It all started with recorded sounds. Sounds of cities, highways, construction sites, train stations, small objects.

Man-made sounds.

Little by little I developed a fascination for the traces humans leave.

A world without us never interested me too much.

Unlike men and our hectic passage through time, nature evolves slowly and majestically boring in its incomprehensible longevity.

The sound of the wind through the leaves, of stones falling, of the ocean have stayed the same for millennia.

From a higher perspective, they only last seconds, from our own, they seem eternal.

Nature is one of our last known connection with the divine, the infinite and other equally heavy words.

Just words, that I comprehend only at an intellectual level.

I do not comprehend eternity. I can only focus on us.

From my small, limited bubble I see ourselves detaching from the natural world,

gathering knowledge and evolving with increasing speed.

And with every new information, every new discovery, new sounds emerge.

In today’s world thousands of new sounds are born every year, and a lot of sounds die forever,

perpetually challenging and changing our perception.

I could even argue that, by destroying numerous species every month,

we are annihilating not only their biological impact but also their sonic imprint on the world,

as if we were, unconsciously, trying to make more space for our own.

It is as if our short-lived actions are chipping away eternity itself and replacing it with ever-changing noise.

I am a researcher of man-made sounds. I listen, create, record them, store them into many folders.

I am one of the many in this new breed of collectors. A collector of perpetually dying sonic events.

Especially fascinated by the sounds of objects no longer in use, and forever frustrated by the fact that my collection will never be complete.

Little by little, every day, I use this sounds, I rearrange them,

I give them new places and new meanings.

I strive to rearrange the human sonic world into an extended symphony.

I regard my endeavors as being the result of a personal need, a refusal to let go, to accept death.

Perhaps these are the searches of a childish personality rather than the intellectual efforts of an artist.

Perhaps they could be both…


 
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