logoplasm
South Wind
the landscape is the same everyday, shifting a bit just when the season routes; the same mountain, the same valley below. Yet if we could observe our very selves during a section of travel through time, thousand eyes and thousand arms, thousand mouths and thousand ears, the landscape outside the window would be little more than a solid brown strip streaked by the occasional blot of green living.
Just after accepting the kind invitation Marcus made to us, we started collecting simple recordings of the air that prompted to get inside our place, layering them day after day until it all summed up in a quiet yet vibrating hush. At a point, it occured to us that the home's window was not the only one we interacted with; and we went ahead by collecting fragments of interactions with every other window we used: train windows, car windows, workplace windows and so on. Yet the casual composition we had at that point still didn't talk of music; something was missing.
On the appointed day, we placed a mouth organ out of the window, and let the wind flow through it.
Logoplasm, Ariccia, August 2004
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