson
With Love is a short work exploring the reciprocal connection between sound and visuals. Heavy on bold patterns, punchy beats and moody vocals, the film progresses from dark to light, sparse to chaotically colourful, soulful to upbeat, reflecting our innate tendency to move towards hope, optimism and joy. We wanted to have fun with it, making something both emotionally resonant and technically explorative and experimental. Amy used strata cut animation, shaping clay into patterns layered within a log shaped sculpture. As the log is sliced the animation is created, each slice revealing a frame. As much as it takes a lot of thought and planning, the results are often unexpected and joyous. Reflective of the notion that as much as we can plan and stress and worry, life will always surprise us. In response to the dark and light stratacuts, Fetle produced a piece that transitions from moody to upbeat, expressing the sharp entrapment of self-criticism to the release of self-acceptance. She developed the sound through playful experimentation hoping to, within the process, let go of encroaching self-critique. She started by collecting samples reminiscent of the tactile nature of clay, eventually layering them with vocal chops from various unfinished songs and voice memos. Making something new, and in the process accepting materials that had once been thrown away.
With Love
Fetle Wondimu Nega and Amy Manson
With Love is a short work exploring the reciprocal connection between sound and visuals. Heavy on bold patterns, punchy beats and moody vocals, the film progresses from dark to light, sparse to chaotically colourful, soulful to upbeat, reflecting our innate tendency to move towards hope, optimism and joy. We wanted to have fun with it, making something both emotionally resonant and technically explorative and experimental. Amy used strata cut animation, shaping clay into patterns layered within a log shaped sculpture. As the log is sliced the animation is created, each slice revealing a frame. As much as it takes a lot of thought and planning, the results are often unexpected and joyous. Reflective of the notion that as much as we can plan and stress and worry, life will always surprise us. In response to the dark and light stratacuts, Fetle produced a piece that transitions from moody to upbeat, expressing the sharp entrapment of self-criticism to the release of self-acceptance. She developed the sound through playful experimentation hoping to, within the process, let go of encroaching self-critique. She started by collecting samples reminiscent of the tactile nature of clay, eventually layering them with vocal chops from various unfinished songs and voice memos. Making something new, and in the process accepting materials that had once been thrown away.
Screen x Sound 2022
Artworks are best experienced using headphones.
ds_admin2023-07-19T02:17:32+00:00
was too afraid to lose you, lost myself instead / Lǐ Xīng Yǔ (Echo Li)
Don’t trust what I say, feel me instead. My ongoing art project has always been to explore personal emotions and stories. Art has been a way to discover and unpack unhealed feelings. But when it comes to love, oh yeah, love is always in the mix with lots of things. In love we lose ourselves. No one can escape by sheer luck even if we are trying really carefully – so, was too afraid to lose you, lost myself instead. This is a cliché but real in that my art hurts me back this time. My personal relationship had let me research this idea of love while it was still fresh and ongoing. Our cultural common sense creates the chemistry and impetus to make the work. My psychoanalytic exploration, good for art, but also this was my life.
I want thank Yundi for giving me the permission to undertake this project. You have always inspired me, even to this today, and I know you are always there in some ways.
was too afraid to lose you, lost myself instead / Lǐ Xīng Yǔ (Echo Li)
Don’t trust what I say, feel me instead. My ongoing art project has always been to explore personal emotions and stories. Art has been a way to discover and unpack unhealed feelings. But when it comes to love, oh yeah, love is always in the mix with lots of things. In love we lose ourselves. No one can escape by sheer luck even if we are trying really carefully – so, was too afraid to lose you, lost myself instead. This is a cliché but real in that my art hurts me back this time. My personal relationship had let me research this idea of love while it was still fresh and ongoing. Our cultural common sense creates the chemistry and impetus to make the work. My psychoanalytic exploration, good for art, but also this was my life.
