InsidesOut (sound art)

A short snipped of the direct transcribed thought of a manic episode. Roughly, 5 seconds. Not everything can be caught, of course. The rest exists in between the mind and reality. Whatever that means.

quite serious word play in list form.

Will humans ever find answers to our most mind-rattling of mysteries? What makes a question unsolvable? Is there a point at which a question becomes less than naive? This is a simple question in a state of hunger. Listen as the question and answer meet in the middle at just the ripe moment, like a perfect relationship never meant to happen.

Stream of consciousness. Voice play.

The third installment of a series adapted from writing.

The second installment of a series adapted from writing.

The first installment of a series adapted from writing.

Is a letter more or less intimate when spoken? The process certainly changes from premeditated grammatical perfection to raw stream of consciousness with a touch of epistlesque form. But do we lose an interpretive quality when we skip the writing process and jump straight from thought to voice?

One must go In to find Sanity. A simple fact of life.

Sometimes, idea-sharing becomes so fluid, so visceral, it could evolve into a breathing creature above our heads. And with a blink, a breath, it's gone. Just a bit of pondering I happened to capture. In doing so, I'll call it art. For its own sake.

She speaks to sleeping ears. She speaks into a vacuum. Nothing goes in, nothing comes out. A spoken poem.

I find that no matter what thought you begin with, you will always come full circle.

Like a castle or a maze, thought weaves in and out of hidden doorways and corridors, leading no where and everywhere at once. This is the beauty of spontaneous prose.

An experiment. Giving movement, color and sound to still, silent words.

What lies beneath the words we say?

A stream of consciousness rambling put to voice. Mouth manipulation can alter the sanity of any spoken word.

More Word Play!

A Vocal piece. Plays with a childhood phrase often thrown around on a playground.

Just a little game we used to play.

Four voices, one person. An aural conveyance of one mind's memory.

A spoken poem.

Again, as in "Boy," the story lies in silence. Though the viewer will never know what actually occurred in the footage, I will never know what stories viewers will conjure.

Two women, two poets, discuss the body in a poetic, call-and-response form.

The word and color 'red' are symbolic for such a wide range of things--from passion to anger. Interesting, how such a color, with this all-encompassing attribute, so often represents a wide range of feminine entities, as well.

Sometimes sound is unnecessary. Silence feeds on mystery.

We all talk to ourselves. Admit it. Here, I expose my own inner dialogue, that of two voices- the nurturer and the scared child that constantly interact before I make decisions. This audio/visual piece represents multiple relationships beyond the voices in our heads: that of therapist and client, mother and child, even God and human.

I conducted this performance piece as a final project for a class entitled Art and Identity. In it, I portray my interpretation of tension, anxiety, and everyday stress found in contemporary life. I also address technology's strain and isolating effect on human interaction. The piece was displayed on two TV screens with accompanying audio at a gallery opening in Norman, Oklahoma in May, 2008.

Each layer of this piece deals with a mother issue. We all have them. So, identify where you may.

I took a piece of scripture and read it with an altered voice. Simple as that.

I recorded this piece while wandering around my house. It actually served as a cathartic, semi-conversation with God, but also evokes a nightmarish reminiscence of the children's game Hide and Seek, while maintaining a looming ghostlike quality.

When one speaks the Hebrew word for God, Yahweh, it forces a heavy pushing out of breath. Much like Allah, or Elohim--other God names. I explore this further and chant the word until it becomes something else entirely-- my own breathing.

The three vocal elements in this piece represent different types and stages of hunger. I created this piece with closed eyes, crouching on the floor, in attempt to tap into a my own primitive, almost animalistic needs, and cried out from there.

Composed, once again, of the voice and lips smacking, this sentence fragment evolves into an interpretable plea.

Words, to me, are simply organic extensions of thought. Our minds' seeds, if you will. And as any organism changes, cycles, so can words morph. Depending on the mind, into many different forms. The interesting thing about words--they live only in the mind, in the very seed from which they are birthed.

ShutOpen is an intimate clip of my (and perhaps others') relationship with the the words 'open' and 'shut'. It is short and touches many points.

The lexicon of a certain female demographic on my college campus. Robotic and simple, this piece may invoke nail-biting.

I composed this originally as a poem. It morphed into lyrics. Funny thing is, the subject I gave voice to did not hit me until after the piece was complete. Elements of religion, wind in an open field, my Bible Belt roots certainly emerge. I won't say what the subject is, but rather leave the listener to his or her own judgement. Let art be art.

This piece was conducted at the dinner table. Composed of sounds created spontaneously with utensils, food, and other normal dinner objects, the aim was to converse without language. Beats and rhythms, like conversation topics, weave in and out, then slowly die away as the 'meal' ends.