Research Catalogue

We live in an age of Symbolic Misery (Stiegler, 2014). In this era, we listen to the same music, scroll through the same Instagram feeds, and we immerse ourselves in daily lives that are the same as others, gradually losing the 'singularity (Stiegler, 2014)' of individual difference. This homogenized structure of perception continuously reshapes our subjectivity (Simondon, 1958; Hui, 2016), making individual desires no longer emerge from unique experiences or internal generative processes, but are increasingly induced and regulated by external technological and symbolic systems (Stiegler, 2015). In this context, the question is no longer 'What do we produce?' but rather, 'Do our desires still belong to ourselves?'. As Stiegler (2014) pointed out, in order to enter the market more effectively, marketing technologies have developed an industrial aesthetic system centered on audiovisual media. This industrial aesthetic re-functionalizes individual sensory experiences following industrial interests, aiming to produce a replicable and controllable unified taste through the standardized pleasure. This huge 'desire project (libidinal management)' manipulates human drives for externalization through a diversity of apparatus (Agamben, 2009; Foucault, 1977), generating a sense of 'participation' via formalized interaction, restricting the level of perception and expression (Stiegler, 2015). Through daily repetition, this process gradually weakens the individual’s ability for subjectivation, trapping them within a passive structure of desire (Stiegler, 2014). This exposition is based on an artistic research project titled 'I Don’t Know Who I Am', an installation game. It invites players to watch a five-minute monologue, the story of a cow (inspired by, for example, Lacan et al., 2001), to explore the secrets hidden within this cow’s desire. After watching the video, the player will face a plate of real grass with soya sauce, and be invited to make a choice: whether or not to eat the grass. This installation game encourages players to reflect on a critical question: At a time when industrial aesthetics and subjective experience standardize individual desire, is increasingly hollowed out, where do our desires truly come from? Do they still emerge from internal generative processes, or have they long been preconditioned and disciplined by technological objects and symbolic systems?

Arts-based-philosophy is an emerging research concept at the cutting edge of the arts, philosophy and the Sciences in which cross-disciplinary research collectives align their research practices to finally stage their investigations in field-performances, shared with the public. Our research explores the significance of the HEART in artistic research and performance philosophy from a cross-cultural perspective, partially based on the concepts of the HEART in the works of two artist-philosophers, in which philosophy already became arts-based-philosophy: Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra and Aurobindo’s poetic opus magnum Savitri. We generally assume that the works of artist-philosophers are not only engaged in “creating concepts” (Deleuze), but their concepts are also meant to be staged artistically to let them bodily matter in fact. The role of the HEART in respect to this process of “bodily mattering” is the core objective under investigation: Firstly, because we hold that atmospheres trigger the HEART of a lived-body to taste the flavor of things it is environmentally engaged with basically in an aesthetic manner (Nietzsche). In this respect the analysis of the classical notion for the aesthete in Indian philosophy and aesthetics, sahṛdaya––which literally means, “somebody, with a HEART”––becomes crucial. Secondly, because the HEART is said to be not just reducible to one’s manifest Nature, but has access to one’s virtual Nature as well. The creation hymn in the oldest of all Vedas (Rgveda) for instance informs us that a HEART is capable of crossing being (sat) & non-being (asat), which makes it fluctuate among these two realms and even allows its aspirations to let virtual possibilities matter. Such concepts show striking similarities with contemporary concepts in philosophy-physics, e.g. the concepts of “virtual particles” and “quantum vacuum fluctuations” (Barad).

How can I, as a workshop facilitator, create inclusive, inviting and transformative spaces for sparking moments of joy around diversity? How does my training as an artist, researcher and teacher inform and enable my role as a workshop facilitator, such that I can support radical expressions of self-acceptance? What are the limitations to my role, and what possibilities may lie ahead through continued reflection and practice? I have worked through these questions by exploring the concept of vulnerability through a/r/tographic theories and practices, with the culmination of my research and reflections shared in this exposition. Though I have long hosted workshops in marginalised communities as a means for building resilience and kinship, only in the past year have I begun to analyse, from theoretical and methodological perspectives, how and why certain approaches work. Again and again, my reflective meanderings take me back to a single core concept, namely vulnerability. By being vulnerable, one becomes open and raw, which — in certain conditions — can lead to curiosity, risk-taking and remarkable creativity. With such an open and desiring mind, creative practices like crafting can evoke radical feelings of joy and appreciation around a topic that otherwise may tend to conjure conflicting or undesirable feelings. Vulnerability is particularly important in my work because the primary focus of my workshops has been bodily joy. Largely, I have hosted workshops wherein we have explored positive feelings of one’s gender diverse experiences, expressions or identity through paper crafting. Recently, I have also begun hosting crafting workshops, in which we forest bathe (friluftsliv) then craft on the joy one has felt in communion with nature. Crafting becomes an extension of the self, a temporary reincarnation of our own materiality in which we bring to life an alternative understanding of our own potential. In this exposition, I address the questions above by drawing on two example workshops, Crafting Gender Diverse Joy, and Crafting Joy in Nature -- hosted in April and May 2025, respectively. The organisation of this exposition is inspired by L. Balzi’s ice cracks metaphor (2023), Irwin's rhizomatic walking method (2013), and LeBlanc's The Wake (2019). The workshop process as a whole is a reverberation of impulses rippling outwards without end. I navigate these reverberations through a visual mapping of a rhizomatic system of roots sprawling from a tree in Bymarka. The roots are vast web of connections, largely hidden beneath the ground as points of potential. With our imaginations, we can appreciate the complexity of this web, just as we can trace the multiple invisible processes that lead us to our eventual a/r/tographic choices. I invite you to wander across these knots and walls, encountering the various descriptive concepts, or 'centres of vibration', to borrow from Deleuze and Guattari (1994; in Irwin & Springgay, 2008). The layout is roughly guided by the three stages of the workshop process (planning, workshop, aftercare), sprinkled with key concepts, theories, and practices. I also include documentation from the workshops, such as photos and crafts (with permission granted). Enjoy your own wandering. I look forward to hearing your thoughts.

