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How the deaf hear music
Victoria's Gwen Dobie plays the French horn, sometimes with classical ensembles. It seems unremarkable, except for the fact that she's almost completely deaf.
The question is: How did she manage to create music, or experience it? And how can she play in tune? Even Dobie, 45, can't explain it, other than to say there are ways of experiencing music other than through hearing.
"Deaf people 'hear' music," she said. "They register it in their bodies. The brain is desperate for music. It will hear through vibration."
Her friend and partner, lighting designer William Mackwood, finds it astounding.
"She actually gets rid of her hearing aids when she plays," he said.
Tonight, a theatre piece titled Sound in Silence has its premiere at the Belfry Theatre's studio. Written and directed by Dobie -- and presented by her company Out of the Box -- Sound in Silence is a semi-autobiographical piece about how the deaf experience music. The multimedia piece is presented via live and recorded music, dance, acting, live video and light projections. The show is translated into sign language for the hearing impaired (Dobie contacted the Vancouver Island Deaf and Hard of Hearing Centre to help spread the word).
Perhaps the most unorthodox aspect of Sound in Silence is that viewers sit within a maze of translucent purple gauze meant to represent the human brain. The intent is that the theatregoer literally enters the mind of a deaf person.
Dobie's story is remarkable. The daughter of a church minister, she was born with normal hearing. Then, as a baby, she was treated for an ear infection with antibiotics.
The result was disastrous.
"It damaged the auditory nerves," Dobie said. "They got fried ... From about the age of 18 months I was in silence. But I never knew I was in silence. That's what this piece is about, the sound in silence."
The girl adapted remarkably. She got top grades in school, and went on to a university degree and post-graduate studies. Dobie studied French horn in high school and considered a career in music. She took ballet lessons from the ages five to 20, excelling in the art form. She could feel the vibrations of music, and became adept at picking up visual cues.
Dobie was so successful in adapting and compensating, she fooled many about the extent of her disability -- including herself.
"I was a deaf person in denial," said Dobie, who -- unlike many hearing impaired people -- speaks with perfect enunciation. "I wasn't part of the deaf culture. I [told myself] I was not deaf."
And yet she was. It finally came to roost at age 25. Dobie (who teared up slightly upon relating this anecdote) was a student assisting a lighting designer on a theatre production for Toronto's Canadian Stage Company. He instructed her to bring up a light dimmer, but was too far away for her to lip-read. A fellow student had to translate. Dobie suddenly realized if she wanted to work in the performing arts, she'd have to confront her disability head-on.
"I think to make radical change we have to hit the wall," she said.
For the first time, after more than two decades, she was tested and outfitted with hearing aids. It turned out that Dobie has a 75 per cent hearing loss.
Life with hearing aids was difficult, especially at first. Experiencing processed sound after a lifetime of silence was overwhelming. It took weeks for her brain to adjust, filtering out ambient noise in a way most people take for granted. Now, Dobie says she has adapted so well, she's "100 per cent lost" without her hearing aids.
A year ago Dobie decided to create a theatre piece about the way she experiences music and the world. The catalyst, she says, was reading a book, The Brain That Changes Itself, in which psychiatrist Norman Doidge examines how the brains of injured patients adapt to disabilities. In particular, the book deals with the concept of neuroplasticity or brain remapping, in which activity in the brain moves from one location to another.
Mackwood believes it is courageous of Dobie to create Sound in Silence, as it has forced her to confront "some of the demons" connected with her deafness. Dobie, meanwhile, admits she was hesitant to write a semi-autobiographical work exposing her vulnerability.
One of her fears in going public with her disability was that it might pigeonhole her in the eyes of the public. A former director for the Victoria Conservatory of Music's opera studio, and now an assistant professor for York University's theatre department, the last thing Dobie wants is to be viewed differently from others in the performing arts.
"It's that thing of, 'Do we want to be celebrated as an artist, or do we want to be celebrated as a deaf artist?'"
