Sounds of Home_ an afternoon at the WienMuseum
- Feb 6
- 4 min read
(1) María Ruigómez Eraso
(1) University of Cambridge, Cambridge, England - ruigomezmaria@gmail.com (ORCID)
Comment 1
This is an interesting group interview recording in which different people share their experiences of associating natural sounds with home-related sounds. Correspondingly, this interview record also evokes many associations in me, and such social experimental works are very inspiring, vividly revealing how sound carries deep personal memories and cultural emotions. From a philosophical point of view, this seemingly everyday experience touches on deep questions about existence, memory, language, and the meaning of symbols.
Sound is not only about the individual, but also connects the broader collective and culture. While the sounds of modern homes have become more diverse (e.g., specific Christmas music, city-specific ambulance sounds), their core function remains the same: to mark the unique rhythms and atmospheres of a cultural or subcultural community. When someone juxtaposes the sound of a snowstorm in the Carpathians with the sound of a mother cooking in the recording, it embodies a collective memory that is regional and rooted in a particular way of life. Together, these voices weave an invisible web that defines who "we" are and how "we" feel the world. Research in musical anthropology also points out that specific rhythms and melodies can trigger deep collective unconscious, allowing people to connect with larger cultural narratives and ancestral experiences. Therefore, these sound associations are also subtle manifestations of cultural identity.
This interview teaches us that there is a kind of speech that goes beyond language, through voice. Giorgio Agamben believes that contemporary society relies too much on the "ethics of seeing" and ignores the "ethics of listening". Actively listening to these everyday, private voices and respecting the unspeakable memories they carry is an ethical gesture in itself. It means acknowledging the richness of the life of the other, acknowledging that beyond the mainstream narrative, there are countless living worlds made up of subtle voices, vivid and real. When a person shares the voice of his heart that represents "home", he is not just describing a sensory impression, but also inviting you into his most authentic life experience. This kind of voice-based sharing and listening can be a bridge to build deeper interpersonal understanding.
Comment 2
In this audio collage, the author invites Wien Museum visitors to answer, “what is the sound you associate with home?” Over ten minutes, we hear 23 responses: in German and English, from children to elders, who describe sounds of home from Austria, Poland, Czech Republic, Australia, Seattle and New York City. Their answers are everyday and intimate: snowstorms, street traffic, or sizzling cooking oil on a grandmother’s stove; cats’ paws and children fussing; the thunk of heavy apartment doors; the Donau River’s platschern or the strains of the Misa Criolla. Some respondents hum music, or mimic the chhhh of water on sauna rocks. Some sound surprised to be asked. Listening, I found myself recalling my own sounds of home – of clanging steam radiators, or roommates’ jingling keys – which speaks to the piece's evocative power. It works as something of an invitation.
It’s a strong, emotionally embodied premise. Placing these answers in the context of a journal frames quotidian, sensory memory as knowledge worth archiving, or inviting into academic discourse. And the Wien Museum, which sees itself as an “open house” collecting mundane items alongside one-of-a-kind works of art, seems a particularly apt setting. I can imagine how the work might contribute to debates of curation and heritage (whose voices and stories belong in museums? what knowledge is worth keeping?), or to questions being explored in urban studies (how do we (de)value domesticity as a topic worthy of study? what can we learn from the sensory life of cities?).
But without accompanying commentary or artist statement, these connections remain only implicit. The piece arrives to us in a relatively raw state: audio clips are laid together without significant processing, German-language responses are not translated, and it is unaccompanied by written or audio commentary from the author. These, together, make the recording feel more like rich fieldwork than a finished artistic piece. I find myself wanting more of the author’s curatorial voice to better understand the work’s central question: is this about heritage practices? The role of the senses in memory? The politics of whose sounds get heard and preserved? As a standalone piece, the absence of any interpretive frame blunts the potential impact of the work.
If the author chooses to add written or audio context to this piece, I’d love to know: What drew you to this question? Why these particular visitors? Why this museum, at this moment? What matters about collecting the verbal recollections? What is notable about gathering them in this setting in this part of the world? What larger question of home, memory or history does this collection of voices seek to address? Even a brief written or recorded statement could open this piece up for us, but there is room here to play with different forms. I’d also encourage considering accessibility: German-to-English translations, and/or a transcript or descriptive text for d/Deaf and hard-of-hearing readers, would extend the work’s reach and expand its audience.
The premise of this piece is resonant. I hope to hear more of the author’s interpretive voice, bringing out more of what she hopes the audience will hear in it.
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