6 Images. 24” X 9”: 61 X 22.9 cm.
Acrylic, Cupuaçu Oil, Ink, Oil, Shape-Memory Polymer Foam, Criollo Tobacco,
French Poudre B, Blue Tansy Oil, Colored Pen on Canson Infinity Baryta Photographique
Edition of 6 with 2 APs
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Entangled Dreams in a Concrete Mirage
A Curatorial Commentary by Walter Robinson
Entangled Dreams in a Concrete Mirage is a six-panel performance art score for solo viola that blurs the line between musical notation and visual art. Published as a series of mixed-media prints (24 x 9 inches each, the work must be “deconstructed” rather than simply played. In the tradition of mid-20th-century graphic scores by composers like John Cage and Cornelius Cardew produced extravagant, sometimes baffling visual scores that questioned every notational convention. Smith extends this legacy of experimentation. Each panel of Entangled Dreams in a Concrete Mirage functions as both a temporal map and a pictorial tableau, inviting the performer to navigate a polymodal lexicon of musical glyphs, textual fragments, and sculptural forms. The result is a score that operates sequentially like a visual narrative, its performative logic unfolding through images rather than a traditional linear manuscript. This commentary provides a comprehensive analysis of the series’ visual language, materiality, symbolic elements, and thematic arc, examining how the progression from one image to the next shapes its meaning and performance.
Visual Language and Hybrid Notation
Panel 2 of the series, exemplifying the layering of musical glyphs, text fragments, and graphic shapes. Several sculptural forms (e.g. CapzÑo at center) appear amid dense black notation and directional arrows, indicating a hybrid score that requires nonlinear reading and interpretive navigation.
Smith employs a hybrid notational system that combines standard musical symbols with idiosyncratic graphics and typographic elements. In the embedded image of Panel 2 (above), one can discern remnants of conventional notation, that of rhythmic grids and note-like dots entangled with free-form shapes, painterly strokes, and mutated text. Traditional staves or clefs, if present at all, are deconstructed into fragments: for instance, thick horizontal lines and clusters of noteheads float without a stable five-line staff, and numerals at the top edge mark temporal coordinates (in seconds) rather than measures. This suggests a timeline running through each panel, aligning with the score’s horizontal flow.
Across the six images, the density of visual information ebbs and flows, modulating how the performer must interpret the score. Early panels present relatively sparse, spatially distinct motifs, allowing the performer to establish a tempo and vocabulary of gestures. As the sequence progresses, notation becomes increasingly saturated and layered. In Panel 2, dense constellations of black ink and overlapping symbols already demand a more interpretive, deconstructive reading. By Panel 5 or 6, the visual field verges on chaotic complexity, with swirling glyphs and multi-directional markings that challenge the notion of a single “correct” reading. This gradual increase in notational complexity means the performer must shift from reading discrete instructions to navigating textural or gestural cues.
In effect, Smith’s visual language destabilizes conventional musical comprehension and the score is less a fixed script and more an open, graphic labyrinth that the performer must traverse. Through typographic mutations – letters that change size or font mid-word, or textual snippets like A†so’ Mi or Sett-Zletto that break linguistic logic as the work integrates the concrete poetry of text into the musical canvas.
These textual bits behave as visual elements in their own right, sometimes as graphic rhythm (e.g. repeated letters or symbols creating patterns) and sometimes as semantic enigmas. The musical glyphs (such as dynamic markings, accent signs, or clef-like spirals) are similarly repurposed: removed from the rules of standard notation, they act as signposts of intensity or texture. For example, a crescendo hairpin or fermata symbol might be placed unconventionally to signal an action or quality of sound rather than a precise volume or pause. Smith’s sequential arrangement of these elements means that each panel builds upon the last as motifs introduced in one image may transform in the next, and visual rhythms established early on (say, a recurring zigzag line or cluster of staccato dots) might accelerate or disperse as the piece goes on.
This visual-sequential syntax creates a performative logic: the performer reading the score experiences a controlled drift from the familiar toward the unknown. In summary, the work’s visual language is one of hybridity and flux, where multiple notation systems merge. The progression from Panel 1 through 6 is a journey from relative clarity to deliberate ambiguity, requiring the violist to engage in a creative, almost improvisational decoding of the score’s signs.
