Alayna Rasile Digrindakis


WEAV FM is streamed live and archived for listening here.


The still moments inside of my head are punctuated by voices yelling the same phrases in repeat – peddling cell phone repair services and eyebrow threading appointments. My chest tightens and my eyes well with tears when I hear the sound of a jackhammer, garbage trucks or idling busses.

This project takes the form of a mobile pirate radio station named WEAV FM. The broadcasts are a response to the soundscape of my neighborhood in Brooklyn, they are the way I’ve chosen to insert my voice into the collective acoustic environment, to be heard and to be considered.

For almost three years the noise was a beast pent up inside of me – I did everything I could to block it out, to escape, to resist. My heightened sensitivity to the existence of man-made sounds made it impossible to go anywhere in New York City without being interrupted.

Something happened when I began reading John Cage’s writing – I chose to start listening, to consider sounds as I would consider music, to hear them as worthwhile acoustic experiences instead of labeling them aggressive noise.

Durational deep listening helps me understand that everything contributes, that we are all connected. There is the constant hum of the fans from the deli, the man on the corner who coughs uncontrollably, the afterschool teenage camaraderie, the trucks backing up, the steady stream of air traffic from JFK, and there is me. I am part of it too. There is my loom – the raising of the shafts, the throwing of the shuttle, the unwinding of the bobbin, and the beating and repeat – over and over.

I sit at my loom for many hours- working without breaks, keeping my body busy with rhythm and task while allowing myself to listen and observe. Never before have I sat in this one spot for seven consecutive hours and just listened. I feel part of it, I feel integrated and aware and present. I notice all of the birds and moments of quiet in Brooklyn, moments I didn’t believe existed. When I weave in the mountains of Montana I hear coal trains in the distance and planes overhead, I hear a cacophony of insect sounds that fill me with wonder. I am listening deeply – I am connected.

Connection is, I suppose, the core of it all. I weave because I believe in having a connection with material; because warp and weft, both in theory and practice, explain most everything. Weaving connects me with my grandmother and with generations of women who, too, used the loom as their voice.   Broadcasting the soundscape of my durational weaving is where WEAV FM becomes a project much bigger than myself. I create an environment in the airwaves for people to share, a community of listeners who allow themselves to do just that, to listen deeply, to wonder, and to connect with sound and with silence.