The Earth, among many things, is an order of rhythms, cycles and tones. Seasons break down into processes of renewal and decay. Tides pulse with gravitational precision. Weather patterns become a readable series of action and reactions. Conjure to mind the image of early Polynesian explorers setting forth into the planet’s biggest ocean for unseen archipelagos; following the map of stars handed down over generations. Generations whose knowledge of all these cycles was intimate. One can argue that the moment the human creature switched from hunter gatherers to agriculturalists, a certain database was forfeited for the convenience and security of a more consistent food supply. And one could argue further that when the Industrial Revolution pulled away from the agrarian lifestyle and into the jobs economy, our relationship to the cycles and needs of the planet became even more of a mystery.
The status of bass notes in any given composition is interesting to me. It is easy to overlook, or as is the case, overhear. But remove it and the music becomes anemic. The bass line is connected to the percussion, which in turn is forever linked to our heartbeat; the beginning of everything that we are.
So in this case I’ve asked the bass to stand in for the hum of our planet: the endless flux of tides, ice ages, warm ages, evolution, extinctions, moon phases, seasons, renewal and decay. With the video, I ask the viewer to look at this in contrast to the chaos of the human race. We are a species that finds ourselves too caught up in a noise of our making to notice the peril the big picture illustrates. The warning signs are identified and to many, well understood, but it seems we remain chained to an endless loop of distraction and intrigue and the desire to work as one to turn this change around, seems like an ever receding dream. Lastly, I wish the viewer to understand the table with its curved legs and grid top to be both delicate and reminiscent of the wild. Delicate, for the workings of the Earth that we’ve only begun to understand. Wild, for the part of ourselves that remains so.
Matt Sellars
The status of bass notes in any given composition is interesting to me. It is easy to overlook, or as is the case, overhear. But remove it and the music becomes anemic. The bass line is connected to the percussion, which in turn is forever linked to our heartbeat; the beginning of everything that we are.
So in this case I’ve asked the bass to stand in for the hum of our planet: the endless flux of tides, ice ages, warm ages, evolution, extinctions, moon phases, seasons, renewal and decay. With the video, I ask the viewer to look at this in contrast to the chaos of the human race. We are a species that finds ourselves too caught up in a noise of our making to notice the peril the big picture illustrates. The warning signs are identified and to many, well understood, but it seems we remain chained to an endless loop of distraction and intrigue and the desire to work as one to turn this change around, seems like an ever receding dream. Lastly, I wish the viewer to understand the table with its curved legs and grid top to be both delicate and reminiscent of the wild. Delicate, for the workings of the Earth that we’ve only begun to understand. Wild, for the part of ourselves that remains so.
Matt Sellars
