Having to arrive late, I miss the usual rituals of conference registration. A volunteer greets me and another lost latecomer with smiles, and directs us to Murray Schafer’s outdoor workshop. It’s a nice way to begin—a short walk in the morning sun with a new acquaintance and then a chance to listen. The venue is in a shady garden beside a café, overlooking the sea. The air is still cool—in that way that won’t last. The workshop participants are local children, and still running around in all directions, chattering and squealing. A trio of small boys peers over the wall to the beach below, giggling at an amply endowed lady who is struggling to make progress against the waves. Their teacher and I exchange a rueful, raised-eyebrows smile. No words necessary. A couple of young girls, enjoying being purposeful and responsible, move chairs into a circle. They lift them carefully to avoid scraping the metal legs against the paving stones. The woman who works in the café behind answers a call and walks out of earshot, rotating on one heel as she talks and listens. She fixes an unfocused gaze on the mid-distance in that way people sometimes do when using a mobile phone, suspended in two places at once. Life is a mass of activity, and we are more aware of sound than we might imagine...
Katharine Norman (Wed,) studied this question.