When we think about imagery, isn’t it so easy to think visual? It is natural. When someone is trying to describe a person to us, what is the first thing we ask to help conjure up a picture…yes, you know the answer…we say “what does she look like?” How often do we say “what does she sound like?” Never, right? But why? The visual is powerful, I grant that, but not as visceral or tied to memory as sound or smell or touch. I experienced something of an object lesson in the importance of respecting the auditory today. I was sitting in a favorite coffee shop (sidenote: I should probably be embarrassed at how much time I spend in coffee shops, but I confess I am not. I love them. I love the calm and chaos combined. I love the feeling of being free of responsibility—nothing to clean, no laundry to do. I can do whatever task is at hand, without regret. Sadly, most of the time the task is grading papers…but somehow even that arduous work is made better by doing it in a coffee shop), minding my own business, when it happened. I was side-swiped by Harry Connick. Not actually—which would have been amazing—but by a song. I was transported back 25 years to my best friend’s basement bedroom. We were standing on the bed putting plastic glow stars onto the ceiling and listening to Harry Connick. Hearing that song actually changed me, for a brief moment, into the girl I had been. I felt how she felt, just for a minute or two, and it washed over me in a way that visual memory doesn’t. When the song was over I was left slightly saddened. The memory had been so vivid, that when it had passed I missed my friend deeply. And it is funny, because I recently saw a picture of us together, and though it made me think of him, and wonder how he was doing, it wasn’t a gut-punch like the song had been. I think it is important to note that this coffee shop is the most beautiful one I go to—I mean visually stunning. It isn’t the standard Starbucks, which is totally fine, but not especially inspiring. No. This place is eye candy. I love it. I love everything about it. Well, almost everything. The coffee isn’t always as good as Starbucks, BUT I don’t go there for the coffee alone. I go there for the experience. The pictures on the walls. The light fixtures. The leather armchairs and vaguely Parisian café tables. They even draw these incredible pictures in the foam of your coffee—a little piece of edible art. Today it was a feather. In other words, there was no lack of sensory opportunity that made me experience the song as I did. So, what about the music? They play great music there, but most days I couldn’t recall a single song. It is just an integral part of the place. And yet, with all of this visual bombardment coming at me, that song hit like a freight train. Suddenly the music went from background comfort to foreground focus. Wham! And I am still thinking about it hours later. We are all familiar with the concept of a ‘sound bite’—that little snippet of something that a reporter can expound on. But I say: No more. No more sound appetizers. No auditory tapas. No. Today I made a meal of sound. I let it roll on my tongue like some snooty wine taster with a bottle of Merlot. I carved it with a steak knife. I scooped it up by the spoonful and licked my lips to get every drop. A decadent prospect, yes? Perhaps you should try it. Next time you are writing a scene, or more importantly, the next time you are living one, close your eyes and listen to the feast all around you.
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Wendy Picard GorhamWendy lives and works in the midst of words everyday--English teacher by profession, and writer by passion! Archives
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