For many months I have been aware of the sound of pigeons cooing from inside a large corrugated metal barn in the village, as I walk passed on the road 50m away. I was drawn to it because of the greatly amplified sound of the bird call but I couldn’t see the bird. I asked permission from the owner to access the barn with the initial intention to make sound recordings. Today visited the with the idea of getting to know the space, with my research on space, place and not knowing in mind I spent time in the space. Sitting, looking, writing
Inside it feels huge, and cold and stores several large pieces of farm machinery. I began to get a sense of the space.
Inside it feels huge, and cold. It just stores several large pieces of farm machinery and sawn logs. I feels a bit disappointing and not very interesting.
Overhead, as I disturb a pigeon, it flies repeatedly back and forth, beneath the spine of the roof, the sound of its wings are amplified, it eventually escapes through the open roof vents.
I sit in shadow, above me patches of light shift almost imperceptibly on the wall. Each patch comes from the openings in the roof for ventilation, the vents are straight edged, but the refections fall wavy edged because of the corrugated surface.
Does imperceptible movement suggest silence?
Split, slit and tattered lines divide the once intact fabric gauze over the large open window frame, the torn fabric piece are held horizontal at times, on the wind. A screen to look at and beyond.
Sitting in this barn, I am caught in, and part of, a conversation, a visual experience of inside-outside.