Material and Medium as Message
One of the most striking aspects of Entangled Dreams in a Concrete Mirage is its material palette. Smith’s score is not merely ink on paper; it is crafted with an alchemical mix of acrylic paint, oils, botanical substances, and novel polymers. According to the blog publication, all six panels were created with “Acrylic, Cupuaçu Oil, Ink, Oil, Shape-Memory Polymer Foam, Criollo Tobacco, French Poudre B, Blue Tansy Oil, [and] Colored Pen on Canson Infinity Baryta Photographique.” Each of these materials contributes both visual texture and conceptual resonance:
Acrylic and Oil Paint: These traditional art mediums create layered opacity and translucency on the page. Thick acrylic strokes may form bold gestures or textured relief, whereas oil (and oil-based ink) can produce rich hues and subtle gradients. The interplay of acrylic and oil suggests a dialogue between quick-drying immediacy and slow-drying blending, visually echoing the work’s tension between precise notation and blurrier, more interpretive passages. The presence of visible brushwork or impasto in the score reminds us that this is also a painting series, grounding the ephemeral musical instructions in a tangible, physical process.
Cupuaçu Oil and Blue Tansy Oil: These plant-derived oils likely serve as both pigment carriers and symbolic agents. Cupuaçu, a tropical rainforest fruit, yields a buttery oil; Blue Tansy is a flower that produces a distinctive blue essential oil. In the visuals, these oils may appear as stains, washes, or diffused color fields. Their oily translucency can create dreamlike overlays, as if certain parts of the score are seen through a fluid haze. Conceptually, the use of botanical oils introduces an organic, living quality to the work. They carry aromas and connotations: one can imagine a subtle scent emanating from the pages, engaging the performer’s senses beyond the visual. The oils’ tendency to spread or seep could also signify the idea of the entanglement of forms bleeding into one another, boundaries of notation dissolving like a dream bleeding into reality.
Criollo Tobacco: Tobacco leaf (especially the prized Criollo variety) adds an earthy, fibrous texture. It may be applied in the form of finely ground tobacco dust, or even small collage fragments of leaf embedded in the surface. Visually, tobacco could manifest as brown, organic patches or gritty particulate matter fixed in acrylic medium. Its presence infuses the score with a sense of ritual and decay – tobacco is a plant of ceremonial use (smoke as offering) but also of consumption and burning. Here it might signify a burnt-out residue or a fragrant trace, layering the notion of time and entropy (tobacco dries and crumbles with age). Thematically, the tobacco connects to Concrete Mirage’s environmental undertones: a natural material altered by human cultivation and often associated with smoke, it hints at both ephemerality (smoke dissipating) and toxicity (cultural and physical).
French Poudre B: Historically, “Poudre B” refers to one of the earliest smokeless gunpowders invented in France. Including it as a material is provocative as it implies that the artist may have used actual explosive powder in the creation of these images. This could mean scorch marks or particulate residue incorporated into the artwork. Perhaps dark sooty textures or subtle scorch-lines appear in some panels, as if sections of the score have been literally blasted or charred. The inclusion of gunpowder imbues the work with an element of volatility and drama. It’s a material that suggests the sound of an explosion, linking visual art to sonic force. Even if not ignited, the symbolic weight of Poudre B aligns with the piece’s theme of entropy and collapse being an allusion to destructive forces, war (gunpowder), or transformation through fire. The material itself might also chemically react with the oils and paper over time, a reminder that the score is a living object subject to change and decay.
Shape-Memory Polymer Foam: This is a highly unusual ingredient for a score, more at home in engineering than art. Shape-memory foam can deform and return to a preset shape when triggered (often by heat). In the visual score, this polymer might have been used to create 3D relief elements or stamps. Perhaps small foam shapes were embedded or pressed into the paper, giving a tactile, sculptural dimension to certain notations. Under the glossy baryta paper, one might see faint raised forms or imprints taking the form of literal sculptural forms integrated into the 2D plane. The concept of “memory” in this material resonates with the notion of entangled dreams: the foam “remembers” form, much as the score itself remembers musical ideas across panels. It introduces a kinetic potential (a suggestion that parts of the score could move or spring back), reinforcing that this is a performance score with an active life, not a static image. Thematically, shape-memory polymer hints at technology and synthetic life, standing in contrast to the organic materials like oils and tobacco. It underscores the series’ synthetic dramaturgy – an interplay between the natural and the engineered.
