At 6:45pm, just after the halfway mark of the opening time, the gallery was busy and the sound of the fountain was completely drowned out. Over the course of fifteen minutes the chatting in the room got louder, louder, louder, so loud that conversations and words all muddled together, nothing was clear, everything was just noise. Some of the visitors noticed this and started looking for how the volume was growing, most just kept trying to continue their conversation.
Then there was a chirp.
A chirp and a tweet.
A chirp and a cheep and a tweet and a tweet and a whistle and then a croak and a craw, a hoot and a coo, the sound of many birds started to fill the space. The talking started softening, until it was only a chorus of birds within the walls. Everyone inside the gallery was still.
After a while within the bird filled air there was a call from a flute.
doo - doo - doo - do - do
Then another, and another call, and then a song started the play. The birds started to quiet their calling and the three flutes sang to each other.
The flutes went for around three minutes.
And then they finished.
It was completely quiet in the gallery.
Except for the noise of the fountain.
1
2
3 minutes.
It felt so much longer, everyone standing there. Silent, waiting.
The fountain seemed so loud.
A few people asked me in very hushed voices if they should start an applause. I said no.
I gave it another minute, and then cracked a beer open.
Everyone started laughing and cheering in applause, and then went back to talking.
The people from behind the wall did not reveal themselves, so there was no physical answer to the sound. No explanation.
In that quiet moment we were just all there, silent bodies, waiting for a cue. Waiting. The cycle of the fountain was so loud.
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