| Mysterious Noises on 46th Street |
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| Written by Emma Steinh | |
 Max Neuhaus, 1999 If any of these people were to pause and stand still for a moment, the machine noise would begin to merge with a sound like church bells, seeming to emanate from some unseen place in the sky. They would look up, searching for the origin of the sound, but what they would see are the lights, buildings and advertisements of Times Square backed not by traffic, hollering, and rushing, but by strangely beautiful tones: gongs, bells and drones. The pedestrian island becomes enveloped in a block of sound, as the noise from the surrounding environment fades into the background. Although no plaque can be found, no explanatory text to accompany this unique experience, it is, in fact, a work of art, entitled Times Square, and its artist is Max Neuhaus. The work was originally installed at the same site from 1977-1992, at which point Neuhaus dismantled it because he had to return to Europe and the piece required constant monitoring. However, Times Square was missed, and during 2001 and 2002, the Times Square Street Business Improvement District (BID), Christine Burgin, the MTA Arts for Transit, and the Dia Art Foundation collaborated to reinstate Neuhaus's project. The block of sound returned to 46th Street on 22 May 2002, where it has remained for the public to experience twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.  Neuhaus entering his Times Square installation Experiencing Times Square involves more than aural sensation, however. Neuhaus in fact argues that art should privilege the visual and the aural sensations equally. This is interesting because Neuhaus himself does not create a visual component to his installation; he hides the machinery that allows us to hear the block of sound underground. Neuhaus says the visual component is Times Square's "billboards, moving neon signs, office buildings, hotels, theaters, porno centers and electronic game emporiums." The visual component is also the thousands of people who are potential experiencers of his work: the "tourists, theatergoers, commuters, pimps, shoppers, hucksters and office workers." Often, when these people shift from the observed to the observers, stumbling into "Times Square," they claim the sounds they hear as a phenomenon of their own discovery. Because the work remains anonymous, they do not think it could be an artist's construction. When a person stands within the block of sound, the surrounding environment becomes cinematic. The people rush past, the lights flash, the cars stop and start, but the viewer is free to become a passive observer, detached from what he or she was previously immersed in. The sound block becomes peaceful; a place of respite from the surrounding speed. When I visited Times Square for the first time, I allowed the block of sound to temporarily dissolve the usual sensations that Times Square's environment provokes, and I soon discovered that I could play the space. As I walked around slowly, the frequencies I heard changed according to where my body was located. I began to feel that I could cause the sounds to change, or that I played the sounds myself rather than that I listened to them. The experience became interactive, and I felt that I had agency in a space where I am usually at the mercy of the traffic lights and pressing crowds. When I allowed myself to exit the soun! d block, Times Square's pace felt slightly subdued, as if I had been given access to a special elixir that could slow everything down. After experiencing Times Square, Times Square itself is changed. There is a secret there, a small area on a pedestrian island that has the power to completely remove the passerby from the senses saturated environment of midtown. Times Square is a peaceful, private space in the most public of public places; a completely immersive aural and visual environment in the most sound and sight filled part of New York City. I urge you to go there, any time of day or night, to feel this unique stillness in the midst of the city of endless momentum and unstoppable light. |