Colored Pen on Canson Baryta Photographique: Amid these exotic media, Smith also uses humble colored pen for fine lines, annotations or to delineate certain shapes with precision. The crispness of pen lines can sharpen details that might otherwise be lost in the washes of paint and oil. Executed on Canson Infinity Baryta Photographique paper, the images have the luminous depth and fine resolution of a photograph. This heavyweight baryta-coated paper is typically used for gallery-quality photo prints, implying that Smith’s score is meant to be exhibited as much as it is to be performed. The baryta surface would enhance contrast and detail: every ink line, oil stain, or speck of tobacco is rendered in high definition, almost hyper-real in texture. It also suggests a slight sheen, so viewing the physical score might shift in appearance under light, an apt metaphor for the mirage aspect of the title. The editioning of the prints (6 copies with 2 artist proofs further frames the score as an art object, collectible and reproducible, bridging the worlds of music notation and visual art printmaking.
Together, these materials create a rich visual texture and an affective register that far exceeds traditional ink-on-paper scores. Each panel becomes a kind of sensory collage – the crackle of gunpowder, the scent of oils and tobacco, the sheen of acrylic – even if a performer only sees a digital image, the knowledge of these materials adds layers of meaning. In performance, the violist might respond to the tactile and visual cues of these substances: a scorched patch might call for a raspy ponticello bow scrape, a flowing blue oil wash might invite a languid, bending pitch. The materiality thus informs the interpretive behavior, anchoring the score’s dreamlike imagery in the concrete reality of substances and their connotations.
Ultimately, the use of such non-traditional media aligns with a broader trend in experimental music and art to expand the notion of a score – much as some Fluxus artists included everyday objects and materials as integral to performance instructions, Smith uses material as notation. The score itself becomes a palimpsest of actions (staining, burning, collaging) that reflect the artistic labor behind it, and invite the performer to sense that labor and process during interpretation.
Embedded Objects and Symbolic Forms
Throughout the six panels, one encounters a menagerie of mysterious sculptural forms, each labeled with an evocative name. These include, for example, CapzÑo, Rinium, Vello Copo, Kras Evero, Balastrada, Vepi-Meiga, and many others, each assigned to a drawn or collaged form within the score. Far from random decorations, these embedded objects serve as proxies for musical gestures, rhythms, or sonic morphologies unique to this composition. Smith treats these forms almost like characters or actors in a visual drama – each with a semiotic role and sculptural agency in the score’s narrative.
Detail of Panel 3, featuring multiple sculptural forms with names: Vello Copo (green organic shape, left), Edrava–Booy (jagged red form, center), Y-Kios–Lo (dark angular form), Roylamoco (upper right), and Regøpe–Delanto (lower right). These enigmatic figures punctuate the score, each suggesting a distinct timbral or gestural identity.
In the embedded Panel 3 detail above, we see five labeled forms, each rendered with a unique shape, color, and texture. Vello Copo, for instance, appears as a green, almost cellular shape – its name conjuring softness (vellum or velvet) and cup-like forms (copo meaning cup in Portuguese), perhaps suggesting a soft, enveloping sound or a container of sonic resonance. In contrast, Edrava–Booy is drawn as a spiky red burst, its aggressive geometry and bright color implying an accent or explosive effect.
The hyphenated, bifurcated names (like Regøpe–Delanto) hint that these forms might be compound ideas or evolving states: a sound that morphs from one quality to another. The use of unusual characters (the “ø” in Regøpe) and diacritics (Ñ in CapzÑo, the cross † in BurDos†y) gives each term a cryptic, quasi-linguistic flavor, as if from an invented language or ritual lexicon. They resist any simple translation, positioning the performer in a space of interpretation rather than instruction.
These sculptural elements likely correspond to specific extended techniques or physical gestures on the viola. One can imagine that when the performer encounters CapzÑo (represented in Panel 2 as a particular configuration of lines and shapes), it cues a certain mode of playing – perhaps a scratchy, percussive bowing that phonetically matches the harsh “Capz” sound, followed by a nasal resonance suggested by “Ño”. Likewise, a form named Trew’-Yaw might instruct a yawing motion of the instrument or slide in pitch (the word “yaw” indicating a turning movement), while Sett–Zletto could imply a suddenly “set” (stopped) sound followed by a glissando or “sul ponticello sforzato” attack (the sharp “Z” sound hinting at a zesty, edgy noise).
In this way, the forms act as graphical onomatopoeia or symbolic icons for sonic events. They encapsulate what composer and sound artist Raven Chacon observes in experimental notation: the score’s visual ideas can carry “charged stories with deep implications”, sometimes touching on ecology or social ritual to shape the sound world. Here, each named form carries its own mini-story or identity, contributing to the piece’s overall dramaturgy.
