It is now common knowledge that people do not linger too long in front of a work of art: on average, we look for 15 to 30 seconds. But what do we see and think when we stop for a little longer? Noorderlicht Photo Gallery is showing works by the collective Temps Zero, featuring soundscapes by various sound artists. I sit there for a good hour.
After wandering around Noorderlicht a bit, I end up in the back room of the gallery. The walls are lined with wooden boards — a dark blue wall looming behind me — and four photo prints hang on the wood. A staff member pours me a Greek mountain tea.
On my left is a photo with a dark background, partly made of undulating fabrics. You can see two bodies: a younger person and an older person. The younger person, probably a child, has her head on the other's chest and an arm around their waist. Her mouth is half open and her hair wavy. To my right I see the silhouette of a person in black clothing through which the sun shines. The arms are raised, palms facing each other. A lens flare shines between the head and the right arm. At the bottom, the edge of a building can be seen. Before me hang two works side by side: on the left, a sea surface, with a diffuse beam of light focused on six bodies in the water, on the right, a portrait looking up into a dark background.
Next to each print is a device nailed to the wall. Two sensors are connected to a cable that runs precisely parallel to the wooden planks. Curious, I walk over to the work on the left. When I touch a device, a sound loop plays from speakers scattered throughout the room.
I hear a rhythmic sound, reminiscent of a moving train, but also of a beating heart. The people in the photo lying here like this also seem to be travelling. Are they family? The child's wavy hair matches the low bass of the pounding in a way. After a while, I hear whistling — monotonous and repetitive — to the rhythm of the bass. Occasionally the rhythm stops and stalls. Then it continues again.
For the photo with the sunlight, a high, clean tone plays, undulating back and forth. This seems to reflect the sun's rays. In another room, someone has a fragment playing of church-like singing, of another instrument, of high-pitched beeping and other sounds. Meanwhile, the higher tone in the work next to me continues on. There is a peace in that, in the rays.
In the seascape, I hear a fragment of splashing water. Occasionally a person's breathing plays. The moment the clip stops playing again; this sound reverberates in my head. I notice how many patterns and shapes can be seen in the sky. But the more I look at the people, at the shadows rising above the water, the less they become people, and the more they become the shadows themselves — the shapes.
Accompanying the huge portrait are piano notes that form a mysterious melody. This is a face that I can look into the eyes of. The longer I look at it, the more the depth in the portrait feels real, the more tangible it becomes. The mysterious tones have a hypnotic effect.
The addition of sound clips to still images can either work very well or add very little. But while in the room, I discover how much of an impression the ‘soundtracks’ have on how I perceive the photos and the way that I observe the various images is totally altered. A beautiful space for interpretation opens up, especially when the sound and image tell two different stories.
The Temps Zero interactive installation can be visited until 12 April 2020 at Noorderlicht.