Saved by the Birds

One of the best parts of spring after a long winter is getting to open the windows. It seems like such a small act but has a huge impact. A major part of this is because of the sound. Opening the window is like turning up the volume. 

I’m witnessing the neighbourhood through my ears. I can hear the girl learning how to ride a bike with her dad. I can hear the feet of a jogger rhythmically pounding on the pavement. So, though not always pleasant (ie: late-night parties or loud construction) these noises announce and connect me, whether I like it or not, to what is taking place around me. More symbolic sounds like church bells or fire sirens are literally public notifications.

Despite physical isolation, sound can create a sense of community. When the Montreal Canadiens are playing an important hockey game, my favourite thing, after they score, is to stick my head out the window and listen to fans hoot and holler. It is like the whole street is in our living room watching the game.

Earlier this year, desperate for the outdoors, I started experimenting with sounds on my computer. I found a program that lets you create, adjustable and personalized soundscapes. The most natural was the forest birds. Listening to a variety of chirps and tweets while working made it feel like the windows were open. The sound of birds tricked me into thinking it was spring and I actually felt connected to the outdoors.

Sound plays a major, yet under-represented role in how we experience space. The resonance of particular spaces provide clues on how to act, and can also trigger a variety of emotional responses. Similarly, the lack of sound I endured over the winter contributed to an aural-claustrophobia I wasn’t aware of until birds started singing from my computer and calmness washed over me.

For more on aural architecture, I recommend reading Spaces Speak: Are you listening?, by Bary Blesser and Linda-Ruth Salter, which inspired this post.