Do I listen, or do I listen to myself? | Mirko Mescia | TEDxRiodelaPlataED

What is the difference between what we perceive and what actually happens? As a musical composer of theatre, circus, and puppets, Mirko learned to separate what he hears from what others hear and tells us some keys to be able to do it. Mirko Mescia is a stage musician and writer. He was born in Italy and completed his training in "Composition and Sound Effects" in theater, circus, and puppets in cities such as Granada, Copenhagen, and Buenos Aires. He composed music and sound designs for the scene both in Europe and Argentina, of which he composed the most outstanding for the works directed by Agustín Alezzo. He published the book "Points of Hearing: Interviews and Conversations". He is a teacher and does research on how the use, non-use, or abuse of sound influences the performing arts.
This talk was given at a TEDx event using the TED conference format but independently organized by a local community. Learn more at http://ted.com/tedx

A while ago I met a friend
who was coming from a trip to Europe.

He told me about the places he visited.

And when he told me
he had been to Rome

I asked him if he visited
the Sistine Chapel.

He answered me in a funny tone,
kind of displeased:

"Yes, yes, I was in the Sistine Chapel."

Then I asked him,
"What do you think of it?"

"It's small."

"Sure, because it's a chapel.
But what do you think of it?"

"I think it's very small. So much fuss
about the Sistine Chapel and that was it?"

"Yes, that's because it's a chapel.
Otherwise, it'd be the Sistine Cathedral!

But what do you think of it?"

"I didn't like it, it's too small."

Why do I feel so close
to what happened to my friend?

My name is Mirko Mescia
and I work as a stage musician.

For those who don't know, it's about
writing, organizing and deciding

what it sounds like, why,
how and from where it sounds

everything that you hear
in a theater show:

The music, the sounds,
the noises and the silence.

And, even if it doesn't look like it,
this story has a lot to do

with what I've been discovering
in my profession.

I am Italian,
everyone has their own problems.

However, my first steps in
performing arts were in Andalusia,

where I was very close
to the street circus.

At that time, my criteria for
sound selection and choice were two:

I like it, I don't like it.

For example, this.

(Guitar)

(Bear toy sound and bugle)

(Bellows)

(Guitar)

It didn't matter which scene
it was going with,

I always played it; I liked it.

And for me it worked; for me.

Everything I played and heard
was filtered through that:

I like it, I don't like it;
I like it, I don't like it.

In a nutshell, I would say:

I don't listen, I listen to myself.

All the time.

This happens because it's very complex
to listen to reality.

Because I can't help
projecting myself into it.

And therefore, listening to myself
all the time.

And perhaps missing everything else.

All else which also sounds all the time.

I once worked with a Russian director
who called me for her show.

I remember we were at my workshop,
which is like a sound factory,

full of instruments and sound objects,
and I told her to sit giving me her back.

Because I wanted to introduce her
to some sounds

but I didn't want her to be conditioned
by how those sounds looked like.

At a given moment, I played
these little Turkish percussions

that dancers use in their dances.

But I touched them in a more spacey way
to give room to her imagination.

(Turkish percussions)

"No, not that sound," she said,

"it reminds me of the microwave chime

when it tells you the food is ready."

(Turkish percussions)

"How ignorant!" I thought.

"She doesn't even know it's an instrument
originary from ..." and blah, blah, blah.

It was my prejudice that spoke to me,
preventing me from listening

what I was so sincerely being told
by that director.

Thus, taking away from me an opportunity
to accept or do something

with that association between this sound
and the microwave chime.

Do you understand what I mean?
I don't listen, I listen to myself.

It's very hard to listen to reality.
It happens to all of us.

But this goes much further
than listening.

It has to do with perception

and how it's linked to our beliefs.

(Trumpet)

Let's see, do you know the story
of Romeo and Juliet?

Surely. It's amazing.

Everyone knows that Shakespeare's play.

I've been doing an experiment for years
with that story in several countries.

I ask, "How does Romeo and Juliet end?"

Think about it, it doesn't matter
whether you read it or not.

I'm sure that most of you

would answer that it ends
with the death of the two lovers.

Romeo finds Juliet dead
and kills himself for the pain.

Seconds later, Juliet wakes up --

who wasn't dead at all --

sees Romeo like this,
and kills herself in turn.

Bummer!

Well, there's news.

While it's a tragedy,

it doesn't end as bad as the vast majority
of planet Earth believes.

Because the play isn't just the story
of the love of two youngsters who die.

The play tells a story of hatred,
of an enmity,

between two families that no longer even
remember the reason for that enmity.

And what does Shakespeare do
to tell us about that hatred?

He places what could contrast it the most:

Two teenagers who fall in love,
there in the middle.

In other words, the price
for that enmity to end

is to lose the two most precious jewels
of those two families.

The play ends when Romeo's father
and Juliet's father meet,

look at each other, shake hands

and, in front of the two dead teenagers,

put an end to that enmity.

It's very, very sad. But it ends well.

Not like we all thought.

There are elements
making such an impression,

leaving such a mark on us,

that prevent us from seeing
or listen to what follows.

They work like a filter.

So we don't listen,
we listen to ourselves.

We don't look, look at ourselves.

We don't read,
we read ourselves all the time.

We rarely create the space,
make the pause,

to listen in a more detached way,

trying to get us out of the way

to assess the event,
the phrase, the situation itself.

To embrace it and accept it.

Or at least, from there
evaluate what to do next.

In one of his teachings, Confucius said
that a virtuous person

when they look, they wonder
if they observed with clarity,

when they hear, they wonder
if they listened without confusion.

The power to create that space
lies within us.

The power to allow
that pause for acceptance.

(Instrument)

I have several spaces
where I try to exercise

this issue of not perceiving reality
only through my filters.

For example, sometimes we get together
with a group of friends

in order to analyze a Shakespeare play.

Firstly, we see what happened
to us with the play.

And then we see what happens in the play.

It's impressive what happens.

There are pages that we overlook.

Important information we miss out,

like the ending of Romeo and Juliet.

But there are many more.

And I try to bring all this
to my daily life.

And also to my craft.

Being a theatre musician
it's a very ancient art.

It has to do with looking,
with accepting, waiting,

with suggesting, accompanying, caring.

Everyone can discover
their own way of creating that space

to prevent this from always happening:
I don't perceive, I perceive myself.

Once we create this way, it would be great
to turn it into a habit,

to bring what we've learned
to all aspects of our lives.

Is what I'm hearing
what they're telling me?

And about what they're not telling me,

am I listening to it
or listening to myself?

I enter the Sistine Chapel and I say,
"How small this is!" ...

Or do I say,
"It's smaller than I thought"

and I discover it!

How does Romeo and Juliet end?

What have we missed
from this wonderful story?

When I hear, do I listen clearly?

(Turkish percussions)

Thank you very much.