The semiotic function of these objects is multifold. Visually, they break the uniformity of musical notation with bursts of imagistic content, grabbing the eye like landmarks in a landscape of notes. They often sit at crucial structural points in the panels – for example, a big form might occur at a temporal milestone (say the golden section of the piece or at a climactic time marking on the timeline). In this placement, they serve as tempo or narrative anchors: the performer might interpret a large colored form as a cue to shift pacing, volume, or technique dramatically.
Semiologically, the fact that they are labeled with text gives them a hybrid identity (part image, part word). This recalls the idea of musical cipher or mythical referent: much as medieval illuminated scores might depict creatures or symbols to convey theological meaning, Smith’s contemporary score introduces an almost mythic iconography of its own. The performer is prompted to react not just to abstract shapes, but to named entities – invoking imagination and possibly emotional associations (for example, the whimsy of Harlequinn in Bont Harlequinn might encourage a theatrical, playful approach at that moment).
Moreover, these forms have sculptural agency in that they seem to leap out of the flat page as objects of focus. Some appear rendered with shading or collage, giving an illusion of three-dimensionality. The shape-memory foam mentioned in the materials may correspond to these objects – perhaps tiny foam cut-outs were used to stamp or form these shapes, literally making them sculptural within the score’s surface.
If so, certain forms might actually protrude or have physical texture on the print, reinforcing their presence. In performance art contexts, scores sometimes serve as prompts for inter-media action: one could imagine that in a live realization, the performer might have actual objects or props corresponding to these forms (for instance, a piece of foam or a stone) to manipulate, or they might emulate the object’s qualities in sound. While the score itself doesn’t specify this outright, its visual suggestion is powerful – the viola becomes not just a musical instrument but a foley device to animate these sculptural visions sonically.
Across the sequence of six images, the roster of sculptural forms may evolve. Some forms are unique to one panel, while others (if any recur) could serve as leitmotifs reappearing in later panels, transformed. For example, if Rinium appears in Panel 1 as a small seedling shape and then something reminiscent of Rinium shows up enlarged in Panel 6, it would signal a long-range development of a theme (unfolding like a dream entity growing in each image). Even if none literally repeat, there is a sense that each panel introduces new “characters” while continuing the story: Panel 1’s objects set the initial tableau, Panel 3 (as shown) enriches the cast, Panel 6 might bring a culmination or collision of all these invented entities. This serial introduction and evolution of forms contributes to what we might call the piece’s synthetic dramaturgy – an artificial yet coherent dramatic structure constructed out of visual-sonic symbols.
In summary, Smith’s use of embedded sculptural forms with inscrutable names adds a critical layer to the score’s meaning. These forms stand as icons of gesture – tangible signifiers of how the music should feel and move. They operate on the performer’s psyche, engaging imagination and inviting a performance that is as much theatrical as it is musical. Just as a graphic novelist populates panels with characters guiding a narrative, Smith populates his score with symbolic actors, ensuring that each section of music is infused with identity and intent beyond abstract notes.
Temporal Themes: Time, Entropy, and Synthetic Dramaturgy
Entangled Dreams in a Concrete Mirage engages deeply with themes of time and entropy, weaving a synthetic dramaturgy that reflects on accumulation, decay, and possibly environmental collapse. The score’s very format – six sequential images with explicit time markings – makes the passage of time a visible structural element. The top edge of each panel is inscribed with numeric timestamps (e.g., 0:00, 21.2”, 43.7”, etc.), mapping chronological progress across the horizontal axis. This literal timeline notation means that as one scans from left to right, one is also moving forward in performance time.
The six panels likely correspond to distinct sections or movements, but because they flow one into the next (often with arrows or graphical links connecting panels), they also form one continuous arc. Time is not just a measure here; it is an elastic medium that the visuals actively sculpt. Some portions of the images have tightly compressed notation (indicating dense activity in a short time), while others have more open space (indicating a stretch of slower, sparse activity). By manipulating visual density as a proxy for temporal intensity, Smith makes the experience of time palpable: the performer and viewer alike can see time thickening, looping, or unraveling across the series.
Entropy – the tendency of systems toward disorder – is suggested by the score’s progression from relative visual order to near-chaos. In early panels, forms are separated, notations align in a somewhat discernible structure (for instance, one can follow a primary horizontal line of action). As the piece advances, entropy increases: the once-distinct staves or lines begin to fray into splatters of ink and overlapping scrawls; textual instructions fragment into scattered letters; pictorial elements multiply and collide. By the penultimate and final panels, the composition reaches a state of visual overload, where differentiating individual gestures becomes challenging amid the thicket of marks. This trajectory can be read as a commentary on accumulation and collapse.
