geluid jutten

may 14, 2003.

'Be not afeard. The isle is full of noises,
Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.'
[ Caliban, Tempest - Shakespeare ]

Between may 15 and 22 I will be on the Dutch isle Ameland, as 'artist in residence' at hotel-gallery Dit Eiland. I'll be roaming the island, on foot, on bicycle, and by whatever other means, to record how the island sounds to me ...
The gallery being literally situated on an 'edge of the world', owner & curator Timo Mank's artist in residence project (AIR) aims at giving specific 'local values' a novel context. The interactive 'isle of sounds' is the second one in this series.
The 'hunt for sounds of the island' is taking place during the national (Dutch) Week van de Zee - the 'week of the sea' ['weak of the see' ;-) ]. One of the first objectives is the creation of an interactive map of the island (in the form a flash animation) exposing a selection of the 'sonic snapshots' taken during the week. Or, if you want, the sounds that were found, and where I found them.
Anyone, young and old, on the island, is invited to assist me in my 'quest for sounds' (geluid jutten): tell me where I should go and put my ears, go out to record and then bring the recordings to the gallery, or do both.


I'll be on the train early tomorrow morning. At least, I hope to be on a train early tomorrow morning, as Paris has been hit by a heavy and still ongoing public transport strike. Trains, and certainly the international ones, appear to be running allright. That's not the problem. The problem is rather: will I be able to get to the station in time to catch that train ? ...

may 16, 2003.

Maybe it would've been more adventurous had I had enough confidence in my good fortune, and simply gone - just a bit earlier than one would normally do - to the Bérault metro station, to wait for a metro train to bring me to the station in time.

Ah but no, I did not have that confidence.
And opted for the surest way out of Paris: a taxi, early enough to avoid the traffic jams sure to paralyze most of the city at the start, the middle and the end of major striking days.

It seemed near to impossible already to get hold of a cab reservation service in the evening, and for some reason it was also impossible to get confirmation for two online attempts to assure a taxi on my doorstep by not much later than 6.30 thursday morning.

So I got up even earlier, and C. phoned some sort of a 'get a taxi right here and now' number. Again, without being sure whether that had worked or not -- I mean, now did we lack confidence, or did we not ?

Anyway, that cab did turn up right here and now, and I ended up zipping a coffee at the Paris Gare du Nord shortly after six.
Then continued zipping coffee for some more hours, as I had booked a ticket on the high speed train 'Thalys' to Brussels leaving Paris at 8h55.

Start of long and pretty tiring journey to the very north of the Netherlands, changing trains in Brussels, then again in Rotterdam, then again in Amersfoort, arriving in Leeuwarden, capital of the province of Friesland at 15h54, just in time for a live-interview in 'Omnium', a programme of the provincial radio Omrop Fryslan, about the Sound Chronicles, and, of course about my hunt for the 'sounds of the island.

Then took the last boat to the island (19h.30), and arrived at the gallery around 21h00.

may 17, 2003.

Yesterday was a wonderful day, very sunny and partly even windless, which is a rare thing on the isle. Had to spend the morning getting a first rudimentary version of the 'island flash' ready, as the idea is to have something viewable and hearable online as soon as possible, and definitely already during the week.

So it was only after that, around 14h, that I could walk up to 'Garage Visser' on the 'Oranjeweg', to get my main means of transport for the week: that, indeed, is a wonderfully, unbelievably solid, Dutch bike (a Gazelle, for those who know about these kind of things with and seven gears) sponsored by Mr. Visser.

Had a quick lunch on the beach, meanwhile 'snapping' sounds of far-away crying seagulls and the distant, actually sort of friendly, roars of the sea.

I then wandered through the dunes. Gradually the winds awoke again, and started blowing. Not too fiercely, but enough to produce this constant drone in your ears while you are cycling. Not unlike the noise winds produce in a microphone actually. (Which kind of makes sense, now doesn't it? Fortunately, though, your ears usually do not 'pop'.) The yells and cries of seagulls and others birds continuously zapped in and out of the ongoing buzzy waves of wind.

There's an awful lot of flying going on above the isle, I noticed, by both bird and man.
On my way back I stopped for a while at the entrance of the (tiny) airport (just a large meadow, actually). Interesting sound there: the irregular squeaking of a weather-vane, a rusty metal arrow turning high up on a white wooden pole.

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