Photo01

Soundscape from the Boundaries

Kim Chang-hun

二零二二年三月,連續下了兩星期綿長的雨。三月下雨是平常的。當時我們都留在室內,非必要不外出,這慢慢也變成平常的事。

身處室內,特別是窗邊,單調的雨水聲音很輕易喚起恍惚的心情,令人覺得自己在這裡,同時又不在這裡。這種時候,我都要求自己整理書櫃。手好像忙碌著,思緒也不至於完全空白。

在吸滿濕氣的書架上,我找到一張陌生的唱片。那是一張橘紅的唱片,令人聯想到日本《地獄草紙》的火焰那樣明亮的橘紅。布料的封面上,貼著一塊正方型的銅片,上面刻了小小的一行文字:KARMA/DMZ SOUNDSCAPE。

Photo02

DMZ,說的是南韓與朝鮮之間,位於北緯38度的非軍事區。這張CD紀錄了藝術家Kim Chang-hun多次駕車接近DMZ邊界線的旅程中,所錄下的soundscape作品。

第一段錄音中,聽到銅鈴和鳥鳴的聲音,像身處於夏天郊外的一所廟宇中。然後是一場突如其來的雨水。鳥鳴消失了,銅鈴依然在雨中發出清脆的聲響。那是離DMZ非軍事區13公里的三聖閣(Samseong-gak)廟宇,藝術家在廟宇旁邊的破舊倉庫設置了設備,錄下了一場預料之外的雨水。

唱片共有十段錄音,每段也記錄了位置、日期時間、與軍事分界線的距離,以及藝術家拍下的照片和對景物、心情的記述。看過單色的照片後,閉上眼睛,在聲景中,事物彷彿打了一個顫抖,緩慢地移動起來。

Photo03

以直白的語言解釋,聲景,就是以聲音構成的風景,並以聆聽取代觀看。當人到達一個陌生的地方時,很自然會以眼睛盡量攫取一切,而將聽見的聲音丟到看不見的深處。

是不是因為人可以主動選擇看見什麼,而只能被動接受聽見聲音,所以我們傾向認為視覺更有價值呢?

聆聽聲景作品時,聲音總是令我感到不可思議。相比影像的隔絕,聲音將人與景像融合,織起了回憶的臨場和私密感,甚至能夠創造一段並不存在的回憶。例如,一場迫近國境之旅。

Photo04

為什麼藝術家將這張CD命名為KARMA呢?我兩邊耳朵塞著米白色的有線耳機,躺在破舊的沙發上,想著這個問題。Karma這個詞語,從網站可以搜尋到不同的說法,但實際上指的是什麼,又難以說明。

想起李滄東的改編村上春樹〈燒柴房〉的電影Burning,其中格格不入,但又美麗得詭異是三位年青主角在南北韓邊境看日落,女孩海美在暮色中脫去衣服跳飛鳥舞蹈的一幕。當時我也有類似的疑問,為什麼要在邊境呢?

如果指明那狹窄的邊境是「非軍事區」的話,那麼,其餘的土地都是潛在的軍事目標吧。不論身處北邊,或是南邊,年輕人都生活在一道巨大的陰影下。他們無從選擇,只能在各自投射的幻象中,想辦法忘記真實。這幾乎就是KARMA本身:一張共同織起,無法輕易脫離的網。

KARMA一個更根本,更純粹的意思,其實是行為。生活中,環境會產生一種力量,驅使我們順應它的邏輯,盲目地作出相應的行為,無意識中一同織起牢牢套緊每個人,名為「現實」的網。而藝術家多次接近那條邊界,可不可以解釋成一種刻意的行動,選擇直視被意欲忘記的現實?

Burning的最後一幕中,男孩鍾秀在虛實之間將殺人犯Ben殺死,再把全身的衣服連同Ben的屍體和保時捷一同燒掉。然後,他全身赤裸,在冰冷的黑夜中狂奔。有那樣的瞬間,他在大火中照見真實。

離DMZ邊界線只有一公里的Eulji General Outpost,是全張CD最安靜的錄音。藝術家說:「在這個行程中最容易令人緊張的場所,出乎意料地,是最令人平靜的。」只有蟬鳴與鳥聲,偶爾聽到遙遠士兵練習的槍聲。「鳴槍的聲音是如此遙遠,如此不現實,令人不禁懷疑它們的存在。」藝術家這樣紀錄。

後來,我記起這張唱片是幾年前朋友從南韓一間像倉庫一樣的書店買下來轉送給我的。他還送給我同一位藝術家的另一張Soundscape CD,是以藝術家的出生地濟州島作為題材的。然而,那是另一個故事了。

Photo05

In March 2022, it rained continuously for two weeks. Seemed like nothing out of the ordinary. But it was this rainy March when staying indoors and not setting foot outside had become nothing but ordinary.

