June 06 2009 Sheep's Guts and Men's Bodies

Human nature is to attempt to capture things that are transient: portraits, photography, journals, scrapbooks, recordings. Something so immersive--so immediate-- as sound is less dependable than sunlight in its continued existence. My home is built on acoustical marvels: instruments and their players, written music, engineers and their experiments, speakers, recorded music, players. A small diamond reads vibrations fossilized in petroleum and someone figured out how to translate that into electricity, so that magnetic induction can compress the air and fill my environment with sound.

My morning, quiet because the community radio station's vinyl sale lured my husband into its musky atmosphere, was not so quiet as I constructed a digital playlist, first on my xbox and then on the artist-rich MySpace. I waited to take my morning photo until he returned, three hours after the sale started, with six dozen new black round things in paper sleeves. The afternoon playlist was comprised of original sound-recording technology.




I disassembled the box the albums were in for good lens positioning for the angle, I used the color accent feature--of which I am still ignorant of the color choosing--and the macro setting with no flash. I took a handful of photos, all different, and cropped this one for maximum aesthetic quality.