No products in the cart.
(sound not audible)
(sound not audible) resists conventional description, positioning absence itself as a conceptual gesture. Rather than translating the work into fixed language, M. Izer foregrounds the limits of audibility and the dominance of visual perception within Deaf and Hard of Hearing experience.
The image centers on an anatomical ear, fragmented and recontextualized through collage. A jagged sound wave travels through the canal, while surrounding layers of text—phrases like “Professional Audio” and “Hear Tomorrow”—become dislocated, ironic echoes of a world structured around sound. Torn edges contrast with the clean cut of the ear, reinforcing tensions between clarity and disruption, signal and exclusion.
By withholding a traditional description, the work challenges the expectation that meaning must be mediated through language or sound. Instead, it invites viewers to engage visually and critically, confronting the systems that define who can access, interpret, and belong.
Description
(sound not audible) resists conventional description, positioning absence itself as a conceptual gesture. Rather than translating the work into fixed language, M. Izer foregrounds the limits of audibility and the dominance of visual perception within Deaf and Hard of Hearing experience.
The image centers on an anatomical ear, fragmented and recontextualized through collage. A jagged sound wave travels through the canal, while surrounding layers of text—phrases like “Professional Audio” and “Hear Tomorrow”—become dislocated, ironic echoes of a world structured around sound. Torn edges contrast with the clean cut of the ear, reinforcing tensions between clarity and disruption, signal and exclusion.
By withholding a traditional description, the work challenges the expectation that meaning must be mediated through language or sound. Instead, it invites viewers to engage visually and critically, confronting the systems that define who can access, interpret, and belong.
Need more information? Contact us.





