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to correspondences. Our aim is to create lasting people connections across cultures through the medium of art.
to correspondences. Our aim is to create lasting people connections across cultures through the medium of art.
From 24 December 2020—
—Chun Yin Rainbow Chan / 陳雋然
The act of translation is often, if not always, subjective and sometimes uncomfortable. In naming things in another language, we lose some of the original meaning; we sometimes get lost in translation. As Jinghua Qian memorably writes in the book for Silent Dialogue / 沉默的对话:
‘A Chinese name in an English sentence is always a compromise. You lose the tones, the shape, the origin. You turn it upside-down. You leave it boneless in a soup of homophones’. (p.52)
Why then translate? What can it tell us about migration, a topic already so full of the same predictable ‘multicultural’ mantra? In her text for the Silent Dialogue /
沉默的对话 book, Tumarkin cites the scholar Merlina Bobis:
‘I believe in the sound of words in another language. The sound is much more real than what gets translated... We are so text-based, the literate world, we have forgotten how to read bodies. Even in the migration story, body is so stereotyped or hyper-visible we don’t see it’. (p. 22)
It is in the embodied act of listening attentively to the sound of words in another language that we can find deeper meaning and connection across cultures.
This realisation informed the decision to connect the Silent Dialogue / 沉默的对话 book – the written word and the reading experience – with the spoken word and the art of sound, through the online ‘Reading Room’ launching in 2021 and this specially commissioned soundscape.
Inspired by the poem ‘Second Drifting’ /《二度漂流》by Ouyang Yu /欧阳昱, Impressions / 印象 2020 by Chun Yin Rainbow Chan / 陳雋然, encourages the reader to immerse themselves in the thinking process through the affective art of sound.
‘My treatment of Ouyang Yu’s recitation of ‘Second Drifting’ aims to reflect the feeling of navigating a foreign language as though it were a sea of undulating sounds. Through digital audio manipulation, I’ve played with the notions of glitches, repetition, negation, distortion, and disappearance. My intent was to use process-based compositional techniques to explore issues concerning identity, alienation and loneliness in Second Drifting’ says Chan.
To listen to the soundscape, press the play button below. Afterwards, press on the images of the Chinese characters to walkthrough a textual interpretation of the artwork and discover original recordings of the poem. Then, head to the interview with Chan to hear more about her intentions and perspectives on the art of sound.
Please note:—To view the textual interpretation, explore via desktop. Captions cannot be viewed via mobile. Page numbers noted above refer to the Silent Dialogue / 沉默的对话 book. Purchase a copy here. The poem ‘Second Drifting’ was first published in 2002 by Wild Peony in Ouyang’s book of poetry Two hearts, two tongues and rain-coloured eyes.
In 'Impressions’, Chan fuses ambient sound, music and spoken words in English and Chinese from a recording of the poem 'Second Drifting' by Ouyang Yu, made by the poet on his daily walk near his home in Melbourne.
The soundscape begins with a muffled voice. Distorted and shrouded in static and reverberation, the words become discernible as the opening stanza of the poem:
"i remember i died once /
when i left china /
the sky on my way to an alien country /
was strewn with an ashen memory /
among the comings and goings of people in the airport" /
The final sentence disappears into a humming sound that fluctuates from right ear to left, punctuated by what sounds vaguely like wheels barrelling along the tarmac as a plane takes flight. Together, the sounds convey a sense of movement, the signification of the departure and arrival of something or someone.
The muffled voice continues. Gradually, more words reveal themselves ("i buried my old dreams / folding the serviettes into pure-white flowers") before vanishing into the humming once more, leaving only an impression of what was there.
There is a synergy between the visual image of folded “serviettes of pure-white flowers” and the sense of evanescence cultivated in sound. At the same time, the words carry different symbolic meanings across cultures, and this adds another layer to the thinking process.
In the West, white flowers are a symbol of weddings and celebrations of life. In Chinese culture, they are associated with funerals and death, a cultural understanding that is revealing of the poem's narrative ("i remember i died once")…
Another distorted voice in a low register enters followed by a series of other sounds; plane wheels on the tarmac again, footsteps on gravel and then a tapping, high-pitched musical sound. It might be synthesised, constructed; it might not. The tip-tapping feels light and airy, reminiscent of rain dropping, and this calls to mind the seasons changing – it conjures a sense of place.
Muffled voices in different registers emerge and intersect in the background, disappearing into fragments of voice, as the musical tip-tapping continues. The words remain inaudible, and this cultivates a sense of uncertainty, of the unknown.
The spoken narrative returns in repetition – this time accompanied by a rapid drumming sound:
"i remember i died once /
when i left china/
the sky on my way to an alien country"/
The high and low pitch sounds – ambient and musical - feel instructive; they highlight discontinuities and connections between the tonalities of the vocal elements, sometimes revealing, sometimes concealing the sound of words.
The drumming sound patters away in repetition, drawing attention to the lower registers of the muffled voices that are or were there. At the same time, the high-pitch tapping continues to call the ear away, to somewhere else.