Just as a narrative might build to a frenzy or an environment accumulate detritus until a breaking point, the score mirrors this by accumulating marks and materials. The incorporation of physically entropic processes – like the burn marks of Poudre B or the bleeding of oils – means the artwork literally embodies entropy. No two prints might be exactly the same if materials shift or degrade; over time the oils might discolor, the paper might absorb tobacco stains deeper. In a metaphorical sense, the piece encapsulates the modern experience of cognitive overload: an initial clarity of thought giving way to information saturation, where signals and noise blend. The performer, tasked with realizing this score, must confront that overload and make sense of it, enacting the theme in real time as they decide what threads to follow in the dense later panels.
This entropic drift is not without purpose – it is part of the synthetic dramaturgy that Smith constructs. By “synthetic,” we refer to how the piece fuses disparate elements (notation, painting, sculpture, text) into a single dramaturgical framework, an artificial theatre within the score.
Each panel can be seen as a scene in this theatre, and the increasing chaos is akin to rising action in a play or the climax of a story. However, unlike a traditional dramaturgy that might resolve neatly, here the final outcome is deliberately ambiguous. The title’s imagery of dreams entangled in a concrete mirage hints at a loop between the ephemeral and the solid, the subconscious and the real. Time in this piece may not be strictly linear or rational – it could be cyclical or diffusive. For example, arrows between panels could indicate not only forward movement but also transformation (a motif doesn’t end but mutates and seeps into the next panel, like a dream logic where scenes change fluidly).
Thematically, this engagement with time and disorder resonates with broader contemporary concerns. The chaotic layering and ultimate breakdown of clear structure in the score can be read as a reflection on environmental collapse: the natural materials (oils, tobacco) intermixed with synthetic polymers and explosive residue paint a picture of nature entangled with industry, possibly to the point of mutual ruin.
The “concrete mirage” may allude to our constructed environments (concrete cities, technological frameworks) that promise stability but prove illusory or unsustainable. Over the course of the six panels, one might interpret that the dream (the artistic ideal, or natural order) becomes increasingly entangled in the concrete (the material, the man-made), resulting in a mirage – a deceiving image of coherence that ultimately fractures. In other words, the score’s visual chaos could mirror the chaos of an overwhelmed ecosystem or psyche.
Yet, within this seeming chaos, there is also the possibility of transformation. Entropy in art is not purely destructive; it can be generative, leading to new forms of order (as abstract expressionism found beauty in chaotic gesture, or as certain aleatoric music finds structure in chance).
Smith’s final panel might thus represent not merely collapse but a diffraction of meaning – a splitting of the unified narrative into multiple pathways. The performer might take this as liberating: by the final section, they are free from the strictures of earlier motifs and can choose how to interpret the torrent of symbols, possibly improvising or inserting their own expressive response. In this way, the piece engages the idea of artistic labor and agency: the score provides a scaffold, but it is the performer’s labor – their decisions and interactions with the instrument – that bring coherence to the entropy.
This reflects a meta-commentary on artistic creation itself: the composer has layered materials and signs to deliberately overload the senses, and the performer (like the viewer) must participate in finding meaning amidst entropy, a parallel to how we as a society must find clarity amid information chaos or hope amid ecological crisis.
The concept of time in Entangled Dreams is therefore twofold: chronos (measured seconds marked on the page) and kairos (the experiential, qualitative time of the performance unfolding). The score’s synthetic dramaturgy orchestrates both – the chronos gives it a skeleton, the kairos is fleshed out through the entropic, dreamlike visuals that invite subjective feeling. Thus, the piece is as much about the process of temporal experience as it is about any sonic outcome. It turns the act of performance into a ritual of navigation through time’s complexity: the violist becomes a kind of protagonist journeying from order into chaos, negotiating with the score as one would with fate, shaping meaning in the moment from the kaleidoscopic clues provided.
Color and Spatial Logic
Color in Entangled Dreams in a Concrete Mirage is not merely decorative but plays a functional role in guiding temporal and performative experience. As the panels progress, color fields and accents emerge as signals of mood and structural emphasis. Early panels appear relatively monochromatic – dominated by black ink on the white (or neutral) ground of the baryta paper, possibly with subtle sepia from cupuaçu oil. This restrained palette provides a kind of blank canvas for the performer at the outset, focusing attention on fundamental gestures and rhythms.