I want thank Yundi for giving me the permission to undertake this project. You have always inspired me, even to this today, and I know you are always there in some ways.
was too afraid to lose you, lost myself instead
Lǐ Xīng Yǔ (Echo Li)
Don’t trust what I say, feel me instead. My ongoing art project has always been to explore personal emotions and stories. Art has been a way to discover and unpack unhealed feelings. But when it comes to love, oh yeah, love is always in the mix with lots of things. In love we lose ourselves. No one can escape by sheer luck even if we are trying really carefully – so, was too afraid to lose you, lost myself instead. This is a cliché but real in that my art hurts me back this time. My personal relationship had let me research this idea of love while it was still fresh and ongoing. Our cultural common sense creates the chemistry and impetus to make the work. My psychoanalytic exploration, good for art, but also this was my life.
I want thank Yundi for giving me the permission to undertake this project. You have always inspired me, even to this today, and I know you are always there in some ways.
ds_admin2024-05-15T02:21:54+00:00
Mire / Rebecca Bracewell
Mire weaves together fragments of field recordings and hearing aid feedback, merging natural and mechanical sonic landscapes. Hearing aid feedback is the sound that my hearing aids make, a high-pitched scream that occurs when the microphone picks up the sounds of the speaker, and it continues sounding in a loop. My hearing aids function as an extension of my body, and Mire is my attempt to give them life by contextualizing their sounds within an existing ecosystem. In the process of finding such a place, I was drawn to sounds that reminded me most of my hearing aids – water birds, frogs, crickets – leading me to make my recordings in the Alphington Wetlands. Though feedback tends to disrupt my ability to communicate with others in daily life, it comes alive in conversation with the creatures that inhabit the wetland. Mired in this physical landscape the feedback can grow, transforming into something new.
Mire / Rebecca Bracewell
Mire weaves together fragments of field recordings and hearing aid feedback, merging natural and mechanical sonic landscapes. Hearing aid feedback is the sound that my hearing aids make, a high-pitched scream that occurs when the microphone picks up the sounds of the speaker, and it continues sounding in a loop. My hearing aids function as an extension of my body, and Mire is my attempt to give them life by contextualizing their sounds within an existing ecosystem. In the process of finding such a place, I was drawn to sounds that reminded me most of my hearing aids – water birds, frogs, crickets – leading me to make my recordings in the Alphington Wetlands. Though feedback tends to disrupt my ability to communicate with others in daily life, it comes alive in conversation with the creatures that inhabit the wetland. Mired in this physical landscape the feedback can grow, transforming into something new.
Mire
Rebecca Bracewell
Mire weaves together fragments of field recordings and hearing aid feedback, merging natural and mechanical sonic landscapes. Hearing aid feedback is the sound that my hearing aids make, a high-pitched scream that occurs when the microphone picks up the sounds of the speaker, and it continues sounding in a loop. My hearing aids function as an extension of my body, and Mire is my attempt to give them life by contextualizing their sounds within an existing ecosystem. In the process of finding such a place, I was drawn to sounds that reminded me most of my hearing aids – water birds, frogs, crickets – leading me to make my recordings in the Alphington Wetlands. Though feedback tends to disrupt my ability to communicate with others in daily life, it comes alive in conversation with the creatures that inhabit the wetland. Mired in this physical landscape the feedback can grow, transforming into something new.
ds_admin2023-07-19T03:53:22+00:00
How long do you let yourself spiral for? / Monique Gawne
A lament and a love song, Monique uses field recordings of authentic conversations to explore the mental processes of healing from trauma. Monique works manually within the sonic field, using physical objects of symbolic significance to warp and manipulate her field recordings. From fans, to beer cans, to rusty speakers found at hostels, to the mug he gave her. Monique re-records her field recordings into and through these objects, creating new layers of ambience and emotion. Monique works intuitively. All decisions are guided by conceptual and symbolic direction. The work not only explores her healing process, but is the healing process. While making the artwork, the microphone becomes a point of release, intimate thoughts and feelings are shared to this device, now a therapeutic tool. It goes further: the microphone becomes a tool of accountability as Monique records her daily actions and the self-surveillance motivates her into positive behaviours. She records herself as she gets out of bed, brushes her teeth, gets changed, says “hi” to friends, and walks into town. Monique recommends listening with your throat and your chest.
