As a parent, I have become acutely aware of the role music plays in shaping the emotional landscape of childhood. Some songs can stop tears instantly (like Ingrid Michaelson's The Happy Song), some help us through moments of transition, and some are silly songs I repeat simply for the reward of my daughter's giggles—small rituals that help us connect, laugh, and navigate the world together. Music has become one of the ways we create atmosphere, build memories, and transform ordinary moments into something meaningful.
These observations naturally found their way into With Our Little Hands. Throughout the development of the exhibition, composer Ian Kaneko and I spoke often about the role sound plays in shaping an environment. While visual art influences what we see, music often shapes how we feel. It can slow our pace, soften our attention, and invite us into a different state of mind.
The original soundscape for this exhibition was composed with that intention in mind. Together, we sought to create a nurturing atmosphere that supports curiosity, wonder, and exploration. Rather than directing attention or demanding interaction, the music gently accompanies it, creating space for children and their caregivers to slow down, linger, and discover.
If the sculptures provide the landscape and the children bring it to life through their actions, the music serves as the atmosphere that holds it all together—an unseen but essential element that helps create a space where play, imagination, and connection can unfold.
A note on music.
From Ian:
When Rong first explained the concept of this piece to me, I was immediately hooked. Creating music that could interact with the unpredictable creativity of children was a challenge I knew would push me as an artist.
The main variable that we had to contend with was time. Fundamentally, music relies on time to tell its story. Unlike a painting that can be seen in its entirety in an instant or a book that's story stays the same no matter how fast you read it, time changes the meaning of music. The same song could inspire joy or sadness depending on the tempo it is played. The same notes can create different melodies depending on how long each note is held. When the artistic impulses of children control the time of a piece, there is no way of knowing what story will be told. That is where the opportunity to create something truly special lies.
Rather than trying to assign any kind of order to the rhythm or tempo of the music, we decided to embrace uncertainty and the freedom that comes with it. The music is written in fragments, like little puzzle pieces that can be arranged in any order at any time. Even each fragment is made up of multiple layers that are randomly arranged, resulting in each line or scribble drawn having literally thousands of possible outcomes. Each layer of each fragment was written in a way that they would create interesting harmonies whether they were overlapped or spread out. This granular approach allows for the music to follow the rhythm of the art being created no matter how spontaneous it may be.
Personally, I’m very excited to hear this piece. Unpredictable performers lead to unpredictable stories, and it’s rare I get to hear my own music and not know what’s coming next.
—Ian Kaneko, Composer
From Steven:
“I can cause change.”
The first time I understood these words, I was holding my flute. A performer knows this feeling in the body: no matter how many times I have played a piece, the moment I play it now has never happened before, and never will again. The same notes leave the flute — and something entirely new passes into the room.
That is what I hear in this garden. A hand reaches out, and a flower opens. A single mark joins the canvas, and the whole landscape shifts. Music is like this too. One person hears a phrase and falls in love with sound; another decides to spend a life making it — as I once did, as a child, with my own little hands.
Working alongside Rong and Ian, I've come to feel that a performance is not something I give and you receive. It is a garden we tend together, in one passing moment, then carry outward into lives we will never see.
As you move through this room, I hope you feel it: you are not only watching. You are already changing the garden.
— Sungwoo Steven Kim, Flutist