Common Ground_Moonshine1_web.jpg

Detail of Moonshine Parade sound installation, four-channel audio with photo of New Straitsville, Ohio, 2014.

LISTENING TO APPALACHIAN OHIO (FALL, 2021)

Listening to Appalachian Ohio was a solo exhibition of sound and visual works at the Miller Gallery at Otterbein University. It included three projects from my many years of work in Appalachian Ohio—Shawnee, Ohio, Forest Listening Rooms, and Moonshine Parade—and was the first time that they have been presented together. There was also a public screening of Shawnee, Ohio, as well as numerous workshops with classes from across the university. Coincidentally, I grew up in Westerville, Ohio (where Otterbein is located), so as part of my residency I explored new and old soundscapes of the town with students throughout the fall.

Taken together, these works provide a stark and radically different alternative to J.D. Vance's Hillbilly Elegy, and instead of perpetuating myths about exceptionalism and individualism, they show ways in which Appalachian Ohio communities work together and support each other. It seems especially important to share these works with students and faculty in a learning environment, as a way to fight against regional stereotypes. The exhibition was from August 23 through November 17, 2021. You can find more information about it here.

Below, you can find a digital representation of the exhibition, with videos and sound recordings from each project.


GALLERY IMAGES


FOREST LISTENING ROOMS (2018-Present)

FLR_Listening Group.png

Listening session at Robinson’s Cave, New Straitsville, Ohio.

It’s definitely a meditative space for me personally, but it’s also this really dense, complex, layered historical place that I don’t fully grasp or understand. You see the layers of undergrowth, layers of dirt and soil, trash, coal... layers that listening in a space can bring out.
When you look at public land, it’s no secret that people are pretty divided today. But this is something that both sides of the political spectrum agree on. I feel like it’s such a thing that can unite so many different factions that otherwise may not agree on many things.
I think the forest is what brought everybody together. Whether you don’t see eye to eye on the way the land is used, or whatever it may be, everybody has a connection with the land. And everybody has their own story here. So, no matter the differences, everybody is connected in a similar way, and it’s the forest.
My parents are gone. And after my dad died...I wasn’t quite ready for the feeling of being an orphan. And something about being in an area that is familiar to you, that reminds you of your childhood, reminds you of carefree days, is comforting. I don’t know how else to say it, it’s just comforting. It’s home.

FOREST LISTENING ROOMS is a socially engaged sound art project. It invites local communities in Appalachian Ohio to gather in outdoor spaces and critically listen to sounds of energy extraction, with the goals of ending fracking on Wayne National Forest’s contested public lands, and building a sustainable and equitable economy. This project contends that listening to the forest’s past and present can transform its future.

The forest is winning the battle again; it’s coming back and taking over. I’ve decided it’s a good thing, to reclaim this land.

Forest Listening Rooms consists of over a dozen situations and iterations over eighteen months. There is no single “performance” of the piece; instead, it is comprised of many experiences of listening followed by shared conversation, and is focused on land use, environmental issues, and the rural/urban divide. No two listening sessions are the same, as evinced by these recordings, which include children, hunters, all terrain-vehicle riders, environmental activists, concerned residents, oil drillers, community organizers, and local historians. Finally, the main audiences of Forest Listening Rooms are the local residents that live in Appalachian Ohio, and it is their experiences of listening that are the central components of the project.

I go to the woods to recharge. I go to the forest. I think it is fascinating to look down and see the minutiae and feel big, and then look up and see the vastness and feel small without ever moving. I think it’s just a really great place to be. It connects me with my past and brings me to the present.

The project’s process is as follows: community members begin with a sound walk (a quiet, mindful hike that pays attention to listening) in the forest to outdoor spaces (or, “rooms”), to listen in situ. Locations range from the cave where the United Mine Workers secretly formed, to a 130-year old mine fire, to a contemporary fracking drill site. In these spaces, participants experience soundscapes around them mixed with local archival recordings of past residents and miners (projected from audio speakers). Participants hear flowing water, bird calls, plantlife, industrial rhythms, and archival sounds of oral histories, disasters, and protest. Participants then listen to each other as they share their own experiences, hopes, and fears. These stories are recorded and remixed into future sessions, creating a continually expanding feedback loop. The result is a sonic map of the complex past and present of the forest, revealing thoughts, tensions, and emotions of its people.

Forest Listening Rooms was made possible through a Contemplative Practices Fellowship from A Blade of Grass. You can learn more about this project here.


SHAWNEE, OHIO (2016-21)

 
It’s just the enormity of the thing. After we got outside, and realized how bad it was. And, uh, how many friends –– almost every man in there was of course a friend of mine. There were a few that I was more acquainted with than others but –– some of those people that I grew up with and I went to school and played with and worked with and everything and it was just, it was just hard to realize that they were gone… It was just a terrible... It was so huge, so much...death and so huge that it was um, everybody was numb for weeks.
 