As the dream entangles with the concrete, new colors seep in: Panel 2 introduces hints of pigment (perhaps the warm brown of tobacco or a flash of vermilion acrylic), and by Panel 3 and beyond, distinct colors like green, red, and blue claim their space (as seen in the Panel 3 detail image, with a green Vello Copo and a red Edrava–Booy form). Each color patch or shape tends to stand out from the black-and-white notation, thereby functioning as a temporal marker or cue. For instance, a sudden wash of blue (likely from Blue Tansy oil) might wash over a section of notes – visually slowing the reading speed as the performer navigates a nebulous blue haze, perhaps indicating an ethereal timbral shift or a moment of suspension. Conversely, a bright red splatter could coincide with a dense cluster of symbols, underscoring a moment of intensity or alarm that demands a burst of energy in sound.
Smith’s use of color often correlates with the emotional or dynamic contour of the piece. We might observe that cooler colors (blues, greens) are employed during more spacious, reflective passages, whereas hotter colors (reds, oranges, acidic yellows) appear at climactic or violent junctures. This kind of synesthetic mapping isn’t arbitrary; it gives the performer intuitive cues. Even without explicit written instructions, the performer can infer: “a red-saturated phrase likely calls for abrasive or loud techniques, while a blue-tinged area invites a delicate or unstable harmonic texture.” In this sense, color becomes a parallel notation system. It’s akin to a film score’s use of leitmotif, but in visual form – a method seen in some contemporary graphic scores where composers use color to indicate different playing modes or emotional states.
Spatial positioning of elements on each panel further guides the performer’s reading path and pacing. Smith carefully choreographs the page so that the eye (and thus the performer’s attention) moves in a deliberate way. Typically, the performer reads left to right (following time), but within that flow, vertical and diagonal placement of symbols suggests layers of simultaneity or priority. For example, one passage might have a bold graphic swoop cutting diagonally upward across the staff – this could mean an accelerating flourish that literally leaps in pitch or intensity. Directly below, smaller, lighter markings might trail behind, indicating secondary actions or resonance that lingers as the main gesture ascends. The spatial logic is thus stratified: foreground actions are drawn with heavier lines and placed prominently, while background or inner voices are in finer pen, tucked slightly above or below the main timeline. Such spatial layering ensures the performer can differentiate what element to bring out at a given moment (much like reading a polyphonic conventional score, but here the “voices” are arranged visually rather than on separate staves).
Another key spatial element is the use of directional arrows and connective lines. At the edges of panels, arrows often point to the right – a clear instruction that the music continues onto the next image, preventing any implicit pause at the page turn. Within a panel, arrows or dotted lines might connect one motif to another, suggesting that the performer trace a path in a specific order or manner. For instance, an arrow curving from a lower-left symbol up to an upper-right symbol might mean “carry this gesture into that one,” implying a legato connection or a causal relationship (the first event triggers the second). In some areas, swirling arrows could even indicate circular breathing or cyclic repetitions until a cue. The spatial distribution of these cues essentially plots the performer’s journey through the score: it can enforce a fast transition (a bold arrow jumping across a gap means quickly move on) or allow breathing room (elements spaced far apart on the page encourage a slower pace or silence in between).
Moreover, the geometry of placement – whether elements align vertically or are staggered – communicates simultaneity vs. sequence. Elements stacked vertically (even if not on a formal staff) imply concurrent sounds or composite textures, whereas those staggered slightly to the right indicate a sequence (like a canon or echo). Smith takes advantage of the page’s two-dimensional space to encode a temporal structure in a quasi-graphic notation manner, consistent with the idea that a score is “a route-map and an exhortation to perform” spatially, not just textually.
Color and space together create a kind of immersive map for interpretation. The performer doesn’t just read the music; they enter it visually. Large fields of color can feel like vistas or terrains: a broad swipe of gray could be a fog the performer wanders through (playing airy, indistinct sounds), while a dense black block might be a wall they must forcefully break (producing scratch tones or percussive knocks on the instrument’s body).
The spatial logic ensures that even within the overwhelming detail of later panels, there is hierarchy and direction. For example, in Panel 5 one might find the four named objects (Plect-al8, Speaje, BurDos†y, Vepi-Meiga) arranged in a certain spatial relationship – perhaps forming a constellation that mirrors a musical structure (such as a sequence of four gestures or a harmonic cluster with four components). Their color or shape differences help the performer distinguish them and assign each a temporal weight (maybe accelerating through them or giving each a distinct tone color).
