Charles Babbage, inventor of the first modern computer, believed that the pulsations of air set in motion by the voice, continue to move through the air as sound waves, and etch themselves into the fabric of the atmosphere for eternity. Every newborn cry, every laugh of jubilation, every last mortal sigh, every grieving sob, every promise made, every act of hate, every sweet nothing whispered, every secret told. Rippling across space continuous and time everlasting.
The wind is a transmission, a dispatch, from the sky - a piece of the sky itself, announcing itself in sound and movement, as it comes into contact with trees, with buildings, with ears. While we may never hear the words of the past exactly as they were spoken, we hear them in the way they make the world dance.
Out of this speculation, comes an experiment. A body that breathes in and out, a sculpture that pulls music out of the atmosphere - just for a moment - and circulates it back into the air. A harp that sings out of chaos and turbulence and the heaving breath of Earth. A silence that listens.