Content Warning: This artwork references trauma and abuse.
How long do you let yourself spiral for? / Monique Gawne
A lament and a love song, Monique uses field recordings of authentic conversations to explore the mental processes of healing from trauma. Monique works manually within the sonic field, using physical objects of symbolic significance to warp and manipulate her field recordings. From fans, to beer cans, to rusty speakers found at hostels, to the mug he gave her. Monique re-records her field recordings into and through these objects, creating new layers of ambience and emotion. Monique works intuitively. All decisions are guided by conceptual and symbolic direction. The work not only explores her healing process, but is the healing process. While making the artwork, the microphone becomes a point of release, intimate thoughts and feelings are shared to this device, now a therapeutic tool. It goes further: the microphone becomes a tool of accountability as Monique records her daily actions and the self-surveillance motivates her into positive behaviours. She records herself as she gets out of bed, brushes her teeth, gets changed, says “hi” to friends, and walks into town. Monique recommends listening with your throat and your chest.
Content Warning: This artwork references trauma and abuse.
How long do you let yourself spiral for?
Monique Gawne
A lament and a love song, Monique uses field recordings of authentic conversations to explore the mental processes of healing from trauma. Monique works manually within the sonic field, using physical objects of symbolic significance to warp and manipulate her field recordings. From fans, to beer cans, to rusty speakers found at hostels, to the mug he gave her. Monique re-records her field recordings into and through these objects, creating new layers of ambience and emotion. Monique works intuitively. All decisions are guided by conceptual and symbolic direction. The work not only explores her healing process, but is the healing process. While making the artwork, the microphone becomes a point of release, intimate thoughts and feelings are shared to this device, now a therapeutic tool. It goes further: the microphone becomes a tool of accountability as Monique records her daily actions and the self-surveillance motivates her into positive behaviours. She records herself as she gets out of bed, brushes her teeth, gets changed, says “hi” to friends, and walks into town. Monique recommends listening with your throat and your chest.
Content Warning: This artwork references trauma and abuse.
ds_admin2023-07-19T03:29:46+00:00
Music credit: Leah Alysandratos
This Bug is Not a Bug / Amy Manson
This Bug is Not a Bug is an experimental work exploring the tension between the natural world as embodied by insect samples and the gaze of technology. The film is a stop motion sequence of images shot through a microscope objective mounted to a camera. Due to the objective’s extremely short depth of field, creating this work was a labour almost machine-like, each frame made up of 30 – 70 focused stacked images. The repetitive and tedious nature of capturing each image, accumulating and compiling masses of data, then running it all through a focus stacking algorithm, mirrors the way much modern scientific research is conducted, with computers and predominantly automated. Confronted by vibrant colours, alien seeming formations and striking patterns, elements of nature previously inconspicuous are rendered unexpectedly awe inspiring, grotesque and beautiful, but ultimately unrecognisable. This Bug is Not a Bug speaks to the way in which technology takes nature out of context, seeing only the useful parts while obscuring the importance of the interrelated whole.
This Bug is Not a Bug / Amy Manson
This Bug is Not a Bug is an experimental work exploring the tension between the natural world as embodied by insect samples and the gaze of technology. The film is a stop motion sequence of images shot through a microscope objective mounted to a camera. Due to the objective’s extremely short depth of field, creating this work was a labour almost machine-like, each frame made up of 30 – 70 focused stacked images. The repetitive and tedious nature of capturing each image, accumulating and compiling masses of data, then running it all through a focus stacking algorithm, mirrors the way much modern scientific research is conducted, with computers and predominantly automated. Confronted by vibrant colours, alien seeming formations and striking patterns, elements of nature previously inconspicuous are rendered unexpectedly awe inspiring, grotesque and beautiful, but ultimately unrecognisable. This Bug is Not a Bug speaks to the way in which technology takes nature out of context, seeing only the useful parts while obscuring the importance of the interrelated whole.
