Christy Georg, Final Report
Tagged: AIR
PROJECT REPORT
Research Report
My term at the Berwick Research Institute began as I was studying electronics, and the terms and functions of its components colored my creations. Always fascinated by language—how similes, metaphors, and double entendres can be tools to unveil meaning—I investigated circuits with names such as integrators, amplifiers, indicators, and filters.
The notion of the “closed circuit” as metaphor for a cycle (of life, action, creation) conjured them as vocational characters. They have input and output, a flow of energy, actions and reactions. Within the modern microcosm of the circuit I located the universal, a macrocosm. Physics act as a structure, its laws govern our perception of everything that “is.” Language too, is a structure; it governs our communication and perception of meaning. The governance of language is permeable while that of physics lies in the realm of science, which can be empirically tested for “truths.”
It is precisely this notion of truth that inspired Transducer Experiments and Experiment 2. The work deals with human perception of auditory, or sonant, experience. Since this is a subjective activity (not universal), I questioned the validity that there is a “truth,” a solitary actuality of an experience, thus challenging history as fallible. How does one know, exactly, what one sees or hears?
Transducer Experiments was a starting point. An amplification device based on the architecture of an audio speaker was fed an audio signal frequency through an electromagnetic coil and steel rod. This rod, which was glued to the transducer cone’s center, carried both sympathetic vibrations from the signal and a physical push/pull kinetic movement, caused by the frequency’s shifting polarity (positive and negative) upon the coil, producing oscillation of the cone. The transducer cone was made of paper and provided a large surface for the sound. I liked this tactile reproduction of sound and the “little dance” of its shimmies, as well as the ability to adjust the length of rod (this distance soon became an obsession). Experimentations with variations in papers, size and pitch of cone, thickness and material of rod, and kind of coil led to many failures, some more interesting than others. The liveliest experiment utilized the voice coil from a computer hard drive, however it was a weak driver over distance. I became interested in making one that could drive a rod through the span of a large room—to send an invisible and silent signal over a distance. Its subtle oscillations an indication, its traveling rod a messenger, to lure the viewer. The end result, though, was the broadcast of sound into space, which felt unremarkable even without context yet imposed upon it.
The phenomenon of the sympathetic vibrations led to Experiment 2. I was inspired by a story that the deaf Thomas Edison would bite the resonating horn from his invention, the phonograph, so that he could “hear” the sounds. How fascinating that, in the sense of physics, vibrations moving through the material of air reach the architecture of the ear, vibrating parts inside it to produce what we call sound! I could bite the rod from the Transducer Experiments and hear the sound signal reverberating the bones in my jaw—an uncanny sensation, to be sure. What I found most interesting with my experiment was that it appeared to be silent until the experience of engagement, the bite, when its potency was revealed. Unenthralled by oral interaction, I developed a cork stopper for the end of the rod, which could be inserted into the ear, producing a similar auditory effect. I found some richness in my ability to belie the seemingly absurd activity of inserting a stopper into the ear with promise of a sonorous experience.
Hoping in the future to fashion my own coils from magnetic wire, I embarked on a trial and error journey to discover what sounded best to me. I tried many coils, motors, and solenoids to translate the frequency, as well as different sizes, lengths, and materials of rod, to varying degrees of success. There was a problem with sound leak. Material connected to the coil, such as a motor housing, spread the sound source, acting as a resonator, and needed insulation. I thought this problem would not occur with a coil I designed for the purpose. This challenge was very important to overcome in order to preserve the magical moment of surprise and revelation, which the experience warranted.
There was also the matter of what sound signal to use. I focused on ethereal sounds of energy: of boiling, heater hums, power station buzz, welders, sodium lights. It was a powerful experience silently inserted into one’s ear. The apparatus itself altered the sound of the source (composed and pressed on CD), enhancing the ethereal quality, in a way, due to the degradation of the quality from the original source. This was not known to the viewer/hearer, however, who heard interesting, non-specific sounds, a kind of cipher that may have inclined the listener to hear subjectively. While I was intrigued by listeners’ differing responses searching for content (“it’s birds screeching,” or “a train whistle”), I was very intrigued by having them insert such a thing into a hole in their heads and have their body resonate the sounds as they wonder about them.
