Îles-de-la-Madeleine author Nathaël Molaison wrote a beautiful piece about my project for Le Chant des Pistes | Songlines Residency. You can read it by clicking here. Also, storyteller and medicine woman Manon Lacelle illustrates her response to my work through story on CFIM 92.7 FM. Listen below. 

Sound, by its very nature, requires a physical medium to travel through. This is why you can't hear anything in outer space. Here on Earth, we're surrounded by sound. Silence is relative. At every moment, sound is created and impacted by the physical world, and the physical world is created and impacted by sound.

One of my earliest memories is sitting beneath tall birch trees with my grandmother, the wind blowing gently through their leaves. I still remember the sound. 

The forest was whispering.

To describe the texture of that sound, I would describe the leaves. Their shape, size, colour, how many, how dense... Then I'd have to describe the trees themselves, the earth they are rooted in, the curve of the hill they are on, the field down the road that seemed to pull the wind toward it... Then I'd have to describe the season, where the sun was in the sky, and how it was pouring through the branches, casting shadows onto our faces as we listened... All these physical elements, and how they relate to each other, inform the texture of the wind.

But the wind, it's pace,
it's breadth,
it's history,
inform how physical objects move,
and they inform how wind moves,
and so:
texture, interaction.

The wind, the essence, the spirit. The trees, the physical world, vessels. We need both for sound. Neither comes first. They are voices of each other. Eternal collaborators of reality. And their place of interaction is texture, a point of creation.