by Jaclyn Guse

The gallery experience’s structure, the techniques, the objects, the people, the discourse has all altered through time. A key aspect in the gradual and continuing shift of that experience however, is sound. We walk through the gallery spaces now, talk amongst ourselves, read dialogue on walls, listen to headsets, or in the case of the rennie collection converse with the docent in a tour of the exhibition.

What we hear in the gallery is not only our own thoughts, or those around us, but the exploration of sound as a medium involved in artwork. Technological advances have brought exploration of sound as a tool in time-based media works such as videos, films and computer installations. Entirely acoustic installations began with the Italian Furturist Manifesto “The Art of Sound” written by Luigio Russollo in 1913. This lead the way to the experimentation of noise involved in other avant-garde movements such as Dadaism and Surrealism. William Hellerman, creator of “The Sound/Art Foundation” (1983) observes that “hearing is another form of seeing, that sound has meaning only when its connection with an image is understood. The conjunction of sound and image insists on the engagement of the viewer, forcing participation in real space and concrete, responsive thought”*.

Sometimes noise can confuse participants when faced without an accompanied image. In Robert Beck’s Untitled (Dec. 29th, 1993), the main aspect is the audio, as the long video only contains a circle that is the camera cap. Without the display, guests in the gallery would hear the sounds of the video without realizing what was happening. Depending on which point you enter the work you could interpret the noises in different ways. During the part when two men are walking, guests in the gallery assumed it is the noise of an ultrasound or sonogram based on the repetitive thumps of their feet on the ground**. However if you were to reach the work when shots are being fired, your perception wouldn’t likely be anything except the unmistakeable sound of gunfire. These two parts clearly have different tones associated with them, and if you were to hear the ultrasound your perception of the work would be false. Alex Quicho wrote in her review of the Robert Buck/Robert Beck’s exhibition of how Buck’s audio of gunshots (from Untitled) rang throughout the exhibition long after they were within earshot, creating an extremely ominous atmosphere***.

In 2011, Martin Creed’s exhibition at the rennie collection disrupted the stillness of space and sound in the gallery in a number of ways. Although Creed has said that the musical aspects of his works “function in the background like decoration”**** the disruption they cause to the gallery certainly elicits more of a response than that of a decorative work, hanging around in your peripheral space. Work No. 850 (2008) had runners bolting from the third floor of the gallery down the stairs and through the two main rooms of the exhibition and back up as if they were running for their lives. The unexpected movement caused guests a great deal of surprise…the squeak of their shoes as they glide along the concrete flooring and their harsh intakes of breath only heightened this reaction. Decorations can be ignored, but startling sounds cannot. Reverberation creates a musical performance in Creed’s works, adding to the visual and forcing the participation of the guests in the space. Creed wishes to surprise you, shake up the order of things and ultimately make you laugh. He implies that art needn’t be taken so seriously, that you can use simple phrases (such as the permanent outdoor installation Work No. 851, Everything is Going to be Alright (2008),) and simple objects as a springboard to deeper and more meaningful discussions.

Often reflecting a certain disposition, sounds of artwork can shed light upon how an artist wants their work to be taken. Like Creed, Mircea Cantor creates his own tone to reflect his practice. Upon immediate entrance to the second floor Cantor composes a symphony with a single player in Wind Orchestra (2012). Japanese kitchen knives slice thin air in a single motion, a result of a single breath. The sound: violent, swift, and precise, continues in a looping series of orchestral noise brought on by the boy’s game. The large room allows for a monstrous echo and the wind orchestra plays on for you, rebounding off the walls and high ceilings. Although the boy’s game at first seems as innocent as simple child play the naivety is suspended as the actions continue. Tension fills the air as the boy continues to blow over the knives seemingly without an emotional response, which is in stark contrast to the startling experience of those witnessing it. He does not flinch with the fall of the knives nor does he seem to enjoy the action at all. Playing implies a pleasurable experience and yet the boy’s game does not contain this key component. The noise has no effect over him as if he has lost any recognition of the possibility of danger or harm. The methodical game turns into a ritual or perhaps an instructed punishment when you learn that the child is in fact Cantor’s eldest son.

As it is the only work with audio in the room the feeling of being on edge does not subside. The atmosphere of the room and subsequently the rest of the exhibition shifts due to Wind Orchestra where suspense lingers in the air. With the inclusion of noises, visual art becomes more inclusive by allowing viewers another sensory path to perceive and understand. And how do these noises contribute to the overall experience of viewing (or more accurately, participating with) artwork in the exhibition? Alone, the sound components act solely to contribute to the work itself. When placed within a gallery setting however, the sound affects not only the other works in the space but the space itself, and subsequently your experience and mood within the defined space. For instance, Mircea Cantor’s film Deeparture is exclusively silent. Placed in the farthest room of rennie Collection, noises from other rooms shouldn’t intercede it. In fact, The Landscape is Changing , the projection in the adjacent room produces very little noise of the streets of Albania, infrequent car honks and city commotion. Yet, when the demonstration switches into a kaleidoscopic swirl of mirrors a symphony complements the theatrical display. Unanticipated though, it loudly booms across the gallery and bleeds into the next room, altering the effect of the previously silent experience of Deeparture.

We filter sounds everyday, of every second. We cannot pay attention to them all, in the same way we cannot look at all of the visual stimuli around us. Entering the gallery, our sensations heighten as we know we are there for a sole purpose. To look, to hear, to perceive and thus to understand. In this way it is much, much more difficult to ignore sounds that exist within the space, so we welcome them and search for their meaning. The leftover sounds of artworks, intentionally or not, expose an artist’s true nature, and if you are paying attention you could discover it too.

*Hellerman, William, and Don Goddard. Catalogue for “Sound/Art” at The Sculpture Center, New York City, 1983
**In conversation with Cemre Demiralp: docent for the “Robert Beck/ Robert Buck” at rennie collection from March 2nd, 2013- June 8th, 2013
***Quicho, Alex. ‘The Opening- Robert Buck/ Robert Beck at the rennie collection’, Vancouver is Awesome, March 2013. Web.
****Tom Eccles and Martin Creed, ‘Interview’, Martin Creed: Works, 2010.