Hard Times – Soft Sounds (Seashell): On Fragility, Machines, and the Poetics of Listening

In the midst of increasingly turbulent times, I find myself returning to quieter gestures. Hard Times – Soft Sounds (Seashell) is one such gesture, a sound sculpture rooted in fragility, technoid intimacy, and mechanical stillness.

At its core, the work is disarmingly simple: a seashell, partially filled with water, slowly turned by a miniature motor. As the shell moves, it produces delicate tonalities—subtle vibrations that hover between rhythm and breath. The result is neither music nor pure sound art, but something in-between: a meditation on the physicality of sound and the emotional terrain of repetition.

Originally conceived during the early stages of the pandemic, the work was an inward turn—an exploration of how minimal, analog processes might convey states of presence and care. It steps away from the kinetic complexity of my larger robotic installations, and toward a quieter, more introspective material language. The machine here does not dominate—it accompanies.

Unexpectedly, Hard Times – Soft Sounds (Seashell) has struck a chord online. A recent Instagram post featuring the work has gained several million views, suggesting a collective hunger for slower, softer modalities of expression. In an era defined by noise, this quiet object appears to resonate.

From May 27 to June 15, 2025, the work will be exhibited at Plásmata III, Onassis Stegi’s open-air group exhibition in Athens, held in the urban park Pedion tou Areos. The show explores intersections between body, technology, and identity—spanning digital glitch and speculative ecology. For the occasion, we have constructed twenty-two seashell devices, each resonating gently in concert.

In parallel with the exhibition, I’m introducing a limited collector’s edition of the piece—the first in my practice. Limited to 24 studio-quality units, each object is numbered and hand-assembled, extending the work’s life beyond the institutional frame. The first edition has already been acquired by a private collection in Greece.

This work invites slow engagement. It doesn’t perform, it pulses. It doesn’t announce, it listens. And maybe, in its quiet way, it asks us to do the same.