I think, when it comes to “sonic memory”, the first sound that occupies my mind is probably the deepest sound in my memory. That is about the sound of my childhood, about the first house I lived in, about the kitchen and my mother. When I was in elementary school, I would ride home alone after school at noon every day, and when I arrived at my unit, I had to walk up the stairs on the fifth floor. Because of a lack of physical strength, I always walked slower and slower, I remember my more and more procrastinating footsteps. When I reached the door of my house, I would rustle out the key from my schoolbag. With the creak of the door opening, I could hear the familiar sound of cooking from the kitchen.
I liked to go into the kitchen and watch my mother cook. First, there was the sound of flames from the gas stove, and then the sound of oil being poured into the pot and being heated. When the ingredients entered the pot, there would be a crackling sound that instantly burst apart, then there would be a sound of shaking the spatula; the spatula rubbing against the bottom of the pot. As the friction of the spatula became slower and slower, and the cry of the flames became smaller and smaller, I knew that lunch was about to be prepared. With the sound of food entering the plate, I would trot with the prepared food and tablewares to put them on the table, turn on the TV, and adjust the channel to CCTV1. With the background sound of the news or the program Law Today, lunchtime was going to start.
The most important feeling that surrounds this sonic memory is warmth, which is one of the few most relaxing and warm moments in my childhood. So I decided the image of going into the kitchen to be the starting point for my piece. In this piece, all the sounds are very lifelike, and their precise spatial positions are deeply imprinted in my memory, so I think the sense of distance of each sound will become an important means in my expression. The sound of cooking is very close, because when I was a child, I always stood as close as possible, staring at the food coming out of the oven with my full attention. I want to make my audience feel the warmth—even a little hot; there is also a kind of expectation in those sounds. The distance of the footsteps is moderate, just like the height of a kid. And the sound of the TV is the farthest because when I was a child, my mother always told me to watch TV from far enough, for protecting my eyesight. My piece will end with the sound of just turning on the TV and sitting at the dining table, because the sound of TV and taking a seat brings a kind of new expectation: the expectation of the upcoming lunch accompanying the TV show. Warmth and expectations, are the essence of the piece of memory.