Cosmic Journey; Exploring the possibilities of Harp and Live-Electronics by Kyra Frimout. Research Question: How do I adapt the Stellar Sonata by Caroline Lizotte composed for the electroacoustic harp to a traditional acoustic pedal harp? 'Cosmic Journey' is a performance that focusses on space-themed repertoire for the harp and live-electronics, combined with visual images of NASA to enhance the audience’s experience. It explores the use of improvisation to tell the story of Kyra Frimout's grandfather Dirk Frimout, who went on his mission to space in 1992. The centre piece of this program is the Stellar Sonata, which was the inspiration for shaping this project. This research investigates the integration of live electronics with the harp by analysing 'Stellar Sonata' by Caroline Lizotte and exploring its implications for new compositions and improvisations. The study is structured in three parts. First, an in-depth examination of 'Stellar Sonata' is conducted, including an overview of Lizotte’s compositional style, her inspirations, the narrative embedded within the piece, and a detailed analysis of its musical material. The second section focuses on the technical aspects of recreating the piece’s electronic effects, assessing the required equipment while addressing challenges in replicating the sonic landscape, with updated technology. The final section explores new creative avenues that emerge from this research, including the application of live electronics to existing harp repertoire and its transformative impact on improvisation and composition. By bridging tradition with technology, this study aims to make electroacoustic music more accessible to harpists by exploring affordable equipment and practical amplification options—particularly for those seeking to perform Stellar Sonata without requiring an electroacoustic harp—while also pushing the artistic boundaries of the instrument in contemporary music. Kyra Frimout is a harpist and singer with a passion for contemporary and electroacoustic music. She studied Classical Music at the Royal Conservatoire in The Hague, where she is now pursuing a Master’s in New Audiences and Innovative Practice. In 2024, she studied with harpist-composer Caroline Lizotte in Montréal, deepening her understanding of electroacoustic harp techniques. Kyra explores the intersection of traditional harp performance and modern technology, integrating live electronics to expand the instrument’s expressive potential. Through her work, she seeks to redefine the role of the harp in contemporary music, using electronic effects to open new creative possibilities in both composition and improvisation.

Two of the oldest manuscripts containing trumpet music lie in the Royal Danish Library and were both written in Denmark around the year 1600. They contain hundreds of fanfare-like melodies with little explanation as to how, why, or where they should be played. Written by trumpeters with limited musical education, the manuscripts present a unique challenge in deciphering distinct and personal notation styles. The aim of this research is to shed a new light on the so-called Thomsen and Lübeck manuscripts by stepping into the shoes of the trumpeters of the late renaissance and early baroque. The court of Christian IV (1577-1648), King of Denmark and Norway, was one of the most influential courts of early 17th century Europe and employed a respectable number of at least 123 trumpeters throughout Christian’s 60 year reign. By examining the role and duty of those trumpeters, as well as the culture around trumpet playing in the 16th and 17th centuries we gain a new insight into the festive, vigorous, and loud music of the royal courts. Improvisation plays a big part in interpreting the Danish manuscripts. By applying improvisation techniques described by Italian and German trumpeters in the 17th century, as well as considering the capabilities and limitations of historical instruments, new life is brought to fanfares which might appear monotonous and repetitive at first glance.

Finding an audience we can relate to, or bringing our social circle into our audience is still a struggle for most younger composers. With the Western classical opera audiences ageing and the attempts to bring younger audiences into opera houses and concert halls, we need to ask ourselves as composers who we write for, and how we reach these people. My opera Serenoid which had its premiere in September 2024 at Tête-à-Tête Festival in London came out of a niche space of queer and disabled geek culture in creative online fandom communities that I have been part of since I was a teenager. These groups are hardly engaged with classical music as a genre, their creative focus is on visual art and writing, mostly around an established pop-culture franchise, in this case Star Trek. Often decried as cringy, the spaces in which they move have been melting pots for many people outside of the narrow representation of mainstream media in search for community and belonging since the arrival of the internet. The decision to take Serenoid as a story from an obscure niche space on the internet to the opera stage attempts to speak to its members and therefore open the doors my own community to become part of the “opera audience”. My research describes the process and outcomes of this experiment and hopes to prove that as classical composers we can speak to younger and diverse audiences by openly and authentically being part of the group we write for.