Sitting indoors, especially by the window, listening to the monotonous sound of rain can always put me into a trance-like state where I doubt my existence. At times like this, I’d make myself organize the bookshelf to keep my hands and mind busy.

Inside the humid room where my bookshelf stands, I found an unfamiliar CD on the shelf. It had a fabric cover in red orange color that reminded me of the scenes of fire in Japan’s Hell Scroll. At the center of it, there was a square copper sheet engraved with “KARMA/DMZ SOUNDSCAPE”.

Photo06

The DMZ refers to the Demilitarized Zone located at latitude 38° N between South Korea and North Korea. This CD is a collection of the soundscapes recorded near the DMZ by artist Kim Chang-hun. He made these recordings during the several occasions when he drove close to the area.

In the first recording, you can hear the sound of copper bells and birdsong, as if you were sitting in a temple in the countryside during summer. Then comes a sudden rain. The birdsong is gone, yet the crisp sound of copper bells still lingers as the rain pours. It was a recording of Samseong-gak, a temple situated 13km from the DMZ. Kim set up his equipment in an old warehouse next to the temple and recorded this unexpected downpour.

There are ten recordings contained on the CD; each of which comes with the details of the recording location, date, time, and distance from the DMZ. There are also photographs taken by the artist, his descriptions of the scenery, and some personal reflections. Holding the CD in my hands, I took a good look at the monochrome images and slowly closed my eyes. Amidst a mélange of sounds, things trembled and started to move slowly.

Photo07

In simple words, a soundscape is a landscape constructed from sound, and instead of looking with your eyes, you visit a soundscape by listening. It’s normal for one to dissect an unfamiliar place with what they see, while the sense of hearing is always neglected.

While we can proactively choose what to look at, when it comes to hearing, we can only passively take things as they come. Is that why we tend to think vision is more valuable?

I am always amazed by the various acoustic elements in soundscapes. Compared with images which are always distant, sound can better connect people with the scenery, creating a unique sense of presence and intimacy, and even in a way, craft a memory that does not exist in reality. A visit to the soundscape of the national borders is one such sound-induced memory.

Photo08

As I laid on the battered couch with the off-white wired headphones plugged into my ears, I wondered, why did the artist name the album KARMA? A number of explanations came up when I searched for the meaning of karma on the internet; but what does it actually mean?

I thought of Burning, a film by Lee Chang-dong that is adapted from Haruki Murakami’s Barn Burning. There is a scene, which is totally out of place, but eerily beautiful, where the three young protagonists watch the sunset at the border between North and South Korea, and then the girl Hae-mi takes off her clothes and does a bird dance under the twilight. After seeing that scene I thought—why at the border?

I suppose if we call that narrow border a “demilitarized zone,” then the rest of the land would be a potential military target. The young people, whether they are from the north or the south, all live in a huge shadow; they don’t have any choice. The only thing they can do is to live in illusions and forget about the reality of their situation. This might well be what karma means: Trapped by a web that is woven together by everyone.

Behavior defines karma in a more fundamental and direct way. In our everyday lives, there is a power in our surroundings that forces us to conform and submissively react to its logic and unconsciously weave a net called, “reality” that binds us all together. In that sense, can we say that the artist’s attempts in approaching the border is a deliberate act in confronting the reality that is being concealed?

In the final scene of Burning, Jong-su seemingly kills Ben the murderer and eventually burns Ben’s body together with his own clothes and the Porsche. Being completely naked, he starts running in the dark, cold night. There is this moment, as if he can see the truth in the fire.

Eulji General Outpost is the quietest recording in the entire album. It was recorded just one kilometer from the DMZ. The artist said, “It is the most intense location among the entire trip, yet, it is also the most peaceful place.” There is the chirping of cicadas and birds and the occasional gunshot by the soldiers who were practicing in the distance. “The sound of gunshots is so distant and unrealistic that one cannot help but doubt if they are real,” the artist noted.

It was much later on that I recalled the CD was gifted to me by a friend who bought it from a warehouse-like bookstore in South Korea a few years ago. The friend also gifted me another CD of Jeju’s soundscape by the same artist. Jeju is the place where the artist was born, but that would be another story.

Photo09
w