It is a reminder that even in stillness, there is a profound sense of interconnectedness — ambient sound dissolves into the void of wooden structures. We walk into the darkness of silence, slowly following the footsteps of our echoes. Our voices respond to the resonances of others, as we disappear into the shores of time, carried by shifting tides. Remember, it was once the body of a fish beneath the salt, burning into the soil—the cracking sound of newborn glaze, dark brown, as the salt vanished and the body faded. Pipes dry on the top floor — So loud, sharp noises, shouting voices from the past. Yet now, we are hidden by layers of silence, stepping into long lost sound. We try to erase the noise, the song of the kiln—the one that sleeps below the heavy dust of our sweat and skin. Let me gather the dust and salt from my body, the structure of the wood, the abandoned pipes—let me guide us into the transient tone of dusty piercing noises. They will circulate like a symphonic piece, they will amplify our being.
