(A quick documentation of thoughts, mostly for myself)
Updating my artist statement/thoughts
I feel like as my practice has shifted since I applied for the MFA, it would be useful to reflect on what I'm doing and redescribe it. I had a good conversation with a friend last week about this; talking things out with others is always helpful for this kind of thing for me :) Will compare these notes to the exercise I did at the beginning of the year in the coming weeks...
My practice broadly deals with the concept of interconnected ecology. This flows on from the topics I was exploring last year, and includes the concept of non-human and non-living entities in the equation. At present, I am looking specifically at the geological history of Tāmaki Makaurau Auckland as an entry point into this idea (and vice versa).
Volcanic peaks have influenced human settlement and activity within Auckland both historically and in the present. Auckland is a city built both on and of mountains, and its colonial history in regard to them is a complicated one - dispersion, destruction, re-distribution. The Western ideological view towards these peaks has been primarily one of objectification - either spaces for settlement or quarrying, or for restructuring as tailored parks and greenspaces. In contrast, a Te Ao Maori lens is one that recognises them as both creations within the landscape (as described via various myths and stories) and as individual entities within their own right.
Today, the mountains' abiotic qualities have shaped how we approach them and our living spaces within the city - for example their influence on land topography through lava channels, flows, slopes, and the effect this has on ground stability, water, flora, and fauna etc. Even if fully quarried, the dispersion of these maunga has created land formations and built structures that now form part of the city's fabric. In one way or another, the mountains are present, and still exert an impact on our daily lives.
The ecological link comes through here in thinking about "how much of a mountain is within a wall" - the idea that these mountains are both individual entities, many of which still retain their presence either physically or mythically, and as dispersed into aggregations. In thinking of the mountains are individuals and in acknowledging their influence and importance (through a cross-cultural lens and a city of complex colonial histories), do they still retain that individuality in their altered states?
Audible Silence: Jez Riley French
We hear a lot, but have we stopped developing the ability to listen? As technology gets more advanced we are able to record at higher and higher fidelity - but do we actually hear, or is that development a result of our internal biases around what we want to hear?
"When I was recording [natural sounds, sounds not made by humans], I was hearing, but I was losing the emotional connection to those sounds... I was recording it as I wanted it to sound to me"
"Humans are really good at separating ourselves from nature and forgetting that we are just another species on Earth... other creatures can hear all the things we pump out into the world sonically"
Use of guitar strings to act as conducting material between an object and a contact mic (increased resonance)
"Humans compress sound... compression is built into [technology] these days... Because we hear so much sound that is compressed, our ears are getting stupider and stupider"
"I'm interested in soundworlds that are part of our everyday life... the soundworld that we create as humans. One of the techniques I use is getting under the surface of a place with [hydrophones and geophones], peeling back the layers of an environment"
"The idea of getting close to natural sounds makes me realise that, when getting close to urban sounds, we are tiny. But we are also very loud in terms of the sound pollution we create in the world"
Photography and Sound
the more time one spends in a space, the more one comes to know it
Angus Carlyle (Professor of Sound and Landscape): "Comparison could be made between some kinds of field recording practices and photographers that have come in the wake of the New Topographics movement - in their revealing particular kinds of relationships to the landscape and man-altered environment, and shared interested in the long take or long duration recording; they work hand in hand with considerable periods of immersion within a particular environment
Jez Riley French: "Our ears and our collective minds look at a natural landscape and perceive it as something very idyllic and quite soft sonically but it's actually utter chaos... it's really much more intense, particularly for the creatures that dwell in it..."
contact microphones - hear what an object feels/experiences physically
JRF: "we are visual animals...using a photograph can be a trigger for sound..."
AC: "How far can you go with understanding the capturing of the world's sound and light through different media, and their appreciation for different triggers for different kinds of emotional and cognitive engagement?"
