The experience of Tate Modern this past Monday was inspiring and reflective. While the sum of all of the works were impressive, from sound to sculpture, the one that affected me the most and transported me to a different place in my mind, was “The Snail” by Henri Matisse.

I started the experience at Tate Modern hoping to fall in love with a work of sound or a new popular modern installation that was packed full of other eager spectators. However, when I entered the third room of my journey, I looked over to my right and immediately fell away into my own memories, space, and completely isolated experience.

When I was young, primarily under the age of 6, my mom would concisely review her own art history book with me. Working as a kindergarten teacher in the United States before I was born, she always set aside a block of time in the school year to teach her students about art. Modern, historical, and abstract. This personality trait she developed in her classroom surely followed her home, and from when I was old enough to have a slight grip on memory, she exposed me to the same perspective.

Enamoured by colour, Henri Matisse always caught my eye. I ignored any of his old works, I didn’t even know his name; I just loved the colour. When the concept of who and what entered my head I asked my mom about the pictures I would stare at unassumingly. That prompted a more structured lesson on Henri Matisse and it has stuck with me all of this time, without learning more and without any further questions. He shifted from a brush to scissors. When I asked why, my mom simply answered, “He couldn’t paint anymore, so he continued making art with something he could do, cutting paper and adapting”.

The idea of learning and adapting is ingrained in our nature. As people, as a community, and as a species on Earth. When something does not work for you anymore, and there is a force still telling you to create, there is a way. The result that came from Henri Matisse’s shift were creations that somehow possess just as much, if not more to some, meaning and depth as his work done with a brush.

This simple yet necessary perspective, which my mom confirmed as soon as I called her after the trip, was something that stayed tucked away in my memory for about 14 years. The trigger was the painting from Monday, my first Matisse. I have no critiques for it, and I have no other opinion on most of the other pieces I was witness to, because of the impact a singular one had on me. It was individual, it was sentimental, and it was a reminder to me of the power of art.

“The development of such a comprehensive view has long been a need, for it has become clearer and clearer as we have become familiar and involved with a constantly widening horizon of different musical aims and practices, that the old “common practice” theories of harmony and counterpoint could no longer be overhauled or extended, but had by necessity to be replaced by a way of description and analysis that treated the “common practice” of Western music from the late seventeenth to the end of the nineteenth centuries as only one instance of a much wider musical method and practice that could be applied to all of Western music, from its origins to the present, as well as to music of other cultures.” (Cogan and Escot, 1976).

The excerpt, from “Sonic Design: The Nature of Sound and Music” written by Robert Cogan and Pozzi Escot, is a very long sentence, from the forward of the book. The book’s aim is to dissect and establish a new perspective on the simple but limitless nature of music.

Here is a paraphrased example of the above quote:

As the nature and perspectives surrounding music and continue to grow, it is imperative that the explanations and structures behind those ideas are expanded as well. (Cogan and Escot, 1976).

Bibliography

Cogan, R. and Escot, P. (1984) Sonic design: The nature of sound and music. Publication Contact International. 

Joseph Kamaru was only a small component of the week 3 lecture, however, he caught my attention. After delving in to his various works and practice in field recording, performance, and installation, I was inspired by his position not only in the world of sound art, however, in variety and dedication as well.

Joseph Kamaru, aka KMRU, is a “sound artist and experimental ambient musician” born and raised in Kenya and based in Berlin. He has a history in field recording, radio art, and experimental music. From my perception, he presents himself as a minimalist, but has a great amount of understanding and practice surrounding his own art.

Interpretation appeals to me as a major aspect of inspiration, and depending on time, place, and focus, an artist can represent themself in a multitude of ways to an individual or a group. Based on my thoughts and experiences last week I was drawn to the variety of Joseph Kamaru’s works, because of my own thoughts on variety and space in sound.

A performance linked to his website he did for the Berlin based channel HÖR caught my attention as very dynamic piece I could focus on for the past week. For me, it is a representation of growth in isolation and independence, as he chooses to develop sounds in a variety of ways that are reflective of human nature. I think one of the beauties within art is interpretation, especially in sound. Every noise a sound artist, composer, or musician chooses to create has the potential to reach every individual who hears it in a different way. The performance transported me to my own thoughts and emphasized a certain sense of reflection, which is where I think we as people interpret the world at its best and worst, through reflection.

The historical context for this artist is represented through ease of distribution as a result of technology, because technology has allowed us to access the population through means other than already established corporate or creative businesses.

When choosing to define my perspectives on both practice and aspirations in sound I would most likely give two different answers on two different days; which is why my focus is derived from change, growth, and interaction.

Expression, experimentation, and reflection are the three key words that I choose to circulate through my mind when recording, playing an instrument, or arranging a piece by myself or with others.

Expression represents my sense of originality and personality within my work. I believe that personal expression is one of the key facets in art itself; by selecting the term as a focus allows me to maintain the artistic nature of music alongside my traditional approach to theory and structure. This also forces me to leave my comfort zone constantly, to combat my developing views of self expression and identity. For me, expression also presents the importance of my view on relationships and collaboration in art.

Experimentation analyses the joy I experience through hearing new things, evolving things I admire and love, and discovering new tonal and musical qualities in instruments and effects. I choose to acknowledge the never-ending road behind and in front of sound through experimentation, for both personal development, and development in the world of art and sound.

Reflection leads to growth, and I hold growth and development at the same level as creation in my practice. While I do believe that creation is entirely natural and not forced, the development and change that happens after should be just as natural and occurring. This is how I focus on developing myself as an artist and musician.

Interaction is what I believe makes sound beautiful, and organisation is what makes sound music.

While my first interest in sound art began in the back of my parent’s car listening to the Cramps, the Beatles, and John Coltrane, it developed into a drive to learn more about the sound design and composition behind both film and television.

Throughout my high school career in Los Angeles I spent most of my extra-curricular time either in my room practicing saxophone or attempting subpar Led Zeppelin covers with my friends Lucas and Matteo. As soon as covid confined us to the vastness of our bedrooms I quickly developed a greater addiction for practicing guitar, veering away from the saxophone; which had made up my entire musical perspective before. Waking up, practicing, writing, recording, eating, then sleeping again became my routine from that point forward.

I found comfort in recording; it was the more rewarding way for me to practice. Learning how to layer multiple guitars, groove with percussion and bass rhythms, and attempting to record an entire drum kit in my already crowded room was how I paid tribute to the legends that shaped my love and passion for sound. Since, I have released four EPs and one album, which I dedicate to the family members that had to put up with all of the noise. There are (exaggerated) also hundreds of recordings that are still on my old laptop (which I should probably back up).

Following that initial growth in music, I have always made the point to push myself and to be exposed to as much as possible in as many different fields I have access to. Temporarily working and hanging out in some small studios of family friends was a nice starting point. However, after getting the inspiring opportunity to shadow with Joseph Trapanese’s team in Santa Monica as they constructed the vast score behind Netflix’s “The Witcher” I figured out the role sound plays in my life, both personally and professionally.

(A friend named Lucas and I recording one of my songs, “Golden Beat”, in Tim Moore’s Highland Park Studio in summer 2022. Video Credit: James Terrazas).

(Uncle Matt and I playing a gig at the very “lovely” Old Town Pub. Photo Credit: Victor Paz).