An Incomparable Silence in ‘A Gathering of Bells’ by Davina Semo
I stood in the Savannah College of Art and Design Museum of Art with my art history classmates, our professor, and curator Ben Tollefson. Above us, aligned along the narrow hallway, hung over fifty patinated cast bronze bells between floor-to-ceiling windows and an old brick wall. This was 'A Gathering of Bells' by Davina Semo, a temporary installation that promised an immersive auditory experience but ultimately felt incomplete.
My art history class focuses on sensory approaches in installation art, so this exhibit was a compelling chance to analyze an auditory experience just steps from our classroom. Some of us were also familiar with the artist, this is her first museum to showcase her bells. Semo has a BA in Visual Arts and Creative Writing from Brown University and an MFA from the University of California, San Diego. She has done numerous group exhibitions, been awarded public commissions, and currently has work in various museums across the country.
Entering the gallery, my classmates' gaze lifted to the bells hung inches from our heads. Black, blue, red, and gold bells, some with patterns of white flowers or indented stripes, and imprints of seeds the artist applied to the casting. There was a unified simplicity in their shapes, from ovals to the familiar bell curve to smaller vase sizes. Even the cord holding each bell to the ceiling was designed by the artist, a tough matte black. Everything felt clean and modern, from the steel gray floors to the stark windows. Only the museum's scarce landscaping of dirt and shrubs outside gave the space a natural element.
Tollefson began his tour by announcing he'd assisted with the installation's development and would be overseeing visitor engagement in the weeks to come. He quickly clarified that visitors could no longer ring the bells; only employees could. He pointed to three student docents stationed in different sections of the space. Tollefson and my class chuckled at the image of past visitors ringing the bells too energetically, sending migraines throughout the whole museum. But it wasn't until a docent rang one of the bells that we fully grasped the amplitude of the sound. It was graceful and harsh simultaneously. The docent walked down the hall, ringing several more, choosing bells of different sizes, and the sound waves passed through the windows and bounced off our feet. As the bells rang out, the space awakened itself.
Tollefson passionately discussed the installation's development. "Each bell is about fifty pounds," he said. "We had to arrange them according to what the artist wanted. She placed them in groups by sound frequencies." The class listened attentively, though I could see the critiques forming in their heads, questioning the effectiveness of the installation’s engagement. After Tollefson left, we discussed our overall thoughts. "Was there a missed opportunity here?" my professor asked. My class agreed that without the ability for visitors to freely ring the bells, the installation hadn't reached its full auditory potential. We discussed possibilities of what could enhance the installation such as a composed performance with the bells, a water feature raining down the window, and some sound proofing to start.
Our professor then had us disperse through the museum to meditate in a gallery space, taking notes on the sounds we heard. I chose the bells gallery and sat against the brick wall at the entrance, allowing a full view of the space. Unable to relax, I realized the space was too quiet. The bells looked lonely, crying out to be rung, inanimate objects despising the silence they were placed in. Then the sound of squeaky shoes grabbed my attention. A man entered the gallery, walking through the space in a hurry, ignoring the bells as if they were an inconvenience. He approached a docent and asked, "Where are the paintings located?" She kindly gave him directions, and on his way out, he bumped his head into a bell and a metallic thud rang through the space. He backed up, looked at the bell irritably, and continued, more cautious this time.
I checked my watch and only had a few minutes until my class reconvened. I thought of my experience in 'A Gathering of Bells' compared to the man who hit his head. He couldn’t have cared less about the installation, and I understood his indifference. As large and bright as the space was, with over fifty bells scattered above me, something was missing. 'A Gathering of Bells' had potential, and moments of the auditory experience were enlightening. But for visitors like the man who bumped his head, the installation was insignificant compared to a static canvas. Though I appreciated observing, listening, and critiquing the space, I left with the sense that I only witnessed half of what the installation could be.
October 2025