To me, Lucier’s “I Am Sitting in a Room” is a chronicle of the journey of his own struggle, and how his speech impediment plays a role in his life amongst others. In the beginning of the piece, we clearly hear every word, and thus clearly hear Lucier stutter. Most would consider the words Lucier says without a stutter “normal.” On the other hand, the same listener would notice the words stuttered over and note the imperfection of the speech. In class, Andrew explained to us that as he grew old Lucier’s impediment disappeared. He figured out how to manage his imperfection and eliminated it. As the recording progresses, the words become less and less audible. The new “normal” becomes a drowned out vibration of sorts, and neither the stuttered words or “normal” words are comprehendible. We forget that a stutter even existed in the first place. This compares to the perspective of Lucier and those close to him: at first, you notice his impediment consistently, but as time goes on it becomes drowned out, evolving into the new “normal,” until it is not even noticeable at all.
I have played basketball my whole life, and feel at peace when alone in a gym. The consistent resonance of the ball bouncing off the hardwood floor, followed by the ball flicked off my fingertips either off the rim or into the net—this is an experience that is familiar, calming, and addictive. For me, the most memorable part of playing alone is right after my last shot, leaving the ball to take its own path off the rim and slowly bounce out to a slight roll and, finally, a dead stop. The silence marks rest for myself and the ball, leaving the peace of the gym to the hectic speed of life again.
