The Wasteland

In Greek mythology, when Hades abducts Persephone, Demeter—goddess of agriculture, fertility, and the life cycle—abandons her duties in grief and fury. As a result, the earth becomes barren, the streams dry in their beds, the corn dies in the fields, the fruit shrivels on the trees. Just as Demeter ends up between worlds, the earth transitions into liminality. A field where something new might begin, or nothing at all…

Like most myths, this story mirrors inner states. The wasteland is not just a place, but a state of mind: where the familiar becomes strange, and time loses its shape. The wasteland is the reflection of a mourning and fractured soul.

Today, in the corridors of the abandoned asylum at Dikemark, the theme of the wasteland resonates not only with the inner landscapes once treated within its walls, but with the building’s own condition. It now stands silent, and waiting.

The Sound 

A the entrance, a single piece—Wasteland— is heard in its full, undivided form.As you move through the rooms, the music is disassembled and spatially redirected: each room receives a fragment, a motif, or a texture. Each room performs a specific role in the composition, like instruments in an orchestra. One room might carry the skeletal rhythm, another a dissolving harmony, another remnents of a melody. This is music as cartography: you move through sound as much as space, and the act of walking becomes a form of listening. But the map keeps on changing. Through generative processes, all of the sounds are continually evolving, ensuring no two moments are ever the same.

When you exit and hear the full piece again, and each sound now carries a spatial, emotional memory—that whisper came from the green room, that beat belonged to the beetle, that nostalgic calling from the golden monster. The composition becomes retroactively reassembled in your mind, enriched with context and texture.