Finally, the overall visual design – the fact that these images are panoramic 24x9” prints – means that the aspect ratio is long and narrow. This wide horizontal canvas naturally emphasizes a left-to-right flow (time), but the relatively short vertical span concentrates activity without excessive blank vertical space. Smith uses this to advantage by avoiding any strict linear narrative confined to a single line; instead, the narrow height means everything is somewhat vertically compressed, encouraging the eye to consider multiple vertical elements at once.
It’s as if one is reading a dense line of poetry where above and below each word, footnotes and asides vie for attention. The performer, in practice, likely scans the whole vertical cross-section of the score at a given time point to glean all relevant information (notes, color, symbols, text) before moving forward. Color highlights and spatial groupings make this feasible by visually chunking information: the performer can take in “the red gesture” followed by “the blue cloud” as separate chunks, rather than being lost in dozens of tiny black notes.
In essence, the color and spatial logic in Entangled Dreams in a Concrete Mirage serve as the visual dramaturgy of time. They guide the performer’s focus, influence the pacing, and ensure that the act of reading the score is a kinaesthetic experience – the eyes move in rhythm, jump, linger, and sweep in patterns that mirror the music’s flow. By skillfully deploying color coding and spatial composition, Smith has embedded a second layer of notation that operates on a cognitive and sensory level, leading the performer through the piece’s complex temporal landscape as surely as a conductor’s baton.
Sequential Flow and Conclusion of the Series
As a serial work, the six panels of Entangled Dreams in a Concrete Mirage function in concert, each image a chapter in an unfolding visual-sonic narrative. The serial continuity is evident in the way motifs and energies develop from one panel to the next. Panel 1 opens the experience, establishing the core “dream” motifs: likely a few key symbols and a baseline texture or tempo that set the stage. There is a sense of tentative order in the first image – the performer finds their bearings with the novel notation, much like the opening of a story where characters and setting are introduced calmly.
We see initial tensions seeded: perhaps a bold diagonal slash hinting at disruption to come, or a solitary sculptural form (like Rinium) whose quiet presence will later germinate into chaos. The transition to Panel 2 is marked by an uptick in activity: new symbols appear, the notation’s density increases, and the first dramatic color or material interventions occur (a smear of oil, a burst of black from Poudre B). The tension starts to build as the dreams begin to entangle – by now the performer has to juggle multiple layers of information and the music likely becomes more agitated or complex.
Panels 3 and 4 can be interpreted as the middle acts where the interaction of elements peaks. By Panel 3, as illustrated earlier, a multitude of sculptural forms populate the score, and the visual field is rich with color and detail. This mid-section is where the score’s earlier promises fully blossom (or unravel): musical ideas introduced in Panel 1 or 2 reach elaborate variations. Tensions between order and disorder play out vividly – for instance, Panel 3 might still maintain fragments of linear notation (suggesting some underlying pulse or melody struggling to continue) but these are frequently interrupted or overlapped by graphical explosions and divergent sub-threads. Panel 4 could represent a tipping point: it has titles like Kras Evero, Finabelca, Balastrada, Bont Harlequinn – names that imply a carnival of forms (Harlequinn evokes clowns or trickster figures). Perhaps Panel 4 is the score’s scherzo or maelstrom, where formal structure is nearly consumed by playful anarchy.
The presence of “Harlequinn” hints that this section might even have a sardonic or ironic character, as if the score becomes self-aware of its chaos and dances in it. Here the synthetic dramaturgy likely reaches a climax: all the various media (paint, text, collage) collide in full force, and the performer is confronted with the maximal challenge of interpretation. Musically, this could correspond to the loudest, fastest, or most texturally dense moment of the piece.
With Panel 5, a shift occurs. After the apex of chaos, there might be a transformation – not a return to order per se, but a change in the nature of the material. The object names in Panel 5 (like Plect-al8 and BurDos†y) suggest more mechanical or cryptic elements entering. “Plect” evokes plucking (plectrum) or a mechanism, and the inclusion of a numeral “8” is unique, as if introducing a technical or mathematical motif amid the organic chaos.
This indicates that the piece enters a new phase: perhaps a mechanistic repetition or a loop (the way the number might signify a recurring figure or an octave). The graphics might show some regularity returning – e.g., a repeated pattern or a droning texture – as if the music is trying to coalesce into a new order from the debris of the climax.
The colors here could cool down or simplify, marking a contrast with the riot of Panel 4. Panel 5’s role in the sequence might be transitional – holding the tension between the residue of the chaos and the hint of resolution. It is in these late moments that the thematic undercurrents (time, memory, collapse) surface consciously: the performer, having navigated the storm, now interprets signs of either rebuilding or fading. Perhaps some of the sculptural forms in Panel 5 appear eroded or ghost-like, implying that certain motives are dissolving. Alternatively, Panel 5 might introduce a ritualistic coda motif (maybe the repetition of a simple gesture eight times, hinted by “al8”) to bring a sense of ritual closure.
