(Sleeper Train 19:01 - from Commute Series, Vol. I)


Sounding the Void


I work primarily with sound. As a medium, it is one that encompasses both time 
and space, and has been used in rituals throughout human history.  Sound 
carries power, and is often linked to the beginning of the universe. In many of the 
worlds religions, past and present, the universe begins with a sound.  Even in 
scientific theories, the event is sonic- the big bang.  This is the starting point, that 
sound.  But sound has to come from somewhere, it has to travel through 
something (air, water, some form of matter) in order to resonate. 


In germanic  mythology (which is the operating model I often work from), in 
the very beginning there was the ever stretching, expansive void Ginnungagap.  
Surrounding this void were two places: Muspellheim, composed of fire, and 
Niflheim, composed of ice.  From the sparks of Muspellheim and the water that 
melted from Niflheim, a mist rose up.   From this mist came Audhumla, the 
primordial cow, who licked the first being out of the rime frost that coated the 
ground beneath Her.  This hermaphroditic frost-giant was named Ymir, and was 
given credit for emitting the first sound.  It is in this mythos of void that I ground 
my own process of creating.


By void, I do not mean specifically a vacuum, as the word is often used.  I 
use this word as a sense of space, in particular, a magical space.  Void is just as 
complex as non-void (non-magical space), just as paradoxical.  Void can exist 
not only as a pregnant space, but also as negative space, where the space is 
vast and empty. This negativity is that of the electrical negative- the pole that 
must exist in order to create an equal and balanced flow. In this paradoxical 
situation, Void creates an infinite topological space, a multi-dimensional system 
that expands ever outward as a continuous self-same model of an oroborus.  The 
atom is in its own right the model of  Ginnungagap, as void(nucleus)-fire(proton)-
ice(neutron), and also can be seen as the nucleus (the art idea itself)-proton (the 
collection of creative-progenic energies of both fire and ice), and the neutron (the 
void as interface through which the idea and creative energies must flow in order 
to interface with the world).  The void in this essence becomes both the hidden 
and the present.  It is an ever expanding universe that is conversely contracting 
and extracting at the same time. 


To access void, I begin with introspection.  This moment of introspection, of 
stillness, is encompassed by the pedestrian language of ice.  This is the 
language of non-action, of silence, of inactivity.  But ice offers more than 
stillness— it is more than observation.  Sitting still holding a cup of ice, watching 
it slide around as it melts on the bottom of the glass, it moves very quickly. It is 
not as slow as I would think it is, it is not static.  Unlike a river, it does not flow 
from one point of origin.  When ice begins to melt, it moves oh-so-quickly, as it 
dissolves from each exposed point.  The eye cannot capture it in its entirety, and 
this loss of vision must be accepted.  I am reminded directly of John Cage and 
his thoughts on silence, that silence is framed by space where random sounds 
intrude where we believe there aught be none.  Just as true silence is only 
absence of intention, ice teaches me on a daily basis that stillness, too, 
incorporates this absence.  If you listen to recordings taken on the icy floes in the 
arctic circle or in antarctica, when the ice begins to shift it sounds like a freight 
train moving. There is a grinding sound, compressed and moving fast, with a 
background crackle like a muffled fire. It is the sound of a massive force that you 
would want to run away from, but standing on glaciers and ice masses, you 
would not be able to.
      

Once, when I was a child, I stood over a river on a massive sheet of ice that 
had formed over it.  I heard a crack, the distinct sound of glass fracturing, and 
stood absolutely still.  Standing there, heart racing while sweat formed under my 
winter clothes, I thought of the massive cuts I would receive should the block 
break free.  Each movement back to the land cautious in an effort to keep the 
fracture from getting deep enough to collapse.  Ice does not sit idly by, rather it 
waits for the perfect moment of change. Beyond the false-stillness of ice lies the 
power of creation, the power of generation.  This creative/destructive force is 
easy to see in plants, as many plants and seeds require freezing, or at the very 
least, long exposure to cold conditions, to germinate.  Action and stillness 
combine in the freezing process of the seed.  Even in its most seemingly inactive 
state, it is working continuously, preparing to spring forth anew.
      

Fire is a paradox as well.  Spreading quickly, fire destroys homes and forests 
in minutes.  When holding fire, even in the minute form of a candle, one must 
work slowly.  Too much air at first (through quick movement or otherwise), and it 
will extinguish.  Once established, if you it gets too much air, the flames will burn 
out of control.  Because of this, it is best to move slowly and deliberately.  The air 
flow must be regulated, and to best keep the fire contained, an earthen vessel 
must be used.  I find it extremely relevant that fire requires earth to contain it, and 
ice requires earth to insulate the seed as a medium of growth.  Earth acts as the 
mediator for both fire and ice, keeping it from acting to its very extremes of 
destruction.  In germanic mythology, it is from the combination of fire and ice in 
void-space that the first layer of ground emerged, upon which Audhumla nursed 
Ymir. 
      

Void is the seeming antithesis of fire and ice.  In magical terms, void can be 
seen as the Aether, the point of unknowing from which all things can spring. 
Ginnungagap is described as a gaping void and as a creative and magic filled 
space.  It is the point beyond the sun and stars, the point beyond what we can 
see with our mundane eyes. In eastern philosophical terms, it can be viewed as 
the intersection of Mu and Ma.  Mu is often viewed in american zen practices as 
the emptiness found through extended meditation practices, the absolute 
quieting of the mind. Linguistically, it inhabits a negative space, a connotation of 
lack, or non-.  Ma, however, is representative of the empty space between 
things.  In essence, it is both the vacuum of space, and the space between the 
stars. 
      

It is in void– the vacuum, the empty space– that the unknown is found, when 
combined with sparks and embers, and condensation from icy stillness where 
mist forms.  The faint glimmer of creation, obscured from awareness is subtle in 
its initial development.   It is these moments of stillness and fire, the moment of 
pregnancy that I wrestle and grapple with.  It is these four instances- the fires of 
Muspellheim, the stillness and reflection in the ice of Niflheim, the vacuum of 
Ginnungagap, and the fog that rises from the culmination of these three states of 
existence that form the ictus of my w(W)ork.  A micro-polyphony, the pulse 
unknown, coming perhaps from the clouds themselves, the flickering moments of 
molecular movement flowing in and out, from steam to cloud to rain and back 
again.  This ever constant flux generating art and sound and life–
      

The substance that rises from void is what I work to reflect, by framing the 
rising mist with earth that comes from within, taking instances of fire and ice from 
the surrounding landscape to keep it constantly breathing and moving (imbibing it 
with önd, or breath/spirit.)  In an improvised performance the listener/observer 
may witness the fire/ice/void creation as a living entity as I attempt to embody its 
manifestations.  The moment of stillness, of spark, of reaching into the void 
unsure of what will emerge, a constant flux present on stage.  This is the work of 
ritual, this act of performing live with the void at my feet. Each performance, an 
act of embodiment of the primal state of creation.   With electricity and to create 
the sound, and the stillness of the sounds I choose, traveling in space, I am able 
to direct them to the void, in order to bring the Will of myself and of my audience 
to the fore.  



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Lyn Goeringer is a composer/sound artist/performer who currently lives in Rhode Island.
Her works focus on in depth explorations of space, place and the hidden ideologies of Public. 

www.lyngoeringer.com | vimeo: lyn goeringer | chrysalisvoidmind.blogspot.com