FEEL FOUND
Documentation:
More than 200 flyers have been posted throughout Los Angeles alone.
The coordinates of every flyer have been recorded for the next stage of the work.
Seventeen anonymous messages have been collected.
FEEL FOUND
Leave your house after dark.
Go alone.
Do not choose where you are going.
At every intersection take the direction that feels least reasonable.
Continue.
When the world feels familiar:
Keep walking.
When it no longer feels arranged for you:
Stop.
Sit.
Stay for nine minutes.
Do nothing.
Notice what it feels like to stay.
Notice what feels found.
Notice what feels misplaced.
Once nine minutes have passed:
Call the voicemail.
(213) 518-7690
When it answers:
Do not introduce yourself.
Speak only of what is present.
What you hear.
What you smell.
What the air is doing.
What moves.
What almost escaped your attention.
What you cannot name.
What it felt like to stay.
If you have nothing to say:
Remain silent until you do.
Do not explain yourself.
Do not tell a story.
Do not say who you are.
Leave one message for someone who you will never know.
Hang up.
Do not listen to it.
Go home.
One day,
someone you will never meet
may hear your voice.
To hear another,
return to this pole
or visit the link below.
One day,
directions to the telephones will appear.
By leaving a message, you consent to its inclusion in this artwork. Recordings may later be encountered anonymously through other telephones. Messages containing identifying information may be edited, anonymized, or omitted.
pleasestayontheline.com
THE OTHER SIDE
Make an appointment.
Arrive on time.
Open the unlocked door.
You will find yourself in an empty white living room.
Greet the customer service representative.
Agree to being watched,
Agree to being video taped.
Sign the form.
The representative will leave.
No one is home.
Sit at the white desk in the center of the room.
A single black telephone rests at the center.
Pull out the black chair.
Pick up the reciever.
A voice will begin.
Listen.
When it ends:
The line will fall silent.
Return the receiver to its cradle.
Use the pen to write one word for what you heard.
Interpert the voice without a name.
Rise from the desk.
Walk out the door.
Close it behind you.
The room waits.
Another visitor arrives.
Another voice.
Another video.
Another word.
Some voices are clear.
Some wander.
Some struggle to find words.
Some contain only breathing.
Wind.
Distant traffic.
Some fall silent before they are finished.
No names.
No locations.
No explanations.
Moments of presence.
A voice left behind for someone else to encounter.
The archive continues to grow.
Each recording is heard alone.
No one knows whose voice will answer.
No one knows who listened before them.
The room fills with strangers who never meet.