RESIDENCY AND SOUNDSCAPE PERFORMANCES
2022
During my participation in a residency in the village of Varzea de Calde, my focus on field recording aimed to capture the everyday sounds that define this rural community. Documenting church dialogues and the sounds associated with traditional wine and fabric making, my goal was to reflect the authentic atmosphere of the village. Beyond capturing the daily sounds, my project delved into the aftermath of migration, exploring the void that remains when someone leaves. I sought to portray the empty spaces that linger and the subsequent ways in which these voids are filled or altered. The narrative unfolded in the soundscape, emphasizing the subtle changes in the community’s dynamics as a result of migration. This exploration highlighted the profound impact of migration on Portuguese rural regions, where the departure of individuals has a lasting effect on the communal space. The recordings served as a documentation of not only the sounds of the village but also the evolving social landscape. This work was an integral part of a broader artist residency program facilitated by Binaural Nodar and the Municipality of Vouzela, focusing on historical and current migration processes within the municipality. My contribution, centered on portraying the sonic landscape of Varzea de Calde, provided a genuine representation of the village’s audio environment, emphasizing the nuanced changes in the community fabric left in the wake of migration.
During my residency, I conducted workshops where locals shared life stories through conversations and drawings. On this page, a shop owner, the
heart of the village, symbolizes community gathering and connection.
Beside her is her husband, who is suffering with sclerosis. Through these
workshops, we explored changes over the years, capturing the village’s
evolving dynamics. The recording of conversations and sounds of traditional linen crafting merge into the narrative, creating a tapestry of personal histories intertwined with cultural heritage. This page encapsulates
the resilience and adaptability within the village, showcasing a collective
story of continuity amid change.
U can listen to some of the "soundcapial" narations here
This text, excerpted here, was crafted during my stay in Portugal at Varzea
de Calde. It served as inspiration for a sound installation featured in the
exhibition titled “Uncertain Cartographies."
How can I fill this gap?
Echoes of leaving (and returning?)
A diary of a visit (and leave)
She told me: “I remember.”
And that was the start of a sequence.
“My purpose was to discover myself in this place. Or to find this place in
myself.
It’s windy.
I can smell the time you spend in a hammock, listening to music,” she added.
“Moments I’ve been craving. Life. Dream. Sleep. Encounter. Death.
Or...” And she stopped for a moment. “There is a story to tell.”
I’m arriving in Porto, sleeping on an airport bench. There are few travelers
and some homeless people. The benches are not made for sleeping, that’s for
sure. I imagine the architect. He’s about to take a plane early in the morning.
And there is a young couple, sleeping on one bench just next to a check-in.
She touches curly hair of her boyfriend in sleep. He shivers. The architect
stops for a moment without a role.
He said: “I like to watch oranges grow, people gather, myself participate
within the categories of expectation. Varzea, the village to flee from. And to
return to.”
“And the story of this place?” I asked, “How to see the important things? And
how to unsee them. Starting with fresh eyes and soft hands. Does it come
with practice?”
“Let me tell you a story. A good story is like a house you build in a place that
was meant to be. Now you inhabit it, and you forget the emptiness in your
soul beforehand.”
I attempted to draw a map of that village. It comprised trees, sounds, and
a few people who talked to me. The map had a start and an end that overlapped on a porch in a hammock.
I walked to the left, then up the hill around the association and football field
through the pine forest to the vineyards. Then left on a mud road to a crossing. There is a den of a mountain lion.
He said: “It might also be a lynx or a big rat; we are not sure. Nobody disappeared there for some time. The den might also be empty.” I always went
to see the hole in the hillside, somehow to make sure it’s still there. I was
tense, worried to come too close, imagining bugs and roaches under the
paws of a cougar.
She said: “I already showed you the emptiness of this place. And you know,
that this one is a bit different. The ones who left changed while we remained
the same, and they come back to search for what they were once. When
they came back, we were happy. But then, they found out that the places
they left are filled with stories about them, and there is no place for them
anymore. It was very present in the first years. I still remember my 17-yearold brother leaving for the first time, the whole family crying. And now he is
back, not fitting into a story which we created. But slowly accepting that our
experiences are different. Slowly becoming a story we told about him, the
brother I always imagine.”
The mist is coming over the top of a hill.