I can’t say I know what Leonard Cohen was up to when he penned “Bird on a Wire.” I’m thinking about the phrase because of one of the more haunting pieces I saw at the Texas Contemporary Art Fair in my search for energy-oriented art.
Here’s the inimitable Cohen: “Like a bird on the wire, / like a drunk in a midnight choir / I have tried in my way to be free.”
Leonard Cohen, Bird on a Wire
Here the bird is a creature out of place, aiming for liberty. In my cursory attempts to track the phrase (is it an idiom with a history?) I found references to birds being trapped with lime on fences and birds being electrocuted on power lines. Here in Houston, I sometimes wonder if the grackles who at times gather in the hundreds on power lines around town, especially at Kirby and Alabama, know something we don’t.
But really I’m thinking about how captivated I was by a series of works by David Zimmer, including “Can You Hear Me” (pictured below):
Under a bell jar sits a little video screen featuring a bird on a branch. Around the screen are the coils and wires that power this little living portrait. There’s a bit of an antiquated–almost steam punk–feel in the mix of technologies: HD screen, metal conductors. The wires seem to merge with the twigs, both distinct and indistinct at the same time.
I have no idea if Zimmer was thinking about energy, but here’s what intrigues me. This work of art depends on an energy transfer that is made especially visible. The technologies are clearly compatible–the screen works!–but they seem from different eras.
And what is it birds do? They flutter about for sure. Are they powered by their own energies or, in this case, does it seem that the bird’s flight is a consequence of the energy transfers at work. Birds also since, and at least since Keats–probably earlier–we’ve wondered about the relationship between “natural” phenomena (like animal cries or song) and human art. As for the distinction between human and non-human song, I’ll leave that for others. What interests me here is the idea that song has an energy source as well–that it’s wired to power transfer systems that are made obvious to the viewer.
What do we hear when we see “Can You Hear Me?” The phrase is a check-in–a testing of the sound system. What do we hear when we check in? Is it the sound of song or the sound of energy thrumming through devices and creatures? Of course the whole work is under a glass cover. We might want to ask, instead, what do we not hear?