PLAY

Below are some of the sketches I made as I thought out how best to present my piece.

When I first thought of working with alarm clocks, I imagined simply gathering a hundred or so of them and just setting them out in rows on the floor to form a tidy and small square. This was when I just wanted to play around with some clocks to see and hear what would happen, and before I had started to really think about making this idea develop into an actual piece.

My idea, then, looked like this:

[please note the clocks are not facing upwards, though the ultra-stylized way in which I sketched them might make it look as if they were!]

Then came this, I think partly as a reaction to having witnessed John Wynne‘s installation for 300 speakers re-conceived for and installed at the Saatchi Gallery over the summer, and part of his more recent installation at this year’s Cut & Splice, as well as learning about Arman’s accumulation pieces:

Yes, the hieroglyphs directly above may look quite scary (I wonder what a psychiatrist might make of them?), but in actuality all they represent is a multitude of alarm clocks of different types scattered around a room and irregularly filling the floor-space (you are heavily encouraged to use your imagination). As the first sketch says: “each of these is an alarm clock”. To the sketch above, maybe I should add: “… believe it or not!”.

I liked the idea of allowing those experiencing the work to walk around at will in the space and thus listen from different corners of the room, or to different individual clock-alarms. This is one of my personal preferences when it comes to experiencing work by others. I like pieces that allow some non-directed interaction on the part of the listener/experiencer.

However, another of my preferences as an experiencer of these works, especially works that are durational and that one can walk in and out of or spend very long amounts of time with, is  to be able to lie down and let the sound penetrate my ears and body. Last April, for example, I visited the Dream House and lay down on the floor for two hours, just listening and feeling the sound’s vibrations passing from the floor into my body. Last winter I also spent a couple of hours relaxing on a giant pillow on the floor of one of the performance rooms at King’s Place, as one of my friends was taking part in a performance of Vexations there. These experiences made me realise that, for me, there is something about lying down to listen that changes the way one lets oneself experience a work. All of a sudden… time doesn’t matter as much. A minute becomes an hour… and an hour a minute. The effect that lying down to listen has on me is that it creates a peaceful state in which I can gradually let go of everything that is not sound and that is not the moment of experience itself. There is no past/regret, and no future/duties. There is just the present moment, peace, and sound.

So, then, I thought about adding pillows to the work, to allow those experiencing it to lie down and feel free to spend some time with it:

I liked the idea of encouraging people to lie down and forget about time… in order to seemingly paradoxically listen to the urgent sound of alarms attempting to remind them of the time. As lying down makes me forget about the passing time to focus my attention on a seemingly endless  moment through sound, so it also makes me appreciate the collective sounds of the alarms ringing –individually an irritant, as triggering associations of rude awakenings, but their sum sonically more pleasing as the associations are dampened–  as music.

I suddenly realised there was a link between these thoughts about encouraging lying down to experience the piece and the context in which an alarm clock usually operates. One is usually woken up from one’s sleep, after a night of lying in bed, by the sound of an alarm, which abruptly wipes away dreams and embodies the sound of duty calling.

So then I thought about introducing a bed, to emphasise this:

A thing to maybe think about is that introducing a bed in the piece encourages it to be experienced by a single person at a time, which wouldn’t then make it a shared experience anymore. I thought about this for a while, and I was really quite keen to have the bed there, even though it ultimately means sacrificing the communal experience in favour of an individual one.

I wanted the person lying in the bed to be able to see all the clocks from a supine position, as well as hear them starting at ear level, so I started to think of ways this could be achieved.

This was the next sketch:

I was trying to think of a way of elevating the clocks to bedside-table height, so that they would be in the visual field and at ear-height of the person lying on the bed. I wanted all the clocks to be visible and all to be pointing their face at the person on the bed, rather than at someone looking at the piece from outside. This would both encourage people to lie down on the bed in order to properly experience the piece, and also keep the time-displaying part of the clock ever present and visible (constantly reminding the “experiencer” of the time, making the sound of the alarms be about time once more) , maybe even ominously so, as the clocks would then look as if they were all crowding in on the “sleeper”, like a pack of carnivorous animals going in for the kill/feed, or nosy little creatures observing intently…

I then started to question myself, wondering about my sudden but rather firm decision to use a bed in the piece, instead of pillows. I did like the precedent idea of creating a piece which could be experienced by multiple people rather than just one at a time, and also I started thinking about the unwanted associations a bed could generate (more on that in later posts!), and was aware that, thus, specifically using a bed instead of some pillows on the floor would alter the way the piece was perceived and make it about something different to the precedent versions I had thought up.