Next, I wanted to try a two-channel sound piece with an insert for each ear transmitting a slightly different audio track. This is basically a very lo-fi stereo sound. The experiment was successful, looking past technical difficulties. I have a bit to learn about mixing sound in computer programs to make dynamic tracks. There were problems with the volume levels, too, which could have been that the coils receiving the signal were slightly different, that the CD player didn’t distribute them evenly, or a problem with the amplifier electronics I used—any number of things which time, trial, and error solve. The actual sounds on the CD tracks were recorded extremely closely to two similar electric teakettles. The sounds of energy: the warming, boiling, and whistling steam alternate, though this source was rather unrecognizable as it had been altered—distorted, actually—through its passage in the apparatus.
When we look, it is incidental—it occurs automatically. It is easy, often unconscious, for the eyes’ gaze to wander. We develop and wear (use) apparatuses to hone/focus our vision. This willingness to funnel sensorial effort into looking, using magnification, to better see, elucidates a representation of the kind of attentiveness and concentration I sought through the sonant experiments. I find a language of scrutiny for vision which is lacking in that of listening. I also find a lack in attention involved with the difference between hearing and listening.
Independently of the experiments, I built a sculptural piece, Tool, which embodies many of the same ideas about sound and addresses its inevitability. It appears delicate, crafted and intimate upon first glance, until its violent intention, or potential, is revealed. It is a tool of liberation, to clear the passage within the ear for sound, a tool whose dosage may need only be effective once. The visual experience of this piece may have the effect of its metaphorical administration—a focused attentiveness as a way to hear more clearly.
Through experience, and by trying to “know” something that is not concrete, I create a speculative ontology, questioning (the authority of) “truth” and “reality,” implying that these things exist only in the subjective mind. The metaphor of condensation is useful here, for it can cull quantities of visible material (water) from the invisible expanse (air). It is my hope that the work may extend beyond its materiality too, even while making absence manifest.
Christy Georg
January 2004
Research Report
My term at the Berwick Research Institute began as I was studying electronics, and the terms and functions of its components colored my creations. Always fascinated by language—how similes, metaphors, and double entendres can be tools to unveil meaning—I investigated circuits with names such as integrators, amplifiers, indicators, and filters.
The notion of the “closed circuit” as metaphor for a cycle (of life, action, creation) conjured them as vocational characters. They have input and output, a flow of energy, actions and reactions. Within the modern microcosm of the circuit I located the universal, a macrocosm. Physics act as a structure, its laws govern our perception of everything that “is.” Language too, is a structure; it governs our communication and perception of meaning. The governance of language is permeable while that of physics lies in the realm of science, which can be empirically tested for “truths.”
It is precisely this notion of truth that inspired Transducer Experiments and Experiment 2. The work deals with human perception of auditory, or sonant, experience. Since this is a subjective activity (not universal), I questioned the validity that there is a “truth,” a solitary actuality of an experience, thus challenging history as fallible. How does one know, exactly, what one sees or hears?
Transducer Experiments was a starting point. An amplification device based on the architecture of an audio speaker was fed an audio signal frequency through an electromagnetic coil and steel rod. This rod, which was glued to the transducer cone’s center, carried both sympathetic vibrations from the signal and a physical push/pull kinetic movement, caused by the frequency’s shifting polarity (positive and negative) upon the coil, producing oscillation of the cone. The transducer cone was made of paper and provided a large surface for the sound. I liked this tactile reproduction of sound and the “little dance” of its shimmies, as well as the ability to adjust the length of rod (this distance soon became an obsession). Experimentations with variations in papers, size and pitch of cone, thickness and material of rod, and kind of coil led to many failures, some more interesting than others. The liveliest experiment utilized the voice coil from a computer hard drive, however it was a weak driver over distance. I became interested in making one that could drive a rod through the span of a large room—to send an invisible and silent signal over a distance. Its subtle oscillations an indication, its traveling rod a messenger, to lure the viewer. The end result, though, was the broadcast of sound into space, which felt unremarkable even without context yet imposed upon it.