Music credit: Leah Alysandratos
This Bug is Not a Bug
Amy Manson
This Bug is Not a Bug is an experimental work exploring the tension between the natural world as embodied by insect samples and the gaze of technology. The film is a stop motion sequence of images shot through a microscope objective mounted to a camera. Due to the objective’s extremely short depth of field, creating this work was a labour almost machine-like, each frame made up of 30 – 70 focused stacked images. The repetitive and tedious nature of capturing each image, accumulating and compiling masses of data, then running it all through a focus stacking algorithm, mirrors the way much modern scientific research is conducted, with computers and predominantly automated. Confronted by vibrant colours, alien seeming formations and striking patterns, elements of nature previously inconspicuous are rendered unexpectedly awe inspiring, grotesque and beautiful, but ultimately unrecognisable. This Bug is Not a Bug speaks to the way in which technology takes nature out of context, seeing only the useful parts while obscuring the importance of the interrelated whole.
Music credit: Leah Alysandratos
ds_admin2023-07-19T03:54:08+00:00
開飯喇 /緊呷 (hoi faan laa /gin jia) / Monique Gawne and Carmen Yih
開飯喇 /緊呷 (hoi faan laa /gin jia) is a collaborative video and performance work from artists Carmen Yih and Monique Gawne. Carmen and Monique both cook alone in public spaces – one at dawn and one at dusk, connected across distances through the ritual process of cooking meals close to their heart. What they are cooking is hidden from view, yet, they welcome you to cook with them. Monique and Carmen explore how food, cooking, and sharing a meal are all common ways of communicating love. 開飯喇 /緊呷 (hoi faan laa /gin jia) is also an homage to all the unspoken acts of love shown to them by their Asian family members. The work also explores the nuances of Asian-Australian identity. Cooking an Asian meal in public that is usually reserved for the private familial home references the need to consciously and observably practice aspects of our Asian culture in order to ‘keep our asianness alive.’ Monique and Carmen imbue deeply personal, emotional connections into the artwork and invite viewers to reflect on their own cultural identity and connection to food.
開飯喇 /緊呷 (hoi faan laa /gin jia) / Monique Gawne and Carmen Yih
開飯喇 /緊呷 (hoi faan laa /gin jia) is a collaborative video and performance work from artists Carmen Yih and Monique Gawne. Carmen and Monique both cook alone in public spaces – one at dawn and one at dusk, connected across distances through the ritual process of cooking meals close to their heart. What they are cooking is hidden from view, yet, they welcome you to cook with them. Monique and Carmen explore how food, cooking, and sharing a meal are all common ways of communicating love. 開飯喇 /緊呷 (hoi faan laa /gin jia) is also an homage to all the unspoken acts of love shown to them by their Asian family members. The work also explores the nuances of Asian-Australian identity. Cooking an Asian meal in public that is usually reserved for the private familial home references the need to consciously and observably practice aspects of our Asian culture in order to ‘keep our asianness alive.’ Monique and Carmen imbue deeply personal, emotional connections into the artwork and invite viewers to reflect on their own cultural identity and connection to food.
開飯喇 /緊呷 (hoi faan laa /gin jia)
Monique Gawne and Carmen Yih
開飯喇 /緊呷 (hoi faan laa /gin jia) is a collaborative video and performance work from artists Carmen Yih and Monique Gawne. Carmen and Monique both cook alone in public spaces – one at dawn and one at dusk, connected across distances through the ritual process of cooking meals close to their heart. What they are cooking is hidden from view, yet, they welcome you to cook with them. Monique and Carmen explore how food, cooking, and sharing a meal are all common ways of communicating love. 開飯喇 /緊呷 (hoi faan laa /gin jia) is also an homage to all the unspoken acts of love shown to them by their Asian family members. The work also explores the nuances of Asian-Australian identity. Cooking an Asian meal in public that is usually reserved for the private familial home references the need to consciously and observably practice aspects of our Asian culture in order to ‘keep our asianness alive.’ Monique and Carmen imbue deeply personal, emotional connections into the artwork and invite viewers to reflect on their own cultural identity and connection to food.
