Then there is the sound of reading some of these artworks, either in one’s head or aloud. Suzanne Delehanty notes that the cadence of Richard Serra’s Verb List recalls the rhythmic compositions of the artist’s friend Philip Glass. And like Glass, just when things become predictable [“to support” “to hook” “to suspend”], Serra exchanges one note for another, [“of tension” “of gravity” “of entropy”]. We can also consider the sound of a ghostly narrator. I can’t help but imagine the reader of Molly Springfield’s Chapter IX sounding a little like a less strident Winston Churchill. And an audible element is critical to the full experience of Annabel Daou’s Constitution, in which Arabic letters are sequenced not to become a literal translation of the landmark US document but to somewhat awkwardly mimic the sounds of the English text when read out loud.
I could go on and on. And on. But I would prefer to discuss whether this audible connection exists in all types of artwork or if the construct of “text in art” particularly lends itself towards this interpretation? As an artist, do you ever notice or pay special attention to the sounds emitted when you make art? As a viewer, do you ever translate the visual into the auditory? And do you ever wonder what an artist was hearing when she made the work that you stand in front of?
N. Elizabeth Schlatter is the Deputy Director and Curator of Exhibitions at the University of Richmond Museums, Virginia, where she has organized exhibitions of modern and contemporary art since 2000. Previously she worked at the Smithsonian Institution Traveling Exhibition Service, Washington, DC, and the Contemporary Arts Museum, Houston. Elizabeth also organizes exhibitions independently and writes about art for various publications and websites. She has a BA in Art History from Southwestern University, Georgetown, Texas, and an MA in Art History from George Washington University, Washington, DC. Elizabeth lives and works in Richmond, Virginia.