Victoria's Gwen Dobie plays the French horn, sometimes with classical ensembles. It seems unremarkable, except for the fact that she's almost completely deaf.
The question is: How did she manage to create music, or experience it? And how can she play in tune? Even Dobie, 45, can't explain it, other than to say there are ways of experiencing music other than through hearing.
"Deaf people 'hear' music," she said. "They register it in their bodies. The brain is desperate for music. It will hear through vibration."
Her friend and partner, lighting designer William Mackwood, finds it astounding.
"She actually gets rid of her hearing aids when she plays," he said.
Tonight, a theatre piece titled Sound in Silence has its premiere at the Belfry Theatre's studio. Written and directed by Dobie -- and presented by her company Out of the Box -- Sound in Silence is a semi-autobiographical piece about how the deaf experience music. The multimedia piece is presented via live and recorded music, dance, acting, live video and light projections. The show is translated into sign language for the hearing impaired (Dobie contacted the Vancouver Island Deaf and Hard of Hearing Centre to help spread the word).
Perhaps the most unorthodox aspect of Sound in Silence is that viewers sit within a maze of translucent purple gauze meant to represent the human brain. The intent is that the theatregoer literally enters the mind of a deaf person.
Dobie's story is remarkable. The daughter of a church minister, she was born with normal hearing. Then, as a baby, she was treated for an ear infection with antibiotics.
The result was disastrous.
"It damaged the auditory nerves," Dobie said. "They got fried ... From about the age of 18 months I was in silence. But I never knew I was in silence. That's what this piece is about, the sound in silence."
The girl adapted remarkably. She got top grades in school, and went on to a university degree and post-graduate studies. Dobie studied French horn in high school and considered a career in music. She took ballet lessons from the ages five to 20, excelling in the art form. She could feel the vibrations of music, and became adept at picking up visual cues.
Dobie was so successful in adapting and compensating, she fooled many about the extent of her disability -- including herself.
"I was a deaf person in denial," said Dobie, who -- unlike many hearing impaired people -- speaks with perfect enunciation. "I wasn't part of the deaf culture. I [told myself] I was not deaf."
And yet she was. It finally came to roost at age 25. Dobie (who teared up slightly upon relating this anecdote) was a student assisting a lighting designer on a theatre production for Toronto's Canadian Stage Company. He instructed her to bring up a light dimmer, but was too far away for her to lip-read. A fellow student had to translate. Dobie suddenly realized if she wanted to work in the performing arts, she'd have to confront her disability head-on.
"I think to make radical change we have to hit the wall," she said.
For the first time, after more than two decades, she was tested and outfitted with hearing aids. It turned out that Dobie has a 75 per cent hearing loss.
Life with hearing aids was difficult, especially at first. Experiencing processed sound after a lifetime of silence was overwhelming. It took weeks for her brain to adjust, filtering out ambient noise in a way most people take for granted. Now, Dobie says she has adapted so well, she's "100 per cent lost" without her hearing aids.
A year ago Dobie decided to create a theatre piece about the way she experiences music and the world. The catalyst, she says, was reading a book, The Brain That Changes Itself, in which psychiatrist Norman Doidge examines how the brains of injured patients adapt to disabilities. In particular, the book deals with the concept of neuroplasticity or brain remapping, in which activity in the brain moves from one location to another.
Mackwood believes it is courageous of Dobie to create Sound in Silence, as it has forced her to confront "some of the demons" connected with her deafness. Dobie, meanwhile, admits she was hesitant to write a semi-autobiographical work exposing her vulnerability.
One of her fears in going public with her disability was that it might pigeonhole her in the eyes of the public. A former director for the Victoria Conservatory of Music's opera studio, and now an assistant professor for York University's theatre department, the last thing Dobie wants is to be viewed differently from others in the performing arts.
"It's that thing of, 'Do we want to be celebrated as an artist, or do we want to be celebrated as a deaf artist?'"