ds_admin2023-07-19T03:54:52+00:00
We Will / April Guest
In essence, We Will is a musical celebration of identity and queerness. In it, I explore the integral link between one’s voice and identity, and use that connection as a catalyst to empower people to reshape and liberate themselves, both personally and creatively. Despite broad societal advancements towards acceptance of transgender people, we are still faced with social rejection when we deviate from our expected gendered performances, including how we use our voices. We Will brings contrasting gender presentations of my own voice to the forefront, challenging societal preconceptions of queerness while displaying how embracing one’s identity and overcoming societal shame can unlock an array of new creative possibilities. Musically, I combine this with an expansive list of vocal and beatbox techniques to showcase the often overlooked, vast capabilities of the human voice. By displaying my own vulnerabilities, struggles with and rejection of gender norms, I inspire others to take control of their own lives and reshape their identities in the face of a society that has often rejected them.
We Will / April Guest
In essence, We Will is a musical celebration of identity and queerness. In it, I explore the integral link between one’s voice and identity, and use that connection as a catalyst to empower people to reshape and liberate themselves, both personally and creatively. Despite broad societal advancements towards acceptance of transgender people, we are still faced with social rejection when we deviate from our expected gendered performances, including how we use our voices. We Will brings contrasting gender presentations of my own voice to the forefront, challenging societal preconceptions of queerness while displaying how embracing one’s identity and overcoming societal shame can unlock an array of new creative possibilities. Musically, I combine this with an expansive list of vocal and beatbox techniques to showcase the often overlooked, vast capabilities of the human voice. By displaying my own vulnerabilities, struggles with and rejection of gender norms, I inspire others to take control of their own lives and reshape their identities in the face of a society that has often rejected them.
We Will
April Guest
In essence, We Will is a musical celebration of identity and queerness. In it, I explore the integral link between one’s voice and identity, and use that connection as a catalyst to empower people to reshape and liberate themselves, both personally and creatively. Despite broad societal advancements towards acceptance of transgender people, we are still faced with social rejection when we deviate from our expected gendered performances, including how we use our voices. We Will brings contrasting gender presentations of my own voice to the forefront, challenging societal preconceptions of queerness while displaying how embracing one’s identity and overcoming societal shame can unlock an array of new creative possibilities. Musically, I combine this with an expansive list of vocal and beatbox techniques to showcase the often overlooked, vast capabilities of the human voice. By displaying my own vulnerabilities, struggles with and rejection of gender norms, I inspire others to take control of their own lives and reshape their identities in the face of a society that has often rejected them.
ds_admin2023-07-19T03:55:37+00:00
Look… the grass is singing / Sofie McClure
Look… the grass is singing is a self-reflexive investigation into the relationship between the film director, the camera, and the viewer. The film playfully investigates the position of the director through my delivery of choral instructions to a field of grass. At the beginning of the video work, the viewer is invited to see the movements and sounds of the grass as responding to my commands. However, as the camera shutter opens and closes, the viewer’s capacity to ‘see’ becomes increasingly obstructed, the video image resembling an eye half closed. Immersing the camera deep within the grass and allowing the sound of the grass to guide the camera’s movements, the work seeks to destabilise the position of the director as someone commanding the visual field. As my choral instructions dissolve into broken vowels and the video image disintegrates, the grass is finally heard. Through this work, I mediate on how my environment is always leading the camera ‘astray’, redirecting my own gaze and in turn, the direction of my filmmaking practise.
Look… the grass is singing / Sofie McClure
Look… the grass is singing is a self-reflexive investigation into the relationship between the film director, the camera, and the viewer. The film playfully investigates the position of the director through my delivery of choral instructions to a field of grass. At the beginning of the video work, the viewer is invited to see the movements and sounds of the grass as responding to my commands. However, as the camera shutter opens and closes, the viewer’s capacity to ‘see’ becomes increasingly obstructed, the video image resembling an eye half closed. Immersing the camera deep within the grass and allowing the sound of the grass to guide the camera’s movements, the work seeks to destabilise the position of the director as someone commanding the visual field. As my choral instructions dissolve into broken vowels and the video image disintegrates, the grass is finally heard. Through this work, I mediate on how my environment is always leading the camera ‘astray’, redirecting my own gaze and in turn, the direction of my filmmaking practise.