Uh, I used to like to get out, out on my grandmother’s and grandfather’s front porch, and watch the people go up and down Main Street. Believe it or not, on a Saturday night, the people in town, the town was crowded.
I can remember when they had that explosion, down... Now, I lived in this house when they had that explosion, I remember that, cause I was papering, or doing something. And, um, it killed a lot of people, you know. Millfield Mine.
May Third. I’m going to ask my grandma questions of the olden days.
Um, Grandma? In the mines, do you know how many people died?
Um, do you know anybody that was in the mines?
Uh, can you tell me three people?
Can you name ‘em? Yeah...yeah...yeah… Who else?
Shawn Henton? Oh.
Do you know a couple people that died in the mines?
Can you name ‘em, too?
Terrill took a ride on the west-bound train
All on one summer’s day
And every station he passed by
He heard the people say
’There goes that noted murderer
Bound down with armor strong
He killed the Weldon family
He’s bound for Columbus town’

SHAWNEE, OHIO is a series of audiovisual portraits of people from a small Appalachian mining town. It uses archival recordings, video, and images alongside newly composed music to critically explore issues of extraction, economy, and ecology in the region.

You rulers of the forest
This song to you I’ll tell
Do the impact study
Save us from fracking hell
Which side are you on, boys, which side are you on?
Which side are you on, girls, which side are you on?

Shawnee’s history includes coal, gas, oil, and clay extraction, and the formation of early labor unions. The town’s downturn and partial restoration act as an ethos of the struggles and hopes of the larger region, now immersed in a controversial fracking boom. Shawnee, Ohio considers these histories, evokes place through sound, and listens to the present alongside traces of the past.

In their own voices, eleven local residents recount their lives, work, friendships, and deeds. They talk and sing of mining, disasters, underground fires, murders, social life, protest, and hope. They include women and men; they are black and white; and they span across generations and centuries.

Shawnee, Ohio was co-commissioned by the Wexner Center for the Arts at The Ohio State University, Duke Performances at Duke University, and the Contemporary Arts Center (Cincinnati). Shawnee, Ohio is a project of Creative Capital, and also received support from the Ohio Arts Council. You can find more information about the project here.


MOONSHINE PARADE (2014)

Moonshine Parade_full_web.jpg
— ...So he sent a guy out there, see what’s goin’ on
—You know buddy, I’ve never been pulled over...
— ... I said no!
— Good blowin’, honey!
— ... Ah, you know what I didn’t bring?
— ... My grandfather...
— Onion petals, oh yeah!
— ... That’s crazy.
— ...For our safety and your safety...
— This one’s five bucks!
— I told her…
— They go fast? Yeah, a little fast.

MOONSHINE PARADE: I walk among crowds of people at the Moonshine Festival in New Straitsville, Ohio. It is Memorial Day weekend, the beginning of summer. The festival celebrates the town’s notoriety, where illegal moonshine was (and perhaps still is) made and sold. Moonshining came to prominence here in part as a response to underground fires that ended coal mining in the late 1800s.

I walk up and down Main Street, listening. There is a Johnny Cash recording in the background. I eavesdrop as people sell and buy tickets and t-shirts and funnel cakes and onion petals. I hear electricity buzzing, chains clinking, clapping, laughter, motors, coughing, yelling, a baby crying, a car radio, wood hitting concrete, hissing air, growls, sighs, birds, revving, banging, pounding, sneezing, and a dog sniffing.

A parade begins, mostly of local fire trucks, a few muscle cars, and a host of festival queens from around the state. The announcer’s sing-song baritone voice provides a running commentary as he introduces each queen: “And here’s our very own Moonshine Queen... That is one serious dress you’ve got on right now...” The festival highlights one of the ways the region remembers and defines itself, deriving names from different industries, histories, and attractions, such as the “Railroad Festival,” “Old Settlers Reunion,” “Ohio Hills Folk Festival,” “Coal Festival,” and “Indian Mound Festival.”

— I’m not doing that!
— Shit, I’m down there...
— ... Just waitin’ to hear the fire trucks.
— Now, I got two things...
— They’re probably all the way down at the end…
— What do you wanna play? Video games are half off!
— Some of them boards out there...
— ... He took it, put another one up there...
— Hodgey!
— ... You can walk with Sarah.
— Wasn’t nothin’ we didn’t do when we was kids, wasn’t nothin’...
— ... Yeah, we’re doing good, getting ready to head out of here.

I continue to listen and walk toward a parking lot where there are a number of temporary carnival rides set up. As I move away from the parade its sounds do not disappear altogether, but rather merge and overlap into the noise of machinery, chains moving, and mostly empty cages whirling overhead. There are more fragments of conversation: “Hey hey hey, you ready to play? I’ll let you win today!” A child yells above the din of machinery, “I wanna go on the rocket! I wanna go on the rocket!” as another says, “Hey, can you buy me a wristband?”

These are the sounds of the Moonshine Festival, and the recordings here evoke and celebrate the movement, variety, and interaction of the people attending the event.

More information about this project can be found here.