The Silent Scream of Abstract Art: How 'Still in Sound' Redefines Our Senses
There’s something profoundly intimate about standing before an abstract painting. It’s not just about what you see—it’s about what you feel. But what if that feeling could be amplified, translated, even challenged through sound? That’s the daring experiment at the heart of Still in Sound, the Clyfford Still Museum’s latest exhibition. Personally, I think this is one of the most intriguing intersections of art and sensory experience in recent memory. It’s not just about pairing sound with visuals; it’s about asking whether we’ve been limiting ourselves by experiencing art through a single sense.
What makes this particularly fascinating is the way the exhibition flips the traditional gallery experience on its head. Instead of a linear, curated journey, visitors are dropped into a sonic labyrinth. Each artist’s interpretation of Still’s work plays in a shuffled order, creating a non-linear, almost chaotic immersion. From my perspective, this chaos isn’t a flaw—it’s the point. Abstract art has always defied easy interpretation, and this exhibition mirrors that ambiguity in sound. It’s as if the paintings are screaming, whispering, or humming, depending on who’s listening.
One thing that immediately stands out is the diversity of the artists involved. Maria Chávez, Maya Dunietz, Kalyn Heffernan, Matana Roberts, and Michael Schumacher each bring their unique sonic vocabulary to the table. What many people don’t realize is how deeply personal these interpretations are. Each artist isn’t just translating Still’s work—they’re conversing with it. Chávez’s experimental turntablism, for instance, doesn’t merely mimic the textures of Still’s canvases; it interrogates them. If you take a step back and think about it, this isn’t just an exhibition—it’s a dialogue across mediums, generations, and perspectives.
A detail that I find especially interesting is the role of curator Ben Coleman in shuffling the sound interpretations. By removing the linearity, he’s forcing visitors to engage with the art on their own terms. This raises a deeper question: does art need a beginning, middle, or end? Or is it more powerful when it’s fragmented, open-ended, and subjective? What this really suggests is that the traditional gallery experience might be due for a rethink. In an age where we’re constantly bombarded with curated content, Still in Sound feels like a rebellion—a reminder that art thrives in ambiguity.
But let’s not forget the elephant in the room: Clyfford Still himself. The museum houses 93% of his life’s work, a staggering collection that demands reverence. Yet, Still in Sound doesn’t treat his paintings as sacred relics. Instead, it invites contemporary artists to challenge, reinterpret, and even disrupt our understanding of his legacy. Personally, I think this is how art should evolve—not by placing it on a pedestal, but by letting it breathe, adapt, and provoke.
What this exhibition also highlights is the growing trend of multisensory art experiences. From immersive installations to VR exhibitions, artists are increasingly blurring the lines between mediums. But Still in Sound feels different. It’s not about technology or spectacle; it’s about intimacy. It’s about closing your eyes and letting the sound guide you through the canvas. In my opinion, this is where the future of art lies—not in bigger, flashier experiences, but in deeper, more personal connections.
As I reflect on Still in Sound, I’m struck by its audacity. It’s not just an exhibition; it’s a manifesto. It challenges us to rethink how we experience art, how we interpret it, and how we connect with it. What this really suggests is that art isn’t just something we see—it’s something we live. And in a world where our senses are constantly bombarded, that’s a radical idea.
So, if you find yourself in Denver before February 2027, do yourself a favor: step into the Clyfford Still Museum and let the silence—and the sound—speak to you. Because, as Still in Sound proves, sometimes the loudest statements are made in the spaces between.