Look… the grass is singing
Sofie McClure
Look… the grass is singing is a self-reflexive investigation into the relationship between the film director, the camera, and the viewer. The film playfully investigates the position of the director through my delivery of choral instructions to a field of grass. At the beginning of the video work, the viewer is invited to see the movements and sounds of the grass as responding to my commands. However, as the camera shutter opens and closes, the viewer’s capacity to ‘see’ becomes increasingly obstructed, the video image resembling an eye half closed. Immersing the camera deep within the grass and allowing the sound of the grass to guide the camera’s movements, the work seeks to destabilise the position of the director as someone commanding the visual field. As my choral instructions dissolve into broken vowels and the video image disintegrates, the grass is finally heard. Through this work, I mediate on how my environment is always leading the camera ‘astray’, redirecting my own gaze and in turn, the direction of my filmmaking practise.
ds_admin2023-07-19T03:56:18+00:00
Disconnection Connects / April Guest and Lǐ Xīng Yǔ (Echo Li)
This collaboration is a fusion between our own vulnerabilities and shared emotional struggles. Both of our solo works expressed personal sides to ourselves, and we used this idea as the catalyst for our collaboration. We created this work by sharing our own intimate poetry, videos, music and voice recordings with each other. From there we expanded upon it with our own ideas, experiences and interpretations. Without much verbal communication, by sharing each other’s work, we were both sensing each other’s vulnerabilities and able to converge on something we both resonated with. This connection of hearts vibrating together is our work. We both want to deliver a sentimentality of frustration, sadness, pain. We both created art while going through difficult periods of our lives. In our lowest moments, sometimes only thing you can do is move your hand or sing one note. But despite this, our desire to create and express is still there and it feels like there is some hope. Luckily, we are not alone in facing the baggage that weighs us down.
Disconnection Connects / April Guest and Lǐ Xīng Yǔ (Echo Li)
This collaboration is a fusion between our own vulnerabilities and shared emotional struggles. Both of our solo works expressed personal sides to ourselves, and we used this idea as the catalyst for our collaboration. We created this work by sharing our own intimate poetry, videos, music and voice recordings with each other. From there we expanded upon it with our own ideas, experiences and interpretations. Without much verbal communication, by sharing each other’s work, we were both sensing each other’s vulnerabilities and able to converge on something we both resonated with. This connection of hearts vibrating together is our work. We both want to deliver a sentimentality of frustration, sadness, pain. We both created art while going through difficult periods of our lives. In our lowest moments, sometimes only thing you can do is move your hand or sing one note. But despite this, our desire to create and express is still there and it feels like there is some hope. Luckily, we are not alone in facing the baggage that weighs us down.
Disconnection Connects
April Guest and Lǐ Xīng Yǔ (Echo Li)
This collaboration is a fusion between our own vulnerabilities and shared emotional struggles. Both of our solo works expressed personal sides to ourselves, and we used this idea as the catalyst for our collaboration. We created this work by sharing our own intimate poetry, videos, music and voice recordings with each other. From there we expanded upon it with our own ideas, experiences and interpretations. Without much verbal communication, by sharing each other’s work, we were both sensing each other’s vulnerabilities and able to converge on something we both resonated with. This connection of hearts vibrating together is our work. We both want to deliver a sentimentality of frustration, sadness, pain. We both created art while going through difficult periods of our lives. In our lowest moments, sometimes only thing you can do is move your hand or sing one note. But despite this, our desire to create and express is still there and it feels like there is some hope. Luckily, we are not alone in facing the baggage that weighs us down.
ds_admin2023-07-19T03:57:01+00:00
Code-Switch / Fetle Wondimu Nega
Code-Switch is a conversation between my voice and an emergent code-based music creation tool, Sonic Pi. It explores the sometimes dissonant, sometimes harmonious interaction of languages within my bilingual mind, where meaning is constructed at the intersection of two identities. When I entered kindergarten, speaking English became a necessity to interact with the Western world, suddenly encroaching on my understanding of self and the image I’d built of the world around me in my native tongue of Amharic. Now, English is my dominant language, and often the scaffold with which I build meaning and communicate my ideas. There are times, however, when it swallows up my Amharic and spits it back at me in disjointed sequences. Code-Switch describes my bilingual experience as an arc of loss into acceptance. It begins with a harmonic vocal-laden soundscape, an uncomfortable introduction symbolising language dissonance, followed by a hard-hitting Western drum pattern, and a final incorporation of African drums signalling the slow transition into acceptance.
