Light and Sound: Synesthesia in Contemporary Art

I have always been drawn to the way senses overlap—to the moments when sound is not just heard but felt, when light is not just seen but perceived as movement, rhythm, or emotion. In my work, I often seek these intersections, where sound and image dissolve into each other, forming something beyond their separate existence.

Art, for me, is not about representation—it is about perception. And perception is fluid.

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Hearing Colors, Seeing Sound

Synesthesia is often described as a neurological phenomenon, where stimulation of one sense involuntarily triggers another. Some people literally see colors when they hear music, while others feel textures when looking at certain images.

But beyond the neurological aspect, synesthetic experiences exist in art as a possibility for everyone. When sound and light are carefully combined, they create a sensory fusion—an impression that is neither purely auditory nor purely visual, but something in between.

• A deep, resonant frequency can make an image feel heavier, more grounded.
• A sudden burst of light can cut through silence like a sharp sound.
• Slow transitions in color can mirror the sensation of evolving harmonies.

In my work, I am less interested in direct representation and more in the emotional weight of these interactions—how an audience perceives sound through the movement of light, or how a shifting image can suggest unheard but imagined frequencies.

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Sound and Light as Movement

One of the reasons sound and light interact so deeply is their shared connection to movement. Both exist in waves—sound as vibration, light as electromagnetic oscillation. This physical commonality makes their interplay feel natural, even when the connection is abstract.

I often experiment with:

• Shifting colors that “echo” sound frequencies, making the image feel like it is being “played” rather than displayed.
• Light pulses that respond to rhythm, so that the brightness of a space feels like part of the composition.
• Darkness as silence, flashes as percussion, making the absence of light as important as the presence of sound.

By treating light as an instrument and sound as a visual force, new forms of interaction emerge—ones that don’t rely on narrative but on direct sensory engagement.

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The Emotional Resonance of Color and Sound

Certain sounds “feel” warm, while others carry a sense of distance or coldness. The same applies to colors. A deep bass frequency can seem as dense as a dark shade of blue, while a high-pitched tone can resemble the sharpness of white light.

What fascinates me is that these associations are not fixed. They shift depending on context, culture, personal experience. In some performances, I have seen audiences describe completely opposite reactions to the same piece—one person sees red and feels tension, while another feels warmth and comfort.

This ambiguity is essential. Art should not dictate how we feel—it should create space for our own associations to emerge.

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Live Performance: Light, Sound, and Presence

In a live setting, light becomes tactile. It shapes the atmosphere of a space in real-time, influencing how we hear and how we move within it.

When I work with light in performance, I think about:

• How light directs focus—what is revealed, what remains hidden.
• How shadows affect rhythm, breaking the continuity of movement.
• How changes in brightness mirror the dynamics of sound, making silence feel darker, and intensity feel blinding.

In some cases, light is an extension of sound—an invisible frequency given visual form. In others, it is a counterpoint, creating friction between perception and expectation.

What interests me most is how the presence of an audience changes this interaction. Light doesn’t just illuminate a space—it reacts to bodies within it, making each performance unique, shaped by those who experience it.

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Beyond Interpretation: A Field of Perception

I don’t aim to explain the relationship between sound and light. Instead, I use them as tools to explore perception itself.

• What happens when we stop “seeing” light and start feeling it as rhythm?
• Can silence have color?
• Can a shift in brightness change how we hear?

These are questions I continue to investigate, not through theory but through experience. Because in the end, synesthesia in art is not about science—it is about how deeply we allow ourselves to perceive.

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Listening to Light, Seeing Sound

The boundary between sound and image is thin, almost imaginary. If we allow it, a composition can be felt across multiple senses at once.

The moment we stop separating what we hear from what we see, what we touch from what we feel, new possibilities open.

And that, to me, is where art begins.