Public Hearing

Public Art Review 22

Foreword by Philip Blackburn

It didnÕt occur to me, growing up near the Kingston Lisle Blowing Stone Ñ a naturally-formed rock trumpet reputedly used to summon King AlfredÕs troops from the surrounding Berkshire DownsÑthat sound is so rarely found in public art. After all, this bizarre stone was so magical, mysterious, fun, and unhygienic to play. Call me aurally fixated, but I weep when I see playgrounds without noisemakers or with suppressed sonic potential, and I do not hesitate to risk embarrassment testing the acoustics of canyons and cathedrals. So it is with some zeal that this issue of Public Art Review seeks to unmuffle a bit of the history and reemergence of sounding art, largely overlooked in our visually dominated culture. Hidden by our eyes.

Concert music has become relegated to the stage as much as visual art has to the galleries. Public art has now begun to lead us out of these ghettoes, and to reclaim both our spaces and senses. As these articles and the supplementary Web site show, sound magic is an ancient practice found across the globe, from Mayan pyramids that record the call of the sacred Quetzal bird (an extraordinary revelation discovered and explored by David Lubman), to the acoustics of cave art sites, and the mystery of bronze bell casting. It is with some chagrin that we realize how obvious some of these connections are, and how long we have denied what our ears have been telling us.

Now a new generation of artists is redefining the art of hearing and using it to build relationships between communities and environments. RenŽ Van Peer focuses on that most publicly intrusive of all instruments, the carillon, and how this Netherlandish phenomenon has evolved. Artist Max Neuhaus, in conversation with Ulrich Loock, reveals his impetus behind the subliminal presence of his works, as exemplified by an installation hidden beneath a grating in Times Square. Issues of meaning, theory, and context are discussed in David MeansÕs article on Dan Senn, who lured fifteen hundred people to an abandoned rural catacomb for a community-based sound and video event. And from the land of the aboriginal songlines, Ros Bandt describes some contemporary Australian sound artists in conjunction with an excerpt from her new book, the first extensive critical study on the subject.

More so than with many previous issues of Public Art Review, this one, Issue 22, is filled with words directly from the artistsÕ mouths. This is partly to allow artists, for once, to speak for themselves, and partly due to the paucity of critics and experts in the embryonic field of sound art studies. Given the inherent limitations of paper and ink, we are pleased to enhance this issue with an extensive-though-selective Web site. Check out the links to background information on all the articles, additional artists and their projects, cyber sounds, and a copious discography. And of course we love to hear from you (in e-mail form at forecast@mtn.org). Public sculptors and installation artists of all persuasions may resonate with many of these issues. It is to be hoped that the field of sounding art will help sensitize us all to our shared acoustic ecology. As a vibrating air enthusiast, I see this as one way to make us more responsible inhabitants of the planet.

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