andrew s. yang

Lately, we place all sorts of things up against our heads in hopes of hearing something, ether that turns into voices. 

 

Walk through the city with a conch and invite people to listen to the singing of a shell instead. 

Close your eyes; try it in stereo. 

 

The ocean is anywhere and everywhere. That small shell coiled within your inner ear, the soundtrack of waves we fell asleep to during my child's first year. The sound of ocean was here long before there was any thing to hear it.