Griselda Sánchez (Lluvia Obsidiana)
WORK: LÍRIDAS: Fonografía de un Momento Fugaz.
A few years ago, I joined Griselda Sánchez as part of the Tsonami Sound Art Festival in December 2017. I remember that her piece caught my attention. A “mixtape”, although collage would be more precise, of sounds extracted from the RADIO, her piece, at that time was called PALABRANDAR.
Griselda is also known by the pseudonyms of Lluvia Obsidiana or Lluvia Mixteca, she is also a journalist, radio producer and soundscaper.
A few days ago, shared in her networks a phonographic work as simple as it is profound, full of nuances and many complicities, valued for its simplicity that hides nuances as complex as a rain of stars in a firmament barely overshadowed by the neon of distant cities, in a pandemic.
Experimentation with sound is a very complex task, on several occasions I was able to hear the relativization of this act, a way of investigating or working with sound material, limiting it to reduced concepts, assigning it to “elites” of artists or to those who get a software or hardware in fashion and are ready to play with the new “object”. On the contrary, the task of experimenting with sound is part of a complex, arduous work that goes beyond music, whatever its tag, and that transcends as many frontiers as ideas you can concatenate in a notebook.
Interdiscipline is a vital factor in this task. The sound experimenters of the (now impeccable and untouchable) artistic avant-garde were very clear that approaching sound could only be done by calling on another artistic source, looking at the present, observing and, above all, listening. Thus, the interest in recreating the environment, in its own way, could only be achieved with effort and hours of work, empathizing with the situation, being part of the context, assuming a role.
They disappear due to the entry of extractive projects such as mining or deforestation of the forests.
The community where I am carrying out this research is threatened by the mining concession of its lands, also by an advance in the exploitation of the forest. So I spent several seasons doing fieldwork and recording the sound environment of the different spaces that give meaning to their life in a community way. And with the issue of the pandemic that is now sweeping the world, well, I spent much more time doing work in the community. The native communities as a protection measure have closed the way, making sanitary filters to be able to protect themselves and then, we are also in a period of sowing in which the families go to the different ranches to sow and above all in this moment of certainty in which not only health is at stake, also the feeding of the people, that there is an economic blow for the people, is that the families have decided to continue preserving with greater force their forms of sowing and cultivation, we are in the mountain, in season of sowing, in season where there is no light, signal of telephone, surrounded by trees of pine, of oak. And at the same time that I am helping and learning the cultivation of the Milpa, I am also recording the sounds of the forest, especially in the mornings, the dawns, this is the context in which I find myself recording.
The Phonography Pursues Sharing the Recorder’s Experience
As we enter LÍRIDAS, we are assuming to be part of that journey we are listening to. Being a few more walkers on that uphill mountain walk. We know what day it is, we hear the crackling of the leaves, the wind caressing the tops of the pines and oaks, we are amazed when we look up to the sky and see the first shooting star and the consequent meteor shower. We also let our ears rest in the silence to listen to the breathing, the breezes, the slightest movement of feet and the rubbing of arms on clothes. We are part of an environment and as part of the context, we are part of this work.
If you like, you can listen to the podcast with the review in NOISE #06.
Radioartist. Sonorous alchemist, sound curator. Between the pessimistic Kantian reason and John Cage’s mystic optimism.