whispers
Blue lightening discs seem to hang freely in a darkened space. They’re the horns of five more than man-sized ceramic trumpets, arranged in various directions. The white inside is radiated with blacklight, as it turns out when your eyes have adapted to the darkness. The horns transmit words, fragments of sentences, laughter, alternated with noise and a strange crackles and sputters. Each trumpet has it’s own repertory of expressions, of which the meaning is hard to probe. And each has it’s own characteristic sound, due to their difference in length.