Despite my misgivings, I still felt more strongly about creating a piece which would include the bed than creating one without it, so I started attempting to think back to where the idea came from.

It was looking at my previous notes and finding Ligeti’s mention of Gyula Krudy’s story of the widow in a house full of clocks that took me back to where the bed idea (and the alarm clock piece itself) originated from. I suddenly realized that I was basically partly recreating the situation in which I first heard multiple clocks ticking, the situation that was at the root of the idea in the first place. I found myself in my old flat, listening to the clocks ticking, and hearing their bells go off in succession and seemingly endlessly every morning. The bed I thought of using to assemble the work was even the same –this was for what I thought were merely practical reasons, as I can take my bed apart easily, having done so a few times before, and thus would only have to transport it to the location of the installation, rather than spend further money on buying a bed… but really, I wonder how much of that thought was driven by my subconscious.

So… I will look at the issues raised by the use of a bed in a later post, as I still have to do some thinking about that, but basically I am very keen to now stick with this idea.

I then spent some time trying out arrangements for the clocks. I had decided on a sort of horseshoe-shape, with clocks being placed in irregular rows all around the bed and pointed at the head of the imaginary person lying down upon it. However, when I tried placing my clocks in this position in order to make some test recordings, I realized that this arrangement made them appear less numerous than they really were. I then tested a different layout by laying them out on the steps of my staircase at home (see picture in post below). The steps’ gradation made all the clocks become visible and also allowed me to generate some height when it came to the sound emanating from the alarms.  Not only were they more visible, but they also appeared more numerous, because spread out better.

My next sketch then incorporated small gradations:

[clocks are not drawn in this sketch, but they would be placed on the steps in an irregular fashion, rather than neat rows]

Looking at the new structure I created, I suddenly caught myself thinking of an operating theatre (or a forum?). The clocks as spectators, the person on the bed a patient to be operated on or body to be dissected and ogled at.

So now I am trying to think of practical ways I could make this structure happen.  For the bed, I am thinking of taking apart my bed and carrying it to Elephant & Castle for the final degree show (I would have to pay a man with van or find a friend with one, or maybe rent one together with other classmates), because I figure it would be cheaper than getting a bed specifically for the piece. For the mattress, I will buy a low-quality mattress from local outlets (these are quite cheap, fortunately, though they would not make for a good night’s sleep!). For the structure surrounding the bed, I have thought of maybe constructing something out of cheap materials disguised to not look cheap –cardboard covered with draping, maybe, or freestanding steps of the kind that venues use to lead to the stage:

However, this would not look very good, and unless I build the steps myself (I have found some instructions on eHow, but they look complicated) or borrow them from somewhere, it would be rather costly. Also, I do not want to spend excessive time constructing this part of the installation… but I do feel that the way it will be laid out is important to me.

Here are some more sketches of ideas on how to deal with constructing the steps structure around the bed which will support the clocks:

EDIT: Right now I am thinking I will maybe just go with planks of wood supported by metal bins and covered up by white sheets, or, if I manage it, I will attempt to build the structure myself using cheap planks of wood cut to size, shelf brackets to keep it all together/for support and nails…

I recently found out through a tutor that one of my course-mates had considered working on an idea involving Casio wrist watches and their hourly alarms, but that he had given up after discovering that another artist had already developed the same idea into a piece.

I was curious (and apprehensive!) to learn more about the Casio watch piece, so I obtained from my course-mate a link to a blog post which mentions the work in question as well as describing other works in the exhibition the Casio piece was part of [all of these deal with the topic of time, though I am not sure they deal with aspects of time I am interested in exploring in my piece, but I have taken a look at each of these works nonetheless, as they may provide inspiration in the future].

The piece is by an artist called Ignacio Uriarte. Uriarte uses what he calls “the little creative moments within office-routines” as a starting point for his work, which features humble everyday objects found in offices as its  main materials. He has created a few pieces that in one way or another deal with time: “Accumulative Clock”, “All My Days” and the Casio piece, the one of most interest to me as it makes use of the sound of watch alarms, which is called “60 Seconds”.