Dawn Wilson (philosopher): "instead of thinking of sound recording in a documentary function in that way, we could think about a sound recordist like a photographer uses the objects in the environment and scene as instruments... Just as a photographer is bouncing light off objects in order to record them, using those objects as if they are paint brushes... I think a sound artist can do the same thing with objects in the scene with objects that emit sound... Those sound-making objects are orchestrating, composing a piece of work together to produce a score that is the recording... It no longer just has to be understood as a documentary medium, we have the potential for a full blown orchestral composition just using the objects in the landscape"
abstract sense of a place - uncertainty of what a sound is from when captured via contact mic; an emotive sense of a space rather than a documentary one
The roads we drive on, the buildings we live and work in, and the pavements we walk on are all made of rock that has been dug or blasted from New Zealand’s hills and river plains. Aggregate – crushed rock. New Zealand has plenty of greywacke, a rock which is washed down from the Southern Alps and other mountain ranges, and is ideal for crushing. Other rocks are also crushed into aggregate. This can be chips for making roads, or smaller gravel – used to make concrete, for everything from garden paths to high-rise buildings. Limestone - a rock that originally formed under the ocean. It is made of the bones and shells of tiny sea creatures that died millions of years ago. New Zealand has some dramatic limestone formations, including the Pancake Rocks on the West Coast, and the Waitomo caves near Te Kuiti. Limestone is used in cement, an ingredient of concrete. It is also used as a fertiliser on farmland, and for roading. There are two large quarries in the Waikato region. Quarried limestone used to be burnt in kilns, and workers could be temporarily blinded by the lime powder. Clay - a sticky, poor-draining soil. When fired in a kiln it becomes extremely hard. Bricks, tiles and pots are made this way, as well as ceramics – from fine porcelain to sewer pipes. In the 19th century clay was dug out and made into pipes to drain the soggy farmland. Crown Lynn Potteries began making tableware from clay in the 1930s, and by 1970 produced 15 million pieces a year. But New Zealand’s ceramics industry declined when cheaper goods were imported in the 1980s. Today, around Auckland and Northland clay is dug to make bricks, pipes, ceramics and other products. Small pits also supply clay for potters.
Aggregate, which is crushed rock from a mixture of sources, is an essential material in New Zealand’s built environment. The term aggregate includes naturally occurring collections of rock particles like beach pebbles (often used in concrete) and sands, as well as manually crushed rock. The differing shapes, sizes and types of rock can be put to a range of uses, notably in building, roading and other construction projects. When cultivating taro and kūmara (sweet potato), Māori mixed gravel and sand into the soil to improve drainage. To build hāngī (earth ovens), in which they would slow-cook buried food, they used stones known to retain heat. Stones were also used as sinkers for line and net fishing. If a village came under attack, the defenders would hurl stones and roll boulders onto the enemy. European settlers made use of loose rock, gravel and sand for minor building projects, stone walls and road surfacing before imported explosives made it possible to quarry hard rock. Initially many quarries produced building stone. Then with the development of rail and road construction, and the use of reinforced concrete for building, the demand for aggregate quickly grew. By 1931 quarries were producing over 900,000 tonnes of stone or gravel for road surfacing or railway ballast. In the 2000s Auckland, with an expanding population, faced a shortage of good aggregate sources. The best rock sources are lava flows. (The more common scoria, which makes up much of the volcanic cones, is riddled with small holes that reduce its strength.) However, many of the city’s volcanic cones have been quarried – Three Kings, the name given to a trio of distinct humps, looks more like half a king today. There is ongoing tension between those keen to preserve the distinct volcanic landscape and those who want cheaper aggregate. Almost any rock is suitable as fill for reclaiming land from the sea. Fist-sized stones become railway ballast, and large rocks, known as rip rap, are used to contain harbours and rivers. Pea metal, made of rock chips about the size of a pea, is used extensively for drainage.
Chauncey Flay, One Million Marks
It all started with the question, “What is infinity?” Which evolved into a process of making one million marks – a full year of work for artist, Chauncey Flay. Using handmade paint from grinding stone into pigment, the mark-making itself began to deconstruct time, testing Flay’s physical and mental stamina alongside notions of how we might value labour in artistic practise. There are one hundred stones (with provenance of both place and time), all from the Te Wai Pounamu, and each shaped, crafted into form and sold with a bound book of individual marks. There is limestone from the earthquake damaged Chch Cathedral, and stones donated by the late sculptor, John Edgar. The hundreds of pages of mark-making bound into one hundred books deliberately references the time-based practices of On Kawara, Agnes Martin and Roman Opalka. But the wonderful range of colours and particular materiality of South Island stone is also beautifully showcased. These books made from locally sourced stone, pigment and paper, all in custom-made boxes with their relevant stone, are delightfully referential and unexpectedly sculptural. Together, they constitute Chauncey Flay’s One Million Mark project.


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