In November 2020, I participated in ‘Research on Instrument Development and Educational Programs for Diverse Bodies’ as part of the [Ieum Art Creation Academy]. I worked with artists Kwon Byungjun, Kim Sunghwan, Shin Wonjeong, Yoon Suhee, and Lee Dooho — each engaged in practices related to sound. I’d like to briefly introduce the works we developed and share some experiences from our research process.

Each participant had a different background in music and sound, and each had their own unique creative approach. Most of us were interested in something between music and sound — we studied and experimented in our own ways, following the resonance we each wished to achieve. During meetings, we shared our differences in how we approached sound and learned from the richness that emerged when varied perspectives gathered.

This helped me gradually see what I once considered my shortcomings in a different light. Could we sustain this richness individually while still advancing the collective research project? As always, collaboration brought challenges. We would hesitate down one path, then another — yet little by little, our diversity found places to sound. Looking back, this balance feels crucial to the theme of “diverse bodies.”

The result was five instruments: Collected In-Betweens, One Hand Synth, Walking Body, Online Mix, and Sounds behind the Sound. Each artist individually conceptualized their own instrument. Kwon Byungjun led the overall project, while Lee Dooho supported with coding and technical aspects.

The instruments, themed around “diverse bodies,” each reflect concerns and narratives about different kinds of bodies. Collected In-Betweens by Shin Wonjeong and Lee Dooho allows simple striking to produce sound through everyday objects. Considering equitable access to performance, the instrument enables anyone — including people with developmental disabilities or children — to play easily and enjoyably.

One Hand Synth by Kim Sunghwan and Online Mix by Shin Wonjeong and Lee Dooho were researched with the pandemic in mind. One Hand Synth is characterized by a contactless performance method: sound is generated solely through gestures recognized by an input device using one hand. Two sound types were developed — one called “Angry Cat Synth,” and another enabling melodic play, the “One-Hand Arpeggiator.” It considers bodies that find fine finger articulation difficult.

Online Mix is a web-based platform where multiple users can connect simultaneously and live-mix sounds uploaded by each other. Through simple button clicks, the speed, repetition, and texture of your sound can be altered. Tailored for Deaf and hard-of-hearing participants, it also provides sound interpretation through text or images, supporting inclusive mixing approaches — which we later tested in workshops.

Walking Body by Yoon Suhee uses sensors to detect movement, transforming sound according to the rhythm of one’s body. As each person has a unique tempo, the instrument allows focus on one’s own bodily pace. Considering people with brain lesions or those using wheelchairs, the instrument features environmental and walking sounds gathered outdoors — enabling bodies less able to venture outside to experience the sensation of a walk indoors.

Lastly, Sounds behind the Sound is the listening device I developed. In thinking about how to convey inaudible sound, I modified a kalimba so that playing it triggers the movement of a butterfly inside a test tube, ripples in a water basin, fluttering light, wind, beads, and feathers. After a single sound is made, another sequence of movements unfolds, encouraging the imagination to follow the trajectory of that sound — hence the name.

Early in the research phase, I found great inspiration in Christine Sun Kim’s TED Talk, “The Enchanting Music of Sign Language.” She describes how sound, which she once thought irrelevant to her life, is actually close to her — how American Sign Language, unlike linear spoken language, is spatial and feels like harmony. Later, watching performances and documentaries, I found both American and Korean Sign Language to be very spatial and deeply musical.

Through conversations with two Deaf artists during research, I learned that even if we do not perceive sound waves in the same way, each of us has our own domain of sonic experience. Both had cochlear implants — yet one used sign language and the other did not. Even within the Deaf community, different sound conditions, attitudes, and cultures exist.

A cochlear implant replaces the function of the cochlea; while it allows Deaf individuals to share sound with hearing people, noise sometimes occurs, and adjustments are needed for distance and volume — meaning their experience cannot be identical to that of hearing people. It creates a fluid identity between what is heard and unheard — sometimes leading to loneliness, but also expanding a field of curiosity.

When we met, each artist first described their listening condition — difficulties perceiving speech when people wear masks, state of implant use, sound levels in different spaces. These encounters helped me better understand the principles of hearing: “Sound waves enter the ear and send electrical signals to the brain.” A concept I always had to look up in a dictionary suddenly made sense when embodied before me. Like Christine Sun Kim’s insights, both individuals were deeply aware of sound — and knowledgeable about it.

From this, I learned that even if someone does not hear or experience sound in the same way I do, it does not mean sound or music does not exist for them. When sound waves exist, even if invisible, I can hear them — and another person might see them or feel them as vibration. And perhaps beyond that — even when waves are neither seen nor heard — there are still various inner currents flowing within a person’s body and mind. Watching the rhythm of bodies in motion, I imagine these unseen waves often. But if those imaginings remain bound within the hearing person’s standard, they may become a well-intentioned but ableist romanticization.

Once, I attended the “Night of Flowing Communication,” an event supporting communication services for Deaf individuals. A fellow artist who had shared conversations with me about sound suggested I join. There, I met CODAs, Deaf people with and without cochlear implants, and Deaf parents raising hearing children. At the dinner table, as we introduced ourselves with excitement, I said I was an artist working with sound — and conversation became hesitant. I, too, suddenly questioned whether my approach to sound had been right. I decided to listen more.

One person was studying to become a psychological counselor for Deaf people. Due to the pandemic, classes had moved online and required captioning — which posed a heavy financial burden. The cost was significant — something that would be difficult even for me to afford. I realized that Deaf individuals must bear greater costs to do the same things in a sound-centered society designed for hearing people.

“Could the sonic space that feels important to me become an unnecessary imposition for someone else?”

That day, I could feel in the air that I needed to keep dismantling and re-examining my own assumptions about sound. This awareness came precisely because I was a minority hearing person in a predominantly Deaf group. More experiences where non-disabled individuals are invited as minorities in disability-centered spaces are needed. Shifts in perspective — sometimes easy, sometimes difficult — are continually necessary.

Art can help expand interpretations of sound — enabling resonance without requiring identical perception. I hope many pathways emerge where stories and experiences, the songs embedded in our bodies, can be shared richly — even if clumsy, uneven, or still in progress. And I must keep knocking, to make sure my thoughts are not still trapped in rigid assumptions.

References

• [칼럼] 다양한 몸과 환경을 위한 미디어 연구 - 서로 다른 소리의 갈래에서
  [Column] Media Research for Diverse Bodies and Environments — In the Branches of Different Sounds