This tension challenges the listener. It encourages her to question: is there something there? What is coming and from where? Brief moments of silence or pause in different sound elements have the same effect; they create a space in the listening and the thinking process.
Tip-tapping music, pattering drums, humming and reverberating alongside disguised fragments of voices in different registers continue. The precise words of the spoken narrative remain concealed.
After a time, the sounds become more insistent, more urgent. Disguised vocal elements re-emerge and become more noticeably present. The high-pitch musical tapping momentarily disappears, signifying a shift in mood. Something is coming.
The sound of a slamming door, an engine starting, footsteps on the gravel followed by heavy breathing; the sound shapes convey a sense of movement, arrival or departure, reminding us of the constantly evolving, embodied act of listening, thinking and migrating.
Momentarily that musical tip-tapping returns. It signals the return of voices, which become more insistent and audibly Chinese: 离开 (“depart”), 二度漂流 (“second drifting”), 离开, 二度漂流.
Repeated over and over again in different voices and registers, they feel like voices on a PA system announcing a departure or arrival – once more conjuring images of travelling, of movement.
The audible voices disappear into muffled distortions again. The tones of the voices are different but also vaguely familiar. Although the syntaxes of the languages are concealed, there is a sense of both English and Chinese being present.
Momentarily a natural voice returns, reminiscent of the earlier passages which were audible in English and this calls to mind the presence of the poet. Reminiscent of the sound of the poet’s voice, embedded here amidst the repetitions, the sound of the poet’s words, the two parts of the poet’s self, feel connective as a whole, despite the difference in language.
Just then 二度漂流 (“second drifting”) returns followed by “into pure-white flowers". Repeated in English, alongside the Chinese, it signifies the commingling of language and self.
Recitations of 二度漂流 (“second drifting”) in low, distorted registers continue. Interspersed with that other higher pitch, constructed voice – 离开 ("depart") - the words are interrupted once more by that familiar sequence of sounds; wheels on the tarmac, footsteps on gravel and the sound of heavy breathing – interspersed by the tip-tapping.
In repetition, there is a sense of movement and transformation. Coupled with that tip-tapping music, evocative of change, it feels like a merging or transformation of a sense of place and voice/self.
The drums continue. Interspersed by the familiar pattern of other sounds, vocal repetition continues until the end, shifting in and out of audibility. The very last words are 二度漂流 ("second drifting") followed by an echoing bell that gradually fades into nothingness, it signals the end of the piece and the sense of loss that is at the heart of the poem's narrative of drifting between places and cultures.
Overall, in the revelation of the audible components of the vocal narrative, there is a sense of moving from West to East. However, ambient sounds and muffled, intersecting tongues throughout encourage us to question this preconception of a one-way trajectory:
Is this drifting East to West or West to East?
Is it moving in one direction, or is it both?
Is the movement static or constantly changing?
In the soundscape, the patterns and shapes of sound convey a sense of constant change and movement underscored by uncertainty which is at the heart of the instinct to wander and the experience of migration which continues to change as the person changes.
Chan's soundscape is not a literal re-telling of the poem. The soundscape asks us to feel our way into the experience of migration; through the sound of words in different languages. Much is concealed in the shift between culture and language, but much can be found if we choose to listen.
with
Chun Yin Rainbow Chan / 陳雋然 (CYRC) & correspondences’ Emma Thomson / 汤姆逊•艾玛 (ET)
Note:— Desktop, tablet or phone exploration is encouraged for the below content. It is not designed for print. © Rainbow Chan and correspondences unless otherwise noted.
ET—1) Rainbow, the starting point for this work was the poem ‘Second Drifting’ /《二度漂流》by acclaimed poet, writer, editor and translator Ouyang Yu /欧阳昱. Would you reflect a little on this starting point; how you came to see it as part of your thinking and making process (which merges ambient sound, music and voice from original recordings) - also within the broader subject of migration and the concept of ‘silent dialogue’? To me, the piece really made me think of the words of Phillipine-Australian writer Merlinda Bobis who Maria Tumarkin quotes in her piece for the Silent Dialogue / 沉默的对话 book:
‘So much has been said about migration. It’s like there is nothing left to say about it. The space is so full, but is so full of something really predictable. I believe in the sound of words in another language. The sound is much more real than what gets translated. The sound is the real thing. We are so text-based, the literate world, we have forgotten how to read bodies. Even in the migration story, body is so stereotyped or hyper-visible we don’t see it’.
CYRC—1) The belief that words are neat conduits of ideas is a fraught one. Words are constellations of associations which respond to new usages and appropriations all the time. Sometimes, a word’s nuanced meaning is lost in translation. I find these slippages fascinating as new and hybrid cultural signifiers emerge. I am drawn to exploring how memories and feelings can be embodied and experienced on an subconscious level. I love music for this reason—it’s a tangible example of how some of the most fundamental human values can be wonderfully expressed and intuited through sound. On a visceral level, music permeates our very being and connects us through vibrations. One of my favourite memories of Hong Kong is standing next to the lion dance drum and feeling the bass frequencies resonate in my belly. Whenever I hear a bass drum through a loud speaker, I am immediately transported back to this childhood memory.