Finally, Panel 6 serves as the culmination or aftermath of the journey. What does the final image depict? The question itself invites us to consider multiple possibilities: resolution, collapse, or diffraction of meaning. A compelling aspect of Smith’s work is that all three could be true simultaneously. The final panel might present a scene of apparent collapse – perhaps a blackened expanse as if the notational universe imploded into noise, or conversely a near-white blankness as if all energy was expended and only silence remains. In terms of composition, this could mean the music either ends in a cacophonous gesture (the viola making unpitched noise or extreme effects) or in a fragile quiet (harmonics or air sounds as the remnants of the dream).
On the other hand, there could be a sense of resolution: certain recurring visual motifs might align or converge in Panel 6, giving a last echo of unity. For example, if a specific shape or interval haunted the piece, maybe here it is drawn large and central, asserting a final coherent idea. Perhaps a clear tonal chord or a single sustained pitch is notated – a rare moment of traditional notation reasserting itself to conclude the piece, offering a glimpse of consonance or clarity (the “dream” finding form in the “concrete” reality at last).
The notion of diffraction is equally intriguing: instead of a single ending, the final image might refract the accumulated content into a spectrum of possible meanings. Visually, this could manifest as a prismatic effect – imagine faint echoes of all the prior panels’ motifs scattered across Panel 6, without clear order, like memory shards.
The performer confronted with this might realize that there is no one way to finish – they must choose which fragment to follow, or which sound to let linger. In practical terms, the score might not dictate an absolute end but rather a set of options or a fading process (for instance, “repeat and gradually omit fragments until only one remains”). Thus the meaning of the finale “diffracts”: each performance might end differently, and each audience member might take away a different sense of closure or openness.
From a curatorial perspective, how the six images operate in serial continuity is essential to understanding the work’s performative logic. They are interdependent; one cannot isolate a single panel and grasp the whole narrative. Displayed as a series on a gallery wall, they would read like a storyboard or a progressive mural – the viewer’s experience walking along them paralleling the performer’s temporal traversal.
Tensions build through recurring visual rhythms (like a swelling and receding of complexity) and through the psychological journey induced by the shifting imagery. Importantly, the series format allows Bil Smith to play with expectation and memory: a motif shown in an earlier panel creates an expectation that is either fulfilled or subverted later.
For example, if early on a big arrow foreshadows some event “to happen” (pointing to something not yet seen), when the viewer reaches a later panel and finds that event (say a huge blast of color exactly where the arrow predicted), it gives a sense of narrative payoff. Conversely, if something is set up and then the final panel withholds it or obscures it, it leaves a lingering question – much like the unresolved chord at the end of an avant-garde piece that keeps resonating in the listener’s mind.
In conclusion, Entangled Dreams in a Concrete Mirage achieves a remarkable feat: it functions simultaneously as a visual art series and as a temporal score for performance. Its sequential flow is the key to this dual identity. Through the six panels, Bil Smith engineers a complex interplay of visual and thematic development – a progression that is musical in pacing and dramatic in content. The final image does not simply stop the music; it is the synthesis of the journey – whether that synthesis is a clear summation or a dispersed aftermath is left intentionally open. This openness is a conscious artistic choice, reflecting the work’s engagement with ambiguity and the unknown.
The performer, like the viewer, is left at the edge of a mirage: was a coherent truth uncovered, or did it splinter into the ether? The score does not dictate an answer; instead, it offers a richly layered experience that mirrors the complexity of contemporary life – where dreams and concrete reality intertwine, and meaning is something we continually construct and deconstruct.
By analyzing the series as a whole, we come to appreciate how each visual element – from hybrid notation and material textures to symbolic forms and color cues – contributes to a unified performative logic.
Entangled Dreams in a Concrete Mirage stands as an exemplar of interdisciplinary art, where music composition, visual art, and conceptual narrative converge. It challenges performers and audiences alike to embrace a mode of engagement that is at once analytical and intuitive, requiring both decoding and imagination. In the end, the six images operate much like six movements of a sonata or six scenes of an avant-garde theatre piece, leading us through an exploration of time and entropy, only to leave us with a potent question mark. It is in that unresolved, diffused meaning – that final mirage – that the work finds its lasting impact, echoing long after the last panel is viewed or the last note is played.
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