Uriarte’s piece presents similarities to my idea, in that it makes use of the sound of clock alarms to say something about time. However, though the materials used are similar, the execution will be different (this might be comparable to two different paintings both making use of the same material: paint).

When looking at the comments posted on the blog reviewing the piece, I can see there are similarities in ideas which go beyond the use of similar materials: I too thought of showing the impossibility of capturing time by creating a constantly repeating sound piece (each instant would be a repetition/reiteration of something that has happened before at the same time, trapping the listeners inside the same 12 or 24 hours) which would start slowly degrading  as batteries ran out or the clocks went out of phase with each other. However, this is only one part of the time-connotations I would like to explore.

I also want to create a 12-hour (or 24: I still am undecided as I would like to only use non-digital clocks, which only span 12 hours) composition, that will captivate the listener and make them forget about time whilst constanly reminding them of it. This is what the BBC commenter brings up when discussing  Christian Marclay’s The Clock in the short video that I have embedded in one of my previous posts: he talks of how spectators watching the film and are engrossed in it and distracted by it from the passage of time… they forget about time, yet are paradoxically constantly reminded of it in Marclay’s work.

I have a tendency to write excessively long posts, so I will cut this one short here, but I would like to discuss the themes of my alarm clocks piece further. I will do so in a coming post.

Here’s an embeddable version of the Ubuweb video file of Poème Symphonique that I have found on YouTube, for your viewing pleasure. So now you can view the video right here, from the comfort of this blog page, should you feel too cozy here to venture out to explore the wonders of Ubuweb:

The machine that kick-starts the metronomes in the video above was created by the sculptor and installation artist Gilles Lacombe, as explained in the video’s French-speaking voiceover. Ligeti’s original performance instructions called for ten musicians in formal attire to ceremoniosly appear and set off the metronomes under a conductor’s orders, in what appeared to be a humorous and absurd, in this context, take on formal classical concert traditions. This was because Ligeti composed the piece partly as his contribution to the irreverent Fluxus movement, to which he had a brief association. However, in following performances Ligeti abandoned the ceremony aspects of the performance and let the metronomes instead speak (or, rather, tick) for themselves.

I have had another look at the sections of my copy of Richard Steinitz’s book on Ligeti (“Gyorgy Ligeti: Music of the Imagination”) that refer to Poème Symphonique (these are pp. 126-129). Because of features such as its Fluxus association, its intentionally inappropriate title and the comically ceremonious aspects of its first performance, Steinitz says that Poème Symphonique may appear to merely be a piece of “subversive anti-art”, but is in fact multifaceted.

Here are some of the points the author makes about the work, and some other points which I found interesting as perhaps relevant to my research  [please forgive the somewhat messy presentation and some repetition, as these are pretty much just notes to myself!]:

• it’s “an experiment in indeterminate rhythmic counterpoint, furthering Ligeti’s exploration of micropolyphonic textures”
• it’s Fluxus-ly (yes, I am inventing an adverb!)   entertaining as the public can playfully attempt to guess which metronome will stop first
• it’s sonically compelling, as one can first hear all the mechanisms ticking together and then listen out for the ticking gradually thinning out
• it’s visually engaging (a hundred metronomes all moving at the same time and at different speeds, all of similar shape make for a fascinating spectacle)
• it does have strong elements of provocation (the title, the ceremonious sending up of tradition, the replacing of traditional instruments and musicians with 100 clockwork performers, etc…)
• it superposes “pulsation grids – a moiré effect familiar in physics – [which] results in a rhythmic evolution […]. At the start, the grids are so numerous that they coalesce, sounding disorderly and blurred. To achieve adequate textural density, he needed large numbers of metronomes. A hundred had been an estimate.”
• Disorder to order. Unpredictable patterns to uniformity (of one metronome’s regular ticking). Change of patterns over time going from mass to less, irregularity becomes more evident as some metronomes stop and the grid thins out, and then regularity appears as the last metronome is left ticking alone. Ever-mutating rhythms to steady rhythm.
• The running down of mechanisms takes time (one has to wait for the metronomes’ ticking to die out. Idea of time’s passing…)
• it “charts successive stages in a polyrhythmic counterpoint that is differently perceived by every listener; for the interpretation of acoustic (and visual) patterns is to a degree subjective”
• “Originating in his reading of Gyula Krudy’s tale of a house full of clocks” [I have done some research to find out which story this refers to, but I couldn’t find the actual title of it anywhere, though quotes of Ligeti referencing this story of a widow living in a house full of clocks where time appears to stand still abound. I have ordered two books of stories by Krudy, as I am curious, and hope this story is printed in one of thee two books…]