Code-Switch / Fetle Wondimu Nega
Code-Switch is a conversation between my voice and an emergent code-based music creation tool, Sonic Pi. It explores the sometimes dissonant, sometimes harmonious interaction of languages within my bilingual mind, where meaning is constructed at the intersection of two identities. When I entered kindergarten, speaking English became a necessity to interact with the Western world, suddenly encroaching on my understanding of self and the image I’d built of the world around me in my native tongue of Amharic. Now, English is my dominant language, and often the scaffold with which I build meaning and communicate my ideas. There are times, however, when it swallows up my Amharic and spits it back at me in disjointed sequences. Code-Switch describes my bilingual experience as an arc of loss into acceptance. It begins with a harmonic vocal-laden soundscape, an uncomfortable introduction symbolising language dissonance, followed by a hard-hitting Western drum pattern, and a final incorporation of African drums signalling the slow transition into acceptance.
Code-Switch
Fetle Wondimu Nega
Code-Switch is a conversation between my voice and an emergent code-based music creation tool, Sonic Pi. It explores the sometimes dissonant, sometimes harmonious interaction of languages within my bilingual mind, where meaning is constructed at the intersection of two identities. When I entered kindergarten, speaking English became a necessity to interact with the Western world, suddenly encroaching on my understanding of self and the image I’d built of the world around me in my native tongue of Amharic. Now, English is my dominant language, and often the scaffold with which I build meaning and communicate my ideas. There are times, however, when it swallows up my Amharic and spits it back at me in disjointed sequences. Code-Switch describes my bilingual experience as an arc of loss into acceptance. It begins with a harmonic vocal-laden soundscape, an uncomfortable introduction symbolising language dissonance, followed by a hard-hitting Western drum pattern, and a final incorporation of African drums signalling the slow transition into acceptance.
ds_admin2023-07-19T03:59:30+00:00
Photosensitivity Warning: This work contains flickering imagery.
一 层一层/Layer by Layer / Carmen Yih
I am a product of the millions of coincidences, decisions and sacrifices my predecessors have made. 一 层一层/Layer by Layer is a filmic homage to the forgone artistic dreams of my maternal lineage. Growing up, my mother and grandmother would often reminisce about the artistic ambitions they had in their youth – teaching me my first dance steps and showing me their old film footage from their performances. I struggled to understand why they abandoned their artistic careers so early on, letting me only live vicariously in these distant alternate lives. As I grew older, I became soberly aware of all the sacrificed dreams of my predecessors. Each choice – to sacrifice, to abandon, to forgo, has enabled me to reach this point. As I pursue my artistic ambitions, I experience these echoes of forgone dreams layered upon me.
一 层一层/Layer by Layer / Carmen Yih
I am a product of the millions of coincidences, decisions and sacrifices my predecessors have made. 一 层一层/Layer by Layer is a filmic homage to the forgone artistic dreams of my maternal lineage. Growing up, my mother and grandmother would often reminisce about the artistic ambitions they had in their youth – teaching me my first dance steps and showing me their old film footage from their performances. I struggled to understand why they abandoned their artistic careers so early on, letting me only live vicariously in these distant alternate lives. As I grew older, I became soberly aware of all the sacrificed dreams of my predecessors. Each choice – to sacrifice, to abandon, to forgo, has enabled me to reach this point. As I pursue my artistic ambitions, I experience these echoes of forgone dreams layered upon me.
Photosensitivity Warning: This work contains flickering imagery.
