*Please excuse the distortion at some points during the windy gusts. Storm Dave proved a little too much for the Rycote windshield. It's new kit so I'm still discovering its limitations.*
The sun, giver, but awkward to look in to, warmth, from plasma, that outside influence, fundamental, touching all, one way or another, influential, not circumstantial, two Mallards on the wing, we cannot comprehend how minuscule we are but some of the things that seem s so monumental just live within our minds or gut, fear, joy, religion, yet permeate all of our lived experience, through action not substance, a pheasant, Storm Dave touching us through the movement of air, (have we given storms names in order to have someone to blame?), the the subsequent movement of trees and plants, of clouds, some kind of large hovering bird of prey that I haven’t seen before, a marsh harrier maybe, the distant drone of a small motorbike, but refreshingly no other traffic, a jet, but the first one after 15 minutes, where are they going I wonder, the Heras fencing marks the death knell for that field, for all those that inhabit it such as moles, worms, spiders, butterflies, bees, beetles, aphids, centipedes, its a long list, all destroyed in order to build some houses that only the rich or private equity firms can afford, fierce local opposition hasn’t stopped the development from going ahead, green shoots on this broken willow, a carrion crow, fresh nettles full of fibre and nutrients, there have been 78,067 days, sunsets, nights, mornings since Constable stood/sat here and took int his view, not all of them a charming as this or then, but each with its own character, with it’s own sound tracks, formulation of clouds, that cloud looks like the letter C of a sports brand, and as much as I like to resist the corporate and capitalist machinations of advertising you can’t deny it’s impressive power, but the wind is changing it’s shape fast and now it looks like a Quaver, now it is two clouds disintegrating, three, entirely gone, when I look down I notice that my HD has had another problem and the filming has stopped, I formatted these specifically to iron out any problems after last times outing, more research and testing need to be done, some kind of Warbler, a man walking his dog, then stopping to ask some questions, I give his a business card in order to appease his curiosity and stop any further talking, a family walking a dog, the dog huffing. I’m not in the zone any more, just the place, maybe I should just sit and listen rather than trying to record as now that is becoming a distraction, anyone want to fund me to sit still listening? There are a lot of clouds forming now, but through the gapsI can see red light made by the suns light passing through the lighting gel of earths polluted atmosphere, everything experienced as light and sound filtered through air, and with all of these digital tools at our disposal there is no replacement for the real thing, especially with the wind that has suddenly picked up again and is being enjoyed again but the girls playing, leaning in to it, arms out as if trying to fly, somehow the birds communicate in this cacophony, so maybe that’s how they have adapted to man made noise in the environment. Now I think I recognised the man I gave a card to, and that he recognised me. Birds recognised: Wren, Greenfinch, Blackbird, Wood Pigeon, Pheasant, Goldfinch, Blue Tit, Chaffinch, Robin and Great Tit.
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The two benches that I was planning on using were taken but further along was an empty one, which was closer to a slight ledge on the hill that was actually in a great place as I wasn’t in danger of filming any members of the public at close proximity, like that boy on a bicycle last time, there was also man having a loud aggressive phone call.
A Chiffchaff competes with the traffic, wide tyres on tarmac and cobbles, early afternoon midweek spring sunshine vibes, Parakeets make it unmistakably London, and the jets are much lower than in Essex or Suffolk, large Tortoiseshell butterfly flits around the microphone, I’m recording at the wrong time of year to properly represent the painting as it depicts a September scene, Magpies frequent Branch Hill Pond at the bottom of the hill, Cherry blossom and fresh green leaves, a cement mixer powers up West Heath Road, it’s difficult to relax with so many passers by, a wood pigeon flies up the hill, a small spider crawls along the dry mud, a low jet climbs from LHR and banks to the north, quite a lot of bees and wasps as the temperature is well above 10ºC, a mum and boy with a plastic spade sticking out the top of their back pack, a pale yellow Brimstone butterfly, a skip lorry bumps up the hill, keeping my headphones on as a deterrent, a beautiful red dog taking an interest in the mic but then sitting next to the bench, and then it’s owner sitting on the bench, a pug with a diamond collar shining in the sunlight, the dog squeaking its ball, it’s other owner talking to his companion in French and the dog in English, a Jewish man kicking the ball back to the dog, a Police siren, I notice that the dog has an Apple AirTag, the man walking to the bottom of the hill and unsuccessfully calling the dog down to him, the lady has a chat to two lads with a bicycle and a film camera, their names are Judith and Astra, two ducks on the pond, after the boys go we sit in an awkward silence, a hoverfly, a small plane making a loud drone, the French speaking man with his top off in the sun. I’m quite happy not talking to anyone about my activities and the enforced silence helps me to keep that state, there is a time and a place and in the middle of a recording is not it, obviously no one else knows what I’m doing or my reasons for my choices, a shiny black/green beetle going about its day, a lady on the phone taking an interest in the mic but then continuing on her walk, lots of bird action including Wren, Robin, Blue Tit, Blackcap, Crow, Goldfinch and Blackbird. A tall couple with back packs, a man walking a Spaniel, a bee on the floor investigating a cigarette butt, a police van, two lads with coats wrapped around their back packs, an ant on the bench, my internal clock timing in at 54 minutes (I should just wait for the headphone beep), the ant n my shorts now so I need to move carefully, the shadow of a jet passing over this exact spot, an illegible memorial on the bench, that strange patch that I had on my arm for about 6 months is now healing up, two ladies on the other bench laughing, the headphone beep. |
AuthorField notes from Stuart Bowditch, an independent sound artist working on Constable Ambisonic. Archives
April 2026
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