In the small flat I lived in before moving to my current place, we used to have several clocks all constantly ticking away. I owned a few, and so did my ex boyfriend: we each had our own alarm clocks, and then there were the wall clocks, and watches. Their ticking would drive me insane at night, as I sometimes suffer from insomnia, as I would be unable to stop focusing on the rhythms created by the interplaying clock-ticks, and thus to sleep. I was also very depressed, at the time, and, as I restlessly listened, I felt as if my life itself was slowly being extinguished with each tick, as if the prison of impossibility I felt trapped in was being made audible. When I moved to my new house, in my own room, started a new life and a new course, I did not want any clocks, as the house was so very quiet, at night (except for the frequently and horridly loudly feuding semi-human neighbours next door). However, I soon had to arm myself with a couple of alarm clocks, as I need several bells to go off in order to wake up for good in the morning (I use 5! 3 to wake me up, and two more for safety…). The quiet of the room… the ticking of the clocks… the alarms… and finding out about Ligeti’s Poème Symphonique all made me wonder about what a multitude of ringing, ticking alarm clocks would sound like, all together. This was the beginning of my idea…

So, how does Ligeti’s piece relate to mine, apart from being one of its inspirations? What can I gather from it that I could apply to my own work?

I will have to revisit this blog post and Poème Symphonique further down the line, for an appropriate answer, as I know that the connection is there, but words still elude me and I have to reflect further…

I have been running searches on Google and YouTube, looking for interesting clock art videos, but sadly tonight I could not find much bar the inevitable and a lot of different websites selling hand-painted clocks and the like, or videos of ticking clocks…

Here are a couple of interesting videos I found tonight, though I am not sure of how relevant they might be to my research:

Clock Art – By Digital Futurism
Quite interesting. I am planning to do something similar, in the sense that my piece will also make use of a great number of alarm clocks. However, my clocks will be constantly emitting sounds, creating a 24-hour-long repeating composition with their ticking and different alarms. The clocks will also create an entirely different visual impact, as they will all be of different makes and sizes. I wish I could find more videos making use of large quantities of clocks… but it’s still early days of my research.

I like the ticking sounds of the clock mechanisms in this piece. I anticipate my clock piece will also produce similar ticking.
At this stage, I am thinking of creating a piece that features continuously ringing alarms, so I am not sure if I will incorporate moments in which nothing but the ticking can be heard… but I would have to try it all out once I have acquired enough clocks.

Very often I have ideas which I at first dismiss as possible pieces, but which I find myself thinking about again and again and wanting to carry out “in my own time” and away from others’ judgement. This year, I decided I would unapologetically embrace these ideas instead of dismissing them, and work on them to develop them to their fullest potential. I am very excited about my decision.

The humming piece I am currently working on was one of these initially dismissed ideas, and so is another piece I plan to create, which involves alarm clocks.

Basically, I would like to compose a continuous 24-hour repeating piece using a multitude of alarm clocks of different types and sizes. These will be non digital, as I would like to explore the ticking as part of the emitted sounds, and either wind-up or battery-operated (this is merely because I don’t want to have trailing cables, but with non-mains-connected clocks I could also explore what happens if I let the batteries/winding run out).
To this end, I have started purchasing and collecting second-hand and job lot alarm clocks. I hope to build quite a collection…

Here are some sources of inspiration which I will be looking at further:

Poème Symphonique for 100 metronomes – (1962) by György Ligeti [sorry, cannot embed Ubuweb video files, but do please click on the link]

Christian Marclay’s The Clock, which I went to see when it was playing at White Cube, earlier this year:

[Please ignore the truly awful voiceover. Why do people on TV always treat their audience as if they were little children?]

Here is a great interview with Marclay conducted by the Economist as the artist was putting the finishing touches (or rather, the finishing edits) to his 24-hour piece.