Forty Part Motet by Janet Cardiff

I was at an art gallery recently and had the priviledge of taking in Janet Cardiff's installation piece "Forty Part Motet".

http://www.tate.org.uk/liverpool/exhibitions/janetcardiff/

We walked into the gallery space, an empty room with 40 black speakers on stands set up in a circle. Two flat gallery benches were set in the centre, and were occupied by flabby tired gallery-goers. I was disappointed in the abscence of any real sculptural quality to the arrangement. I'd read that it was a sound installation, and so was surprised that the room was silent. After reading the blurb on the wall, and discovering that each speaker was supposed to be a voice, I wandered over to the nearest speaker. Sure enough, as I put my ear right up close, I could hear a child's voice reading the title of the piece, clearing his throat and chit-chatting with the person next to him. I drifted to the next speaker to continue the chat. This went on for a few minutes, I could hear papers rustling, singers warming up. It felt like eavesdropping. Then, faintly through all the speakers, the way you would hear if you were part of the choir, the Choirmaster addressed everyone. I paused and waited.
Then - from the speaker I was standing right next to - the first voice broke out, clear and gorgeous, carrying into the room. It was an incredible moment, the luck that put me right next to that particular speaker, and I savoured it. The singer carried on his solo opening for a bit, and I drifted towards another speaker to see what was happening. At that precise moment, the second singer started up - from the speaker I was standing right next to! I am now overwhelmed by the piece, and completely sucked into it, since I have the strange feeling that it is meant for me alone. The recordings are crisp and lifelike. Many voices join as the piece goes on. As I waft around the circle, sharing the intimacy of each choirmember's voice, the speakers take on a new dimension. The black-meshed fronts are now like monk's hoods, and I'm longing to pull them back and stare into the eyes belonging to the voice emitting from each one. I'm completely inside the music, and the artist has turned it into a personal experience, but the personalities of the singers are withheld. This mystery keeps me in the room, unable to leave part-way through, and I move hungrily from voice to voice. As I pause by one silent speaker, a new voice errupts, a deep bass. This time, tears spring up in my eyes. They feel like they came from somewhere behind my breathless lungs. What wonderful magic made me so fortunate as to experience the direct song, not once but three times?! I am in love.

If you get a chance to experience this artwork, do it.