Section 1: What I Did & The Core Strength
I built the installation from the inside out. I used only my home, my appliances, and my own body as the source. I recorded the microwave’s shriek from inside its own chamber. I taped a contact mic to the washing machine to feel its groan. I recorded my own voice trying to tell a story while actually doing the dishes.
The core strength of this method is its rawness and authenticity of feeling. This isn’t a generalized, academic study of domestic sound. It’s a specific, visceral self-portrait. The horror in the sounds is my horror. The interrupted narrative is my fragmented inner monologue. The work became a direct, unmediated translation of my own somatic experience into sound. It’s truthful because it’s personal. It screams from a single, specific point of view.
Section 2: The Conscious Limitations & Their Effect
I made three big, conscious choices that shaped the work:
1. No Outside Recording (Only My Home):
This created a powerful claustrophobia. The sound world is hermetically sealed, mirroring the feeling of being trapped within four walls. But it also means the soundscape is mono-cultural. It reflects the acoustics of my apartment, the brand of my appliances, the specific sonic texture of my life. The piece risks becoming a diary entry rather than a universal chorus. Does the kettle of a wealthy home sound different from one in a council flat? I’ve silenced those other realities.
2. No Interviews with Other “Domestic Wives”:
This is the most significant ethical and artistic limitation. By not interviewing others, I avoided the risk of speaking for them, which is good. But I also failed to speak alongside them. My piece is a solo, not a choir. The “unseen labour” I depict is filtered solely through my own perception, my own privilege, my own emotional responses. I have not integrated the fatigue of a mother of three, the resilience of a caregiver for an elderly parent, or the complex dynamics of a same-sex household dividing labour. The work is emotionally true but socially narrow. It lacks the polyphony of lived experience.
3. No Hardware/Software Experimentation (Just Ableton & My Mic):
This forced creative constraint. I had to learn to abuse my basic tools to get the disturbing effects I wanted. I became an expert in warping, reversing, and automating in Ableton. But I know I’m skimming the surface. I didn’t build custom contact mics from piezos, I didn’t use hydrophones to record submerged labour, I didn’t experiment with Max for Live to create generative sound collages that never repeat. The piece has a hand-made, somewhat “contained” digital feel because of this.
Section 3: How These Limitations Shape the Current Work
Because of these choices, the installation, as it stands, is best understood as Phase 1: The Self-Portrait. It is a powerful, emotional prototype. It proves the concept works on a visceral level. A viewer will feel the anxiety, the interruption, the weight.
But it whispers a question it cannot answer: “Is this just your story?”
The piece currently has a singular, almost obsessive voice. It screams my subjective truth convincingly, but it doesn’t yet create the space for others to recognize their own truth within it in a nuanced way. It’s a punch to the gut, not an open door.
Section 4: How To Present This Work Better & Move Forward
I don’t think the “pure” version is wrong. But to present it as a complete, responsible work, and to grow, I need to frame it honestly and build upon it.
For Presenting This Version (Phase 1):
- Title it as a “Self-Portrait” or “Study I”: Be transparent. Use the exhibition text to state: “This is a sonic self-portrait, a record of one body in one home. It is a starting point, a single note in a much larger chorus.” This turns the limitation into a conceptual clarity.
- Create a Physical “Listening Log” in the Gallery: Leave a notebook or a simple tablet. Ask viewers: “What sound felt most like your own life? What is missing?” This simple act transforms the installation from a statement into the beginning of a conversation. It invites the audience’s experience into the work without me having recorded it for them.
- Use the Visual Element Strategically: Project not just my face, but text. Fade in quotes from feminist theorists (Federici, Andrews) or anonymized fragments from online forums where people discuss invisible labour. This contextualizes my personal soundscape within a wider political and social history.
For Future Phases (How to Truly Expand):
The next steps are clear. They are direct responses to my limitations.
- Phase 2: The Choir. (The Interview Phase)
- Method: I will not just interview. I will co-create. I will visit the homes of 5-10 others (of different ages, backgrounds, family structures). I will record their stories, but more importantly, I will have them record their own “most hated” or “most persistent” domestic sound. I will give them a portable recorder and brief guidance.
- Integration: In the installation, my singular voice and my home’s sounds will become just one channel among many. A tapestry of different voices and different microwaves, different cries, different slams will play from different speakers. The work becomes a collective portrait.
- Phase 3: The System. (The Experimental Phase)
- Method: Collaborate with a coder or dive into Max for Live. Build a generative sound engine. Feed it all the audio from Phases 1 & 2. Program it to create a never-repeating, always-evolving soundscape of domestic labour. The sounds trigger each other algorithmically, mimicking the endless, non-linear chain of tasks. The installation becomes a living system, different every day, truly inescapable and infinite.
- Hardware: Experiment with pressure sensors on a chair (weight = sound density), or a pedal that increases volume, making the audience physically complicit in maintaining the cacophony.
Section 5: Final Reflection
This project started from a place of personal frustration. I turned that frustration inward and made something raw and effective. The limitation of using only myself was its initial power and its ultimate boundary.
To present it better now, I must be humble. I must label it honestly as a first, personal chapter. To make it a truly significant work, I must open the process up. I need to move from being the sole author to being a conductor and an archivist. The real “Chorus of the Unseen” shouldn’t just be about others; it must, in some way, be by them. My role is to provide the structure, the sonic framework, and the editing hand to weave their realities into an immersive, shared truth.
The path is clear: go out, listen, collaborate, and experiment. Turn my solo into a symphony.