By: Henning Lundkvist.
“One could imagine the existence of a highland people on a plateau far away. For this people, the world consists of two parallel realities. One visible and one a reflection. One grounded and one in the skies above. On the ground, the world of man. In the air and trees above, the world of birds. Upon leaving the visible domain of the ground, the dead live on as spirit reflections above, and their voices are heard as bird songs. The low-pitched voices of humans, chained to the ground, are transferred into the mirror world above, higher in pitch, canopying the grounded world with its myriad of calls and songs.”
“One could also imagine that far away from the existence of the highland people of the aforementioned plateau, in the middle of the vast and expanding flatlands yet still strangely separated from them, there is a house where stolen voices are kept. Not voices passed on, as with the birds caring for the voices of the dead, recalling them through songs and calls. No. In this case, the voices really are stolen. Robbed. Nicked. Stripped bare. Chopped up into syllables. Reduced to measurable frequencies. Then again recomposed into voices, and finally played back again. In this house, a voice might sound familiar to listeners, but its meaning is turned on its head. Dismembered, fragmented, and then recomposed back to voice, it is as if it were somehow speaking backwards, in reversed octaves. Here, the high has changed place with the low. Loot is disguised as readymade. Speech is replaced by quotes. The sounds of the outside world, whether flat or hilly, are reduced to found material, silenced, dismantled, and then reconstructed for public playback.”
Lest i en slags samlebok under tittelen “While we are asleep here, we are awake somewhere else, and thus every man is two men” (2013). Boken kjøpte jeg på en pop-up-bokhandel i Oslo i 2014.
Bildet er hentet fra Geograph. Det heter “A spirit of the mountain alights on Ben Lui” og ble tatt av NN2626.