If I think back to my first impressions of Australia as a six-year-old kid who could only speak Cantonese, I distinctly remember perceiving English as a sea of indiscernible sounds. When I started to pick up on new words at school, it was as though these blobby, floating sounds suddenly became strung together into phrases. Then the phrases were pulled into focus and became meaningful sentences. Almost magically (I have the sponge-like child’s brain to thank for this) I became fluent in English within a short period of time. My treatment of Ouyang Yu’s recitation of “Second Drifting” aims to reflect the feeling of navigating a foreign language as though it were asea of undulating sounds. Through digital audio manipulation, I’ve played with the notions of glitches, repetition, negation, distortion, and disappearance. My intent was to use process-based compositional techniques to explore issues concerning identity, alienation and loneliness in “Second Drifting.”
ET—2) In his essay for the Silent Dialogue / 沉默的对话 book, the writer Nicholas Jose / 尼古拉斯•周思 writes:
We can observe that Chinese poetry is typically furnished with rich layers of visual imagery as well as sound patterns, and often has the immediacy of the time and place of its making. Poets in China can be painters too, or the other way round, their practice encompassing both creative modes. In contemporary practice this can take a conceptual or performative form where an underlying sincerity of intention is offered and judged.
I think this comment feels particularly relevant for ‘Second Drifting’ /《二度漂流》Would you please reflect a little on this comment within the context of your piece and within your broader creative practice?
CYRC—2) I was struck by the vivid imagery in ‘Second Drifting’ /《二度漂流》, particularly the juxtaposition between the expanse of the “blue pacific ocean” and the delicate minutia of “folding the serviettes into pure-white flowers”. I wanted to embed these stark textural contrasts in my soundscape. What I found intriguing was of the look of the poem when it is rotated on its side. Optically, it reminded the “shanshui” or traditional Chinese landscapes that I used to paint on rice paper as a child. I imagined the two verses of the poem as two mountain ridges. Sonically, I have emulated this mountain contour by playing with the soundscape’s density and volume – if you look at the waveform of the piece, you will see that it is a similar shape to that of the poem when it is flipped on its side. While this connection between Ouyang’s text and my soundscape might not be obvious to listeners, it has underpinned my creative process. I hope that it adds another layer of meaning and poetry when you read the works side by side.
ET—3) The soundscape has quite a dense ‘sound palette’. But, there are a couple of moments of silence. They are fleeting but they feel very important. Would you please reflect a little on how silence works within the piece and how you see the art of silence sitting within your broader artistic practice (particularly considering its centrality to Chinese philosophical thought and art-making)?
CYRC—3) I think silence subverts the assumption that power has to be overt and externalised. I interpret the concept of Silent Dialogue as a discursive site of quiet contemplation, whether it is chosen or forced upon us. Although not always comfortable, silence has a great capacity to hold space for multiple truths. In these moments of perceived passivity lies the potential for us to question, reimagine and renew. There is an inherent contradiction in the concept of ‘silent dialogue’. To me, it suggests that just because you are not heard, doesn’t mean that the conversation isn’t happening. I’m thinking about marginalised voices, buried histories, forgotten songs, extinct languages… I have decided to call the piece ‘Impressions’. The word evokes a range of associations which I feel are relevant here: inklings, impact, influence, suspicions, mimicry, indents, a pressing into.
ET—4) What is the most important aspect of the work you would like to convey to the public? For instance, in the age of COVID-19, a greater emphasis on the virtual art experience has emerged. Has this shaped or informed the way you approached the work i.e. especially as far as what you were looking to convey as part of the audience experience?
CYRC—4) I’ve been quite lucky during COVID-19 because my art practice spans across performance, music, painting, photomedia and video, which can all be adapted for the digital realm to some degree. For this work, I want the audience to imagine listening to it on headphones in transit, but physically remain still. What would the piece evoke when experienced in liminal spaces such as airports, hotels, public transport and malls? The meanings of these spaces have become redefined in a post-COVID world. The listening experience is not intended to be pleasant as the soundscape is dissonant and abrasive in nature. I hope these tensions can generate questions around mobility, migration and rootedness.
Rainbow Chan by Hyun Lee
Collaborating artist and soundscape creator 陳雋然 / Chun Yin Rainbow Chan is a vocalist, producer and multi-disciplinary artist who has built a reputation as one of the most innovative musicians in Australia. Both heartbreaking and tender at once, her idiosyncratic brand of pop holds a mirror up to diasporic experiences, and also deeply personal tales of love and loss. Chan has performed at renowned venues and festivals including Sydney Opera House, Vivid, MONA FOMA, Gallery of Modern Art, Melbourne Music Week, Iceland Airwaves, National Taiwan Museum of Fine Arts, and Tai Kwun (Hong Kong). Additionally, her multi-arts installations have been exhibited with Firstdraft Gallery, Liquid Architecture, 4A Centre for Contemporary Asian Art and I-Project Space, Beijing.
