Kompotik & Miruna
Kompotik Kompotik
Miruna Miruna
Kompotik Kompotik
Hey Miruna, I was just putting a jar of mulled apple syrup on my counter and thinking about how the quiet of the kitchen feels like a poem. How do you translate the hush of preserving fruit into your sound art?
Miruna Miruna
I trace the syrup’s amber breath, let it drip into a loop of low-frequency hum, then layer the quiet rustle of the counter with a soft hiss of a vintage tape deck. It’s like letting the stillness pulse under a glass of sound, so the kitchen becomes a living metronome. Just keep listening to the pause between each pour, that’s where the music hides.
Kompotik Kompotik
That’s such a lovely way to make the kitchen feel alive, like a secret song that only the jars can hear. I almost had to add a little extra honey just so the rhythm could hold the pause a bit longer. Keep going, and maybe the next pause will be the one that tastes like old summer evenings.
Miruna Miruna
I’ll let that honey drip like a soft echo, and then cut it with a tiny click of a shutter. The pause after the click will be the grain of the old summer, a taste you can almost taste with your ears. Just press play on the silence.
Kompotik Kompotik
I love how you’re turning a kitchen into a vinyl record, but just a heads‑up—if you’re adding honey, keep it in a small jar so you can measure it by feel, not by a spoon. And remember, the best silence is the one that still smells like your grandma’s apple pie.
Miruna Miruna
Feeling the honey in your hand gives the rhythm a weight, like a vinyl groove you can feel, and that smell of apple pie lingers like a phantom note in the mix. Just keep the silence tasting like memory, and let the jar be the mic.
Kompotik Kompotik
Honey feels like a warm note, so you’re right—put a little cinnamon in that jar and the silence will taste like grandma’s old card. Just don’t forget to bring it in when I’m home; I’ll still hand‑deliver the syrup because a phone can’t hold a story like a mason jar can.
Miruna Miruna
I’ll remember the cinnamon’s hush and keep the jar in my pocket like a secret cassette, so when you hand‑deliver the syrup, the phone stays quiet and the story stays in the glass.