一 层一层/Layer by Layer
Carmen Yih
I am a product of the millions of coincidences, decisions and sacrifices my predecessors have made. 一 层一层/Layer by Layer is a filmic homage to the forgone artistic dreams of my maternal lineage. Growing up, my mother and grandmother would often reminisce about the artistic ambitions they had in their youth – teaching me my first dance steps and showing me their old film footage from their performances. I struggled to understand why they abandoned their artistic careers so early on, letting me only live vicariously in these distant alternate lives. As I grew older, I became soberly aware of all the sacrificed dreams of my predecessors. Each choice – to sacrifice, to abandon, to forgo, has enabled me to reach this point. As I pursue my artistic ambitions, I experience these echoes of forgone dreams layered upon me.
Photosensitivity Warning: This work contains flickering imagery.
ds_admin2023-07-19T04:01:25+00:00
With Love / Fetle Wondimu Nega and Amy Manson
With Love is a short work exploring the reciprocal connection between sound and visuals. Heavy on bold patterns, punchy beats and moody vocals, the film progresses from dark to light, sparse to chaotically colourful, soulful to upbeat, reflecting our innate tendency to move towards hope, optimism and joy. We wanted to have fun with it, making something both emotionally resonant and technically explorative and experimental. Amy used strata cut animation, shaping clay into patterns layered within a log shaped sculpture. As the log is sliced the animation is created, each slice revealing a frame. As much as it takes a lot of thought and planning, the results are often unexpected and joyous. Reflective of the notion that as much as we can plan and stress and worry, life will always surprise us. In response to the dark and light stratacuts, Fetle produced a piece that transitions from moody to upbeat, expressing the sharp entrapment of self-criticism to the release of self-acceptance. She developed the sound through playful experimentation hoping to, within the process, let go of encroaching self-critique. She started by collecting samples reminiscent of the tactile nature of clay, eventually layering them with vocal chops from various unfinished songs and voice memos. Making something new, and in the process accepting materials that had once been thrown away.
With Love / Fetle Wondimu Nega and Amy Manson
With Love is a short work exploring the reciprocal connection between sound and visuals. Heavy on bold patterns, punchy beats and moody vocals, the film progresses from dark to light, sparse to chaotically colourful, soulful to upbeat, reflecting our innate tendency to move towards hope, optimism and joy. We wanted to have fun with it, making something both emotionally resonant and technically explorative and experimental. Amy used strata cut animation, shaping clay into patterns layered within a log shaped sculpture. As the log is sliced the animation is created, each slice revealing a frame. As much as it takes a lot of thought and planning, the results are often unexpected and joyous. Reflective of the notion that as much as we can plan and stress and worry, life will always surprise us. In response to the dark and light stratacuts, Fetle produced a piece that transitions from moody to upbeat, expressing the sharp entrapment of self-criticism to the release of self-acceptance. She developed the sound through playful experimentation hoping to, within the process, let go of encroaching self-critique. She started by collecting samples reminiscent of the tactile nature of clay, eventually layering them with vocal chops from various unfinished songs and voice memos. Making something new, and in the process accepting materials that had once been thrown away.
With Love
Fetle Wondimu Nega and Amy Manson
With Love is a short work exploring the reciprocal connection between sound and visuals. Heavy on bold patterns, punchy beats and moody vocals, the film progresses from dark to light, sparse to chaotically colourful, soulful to upbeat, reflecting our innate tendency to move towards hope, optimism and joy. We wanted to have fun with it, making something both emotionally resonant and technically explorative and experimental. Amy used strata cut animation, shaping clay into patterns layered within a log shaped sculpture. As the log is sliced the animation is created, each slice revealing a frame. As much as it takes a lot of thought and planning, the results are often unexpected and joyous. Reflective of the notion that as much as we can plan and stress and worry, life will always surprise us. In response to the dark and light stratacuts, Fetle produced a piece that transitions from moody to upbeat, expressing the sharp entrapment of self-criticism to the release of self-acceptance. She developed the sound through playful experimentation hoping to, within the process, let go of encroaching self-critique. She started by collecting samples reminiscent of the tactile nature of clay, eventually layering them with vocal chops from various unfinished songs and voice memos. Making something new, and in the process accepting materials that had once been thrown away.