The phenomenon of the sympathetic vibrations led to Experiment 2. I was inspired by a story that the deaf Thomas Edison would bite the resonating horn from his invention, the phonograph, so that he could “hear” the sounds. How fascinating that, in the sense of physics, vibrations moving through the material of air reach the architecture of the ear, vibrating parts inside it to produce what we call sound! I could bite the rod from the Transducer Experiments and hear the sound signal reverberating the bones in my jaw—an uncanny sensation, to be sure. What I found most interesting with my experiment was that it appeared to be silent until the experience of engagement, the bite, when its potency was revealed. Unenthralled by oral interaction, I developed a cork stopper for the end of the rod, which could be inserted into the ear, producing a similar auditory effect. I found some richness in my ability to belie the seemingly absurd activity of inserting a stopper into the ear with promise of a sonorous experience.
Hoping in the future to fashion my own coils from magnetic wire, I embarked on a trial and error journey to discover what sounded best to me. I tried many coils, motors, and solenoids to translate the frequency, as well as different sizes, lengths, and materials of rod, to varying degrees of success. There was a problem with sound leak. Material connected to the coil, such as a motor housing, spread the sound source, acting as a resonator, and needed insulation. I thought this problem would not occur with a coil I designed for the purpose. This challenge was very important to overcome in order to preserve the magical moment of surprise and revelation, which the experience warranted.
There was also the matter of what sound signal to use. I focused on ethereal sounds of energy: of boiling, heater hums, power station buzz, welders, sodium lights. It was a powerful experience silently inserted into one’s ear. The apparatus itself altered the sound of the source (composed and pressed on CD), enhancing the ethereal quality, in a way, due to the degradation of the quality from the original source. This was not known to the viewer/hearer, however, who heard interesting, non-specific sounds, a kind of cipher that may have inclined the listener to hear subjectively. While I was intrigued by listeners’ differing responses searching for content (“it’s birds screeching,” or “a train whistle”), I was very intrigued by having them insert such a thing into a hole in their heads and have their body resonate the sounds as they wonder about them.
Next, I wanted to try a two-channel sound piece with an insert for each ear transmitting a slightly different audio track. This is basically a very lo-fi stereo sound. The experiment was successful, looking past technical difficulties. I have a bit to learn about mixing sound in computer programs to make dynamic tracks. There were problems with the volume levels, too, which could have been that the coils receiving the signal were slightly different, that the CD player didn’t distribute them evenly, or a problem with the amplifier electronics I used—any number of things which time, trial, and error solve. The actual sounds on the CD tracks were recorded extremely closely to two similar electric teakettles. The sounds of energy: the warming, boiling, and whistling steam alternate, though this source was rather unrecognizable as it had been altered—distorted, actually—through its passage in the apparatus.
When we look, it is incidental—it occurs automatically. It is easy, often unconscious, for the eyes’ gaze to wander. We develop and wear (use) apparatuses to hone/focus our vision. This willingness to funnel sensorial effort into looking, using magnification, to better see, elucidates a representation of the kind of attentiveness and concentration I sought through the sonant experiments. I find a language of scrutiny for vision which is lacking in that of listening. I also find a lack in attention involved with the difference between hearing and listening.
Independently of the experiments, I built a sculptural piece, Tool, which embodies many of the same ideas about sound and addresses its inevitability. It appears delicate, crafted and intimate upon first glance, until its violent intention, or potential, is revealed. It is a tool of liberation, to clear the passage within the ear for sound, a tool whose dosage may need only be effective once. The visual experience of this piece may have the effect of its metaphorical administration—a focused attentiveness as a way to hear more clearly.
Through experience, and by trying to “know” something that is not concrete, I create a speculative ontology, questioning (the authority of) “truth” and “reality,” implying that these things exist only in the subjective mind. The metaphor of condensation is useful here, for it can cull quantities of visible material (water) from the invisible expanse (air). It is my hope that the work may extend beyond its materiality too, even while making absence manifest.
Christy Georg
January 2004
