Cradle
To cradle signals there’s one who holds and another who is held, skin to skin.
Jamie Flett + Jude (Judith) Williams – Let Me Hold [Skin To Skin] Oscillating over the thresholds between life/death; womb/world; home/lost; warmth/austerity; natural/clinical; security/terror; love/pragmatism; control/entropy; mother/father; entrails/soul—Jude and Peggy went from being symbiotically joined to somehow being brutally disconnected. The transfer of physical, emotional and mental bond from within skin to without was interrupted. Simple, primal contact denied. La Cosa Preziosa – Moving Chairs La Cosa Preziosa offers The Secret Soundscape Club, a free, monthly audio dispatch for curious ears. Stephen Bradley – Ants & Trumpet I recorded the sound of the ants retrieving the honey for several hours. While listening to an excerpt I played a plastic trumpet using the ants’ scurrying and scrambling sounds as a score. Underneath the trumpet and ant activity is sound of the ambience of a summer day in central Florida located next to a State Park not far from a small airport. Near the end of the composition the sounds of corporate helicopters can be heard flying to and fro. Ernestus Chald – Something Underneath I was studying Anglo-Saxon language and literature at UIC when I discovered the university’s incredible medical library. I used to spend hours there before class poring over books about horrific injuries and congenital anomalies. Among the many fascinating books I discovered there were several on craniotomies. These books, gruesomely illustrated with color photographs and diagrams, were a source of deep fascination, and served as the inspiration for this piece (this is an abridged version). Gabi Schaffner – Coconut Milk Massage “Knock knock: Massage!!!” In 2017, I spent 10 days in Tirur, province of Kerala, India, in the Ghandian Hygiene Health Home. There were two cures: rest and fasting. And in the mornings, two ladies in turquoise robes knocked at your door at 7 a.m. The room was half dark, with a massage bank and on the window sill shone a bowl of coconut milk. |