🎧 Moments Between the Sounds: Volunteering Experience at Sonic Arts Week 2025

When I signed up to volunteer for Sonic Arts Week 2025 in Middlesbrough, I expected to be handing out leaflets, counting footfall, and maybe pointing people toward installations. What I didn’t expect was how deeply the experience would resonate with me—not just as an artist, but as a human being.

Most of my time was spent indoors, inside a shopping mall where art met commerce, and passersby became accidental audiences. My role was to observe, engage, and encourage. But what I really did was witness—tiny, fleeting moments where sound and people collided in the most unexpected ways.

🌊 Sound Shower and the Submarine Pilots

One of the installations I kept returning to was Sound Shower (Ultrahydrosonic - Joe Browning)—a recorded underwater soundscape. It was immersive auditory, meditative, and surprisingly emotional.

An elderly man stood under the speaker for a long time, eyes closed. When I asked him what he thought, he smiled and said:

“When I was young, I used to go to the River Tees. I loved the sound of the stream. This brought it all back. I wish I could go there more often now.” There was a quiet nostalgia in his voice, like the sound had opened a door to a memory he hadn’t visited in years.

Later, a group of schoolchildren—still in uniform—stopped by. Some pretended to swim, arms flailing in slow motion. Two boys stood still, serious-faced, saying they felt like submarine pilots. One girl stood apart, listening intently but not joining in. When I asked if she was okay, she said:

“It feels like I’m drowning.” It was a powerful reminder that sound can evoke not just joy or playfulness, but also vulnerability.

🌌 A Whisper from Wetrip

I didn’t get to spend much time around Wetrip, the audio-visual installation (WETRIP-Daisy Dickinson & Simon Fisher Turner) , but I caught a glimpse of its effect through a passing conversation.

An elderly couple was just leaving the space when I greeted them. The man, looking blissed out, said:

“That was so soothing… I was almost falling asleep.” His partner gave him a sideways glance and replied with a smirk: “Yes, I was wondering where the snoring was coming from.” They both laughed. It was a small, affectionate moment—but it captured something essential about the installation: its ability to soften people and slow them down.

🦍 Supertramp and the Curious Canine

During a street performance by (Jack Supertramp) where the artist was dressed as a gorilla playing guitar, a man walking his dog passed by. The dog, curious, began sniffing toward the performer. The owner let it approach—and that’s when the barking started.

The dog barked at the gorilla. Then at the guitar. Then, as I was filming the whole thing, it turned and barked at me. I guess I became part of the performance too. It was one of those moments where art, life, and chaos collided in the best possible way.

🛢️ Tin Can Twins and the Grocery Bag Waltz

The (The Junkoactive Wasteman & The Tin Can Twins)—three performers clad in armor made of tin cans—were clanking and dancing in the square, drawing a crowd. As they performed, a very elderly woman approached, carrying a large bag of groceries. I instinctively stepped forward, thinking I might need to guide her away.

But before I could say anything, she gently set her bag down… and started dancing.

Not just swaying—dancing. Like no one was watching. Like she was 20 again and the world was made of rhythm and rusted metal. The performers noticed her and subtly shifted their movements to match hers. For a moment, it felt like the entire square was holding its breath.

🛍️ Observations from the Mall

Inside the mall, I noticed a pattern:

• Young adults and teens mostly walked past, eyes locked on shop windows or phones. Art, it seemed, wasn’t on their radar.

• Elderly visitors often stopped, asked questions, and shared stories. Their curiosity felt genuine and unhurried.

• Children were the most enthusiastic—eyes wide, imaginations firing. But not all parents were on board.

One moment stood out: a boy, maybe six or seven, broke away from his parents and came over to explore. He described what he saw with wild imagination—

“It’s a waterfall! No, a bathtub! Wait, it’s a boat! There are crickets! I’m diving!”

We were giving out stickers to kids, but we’d just run out. I dashed back to the studio to grab more. When I returned, he and his parents were gone. A few minutes later, I spotted them emerging from a shop. I rushed over and handed him a sticker.

His face lit up with a smile that could power a city. Then he turned to his parents with a look that said:

“See? That’s how you win.”

🎤 Final Thoughts

These moments—funny, touching, chaotic—are what made Sonic Arts Week unforgettable for me. Volunteering wasn’t just about logistics. It was about witnessing how art sneaks into people’s lives, even when they’re not looking for it. Sometimes it’s a bark. Sometimes it’s a sticker. Sometimes it’s a memory stirred by sound.

And sometimes, if you’re lucky, it’s a dance in a tin can suit or a child’s rebellion in the name of imagination.