Was passiert, wenn eine Uhr, die früher an der Wand hing, nicht mehr funktioniert und weggeworfen wird? Und warum fühlen wir uns gezwungen, eine Streichholzschachtel zu schütteln, selbst wenn wir sie nicht benutzen wollen? In diesem Werk finden Sie keine endgültige Antwort auf diese Fragen, aber ich lade dich trotzdem ein, zuzuhören – für eine ruhige Erkundung der beständigen Gewohnheiten unseres Gedächtnisses, dessen, was nach dem Verschwinden von Menschen und Gegenständen aus unserem Leben bleibt, und wie der Klang ihres Lebens lange nach ihrem Verschwinden nachklingt.

Diese Geschichte habe ich für Small Audio Art erstellt, eine von Phoebe McIndoe gegründete Gemeinschaft von Künstlern und Audiomachern, die in einer zerstreuten Welt Zusammengehörigkeit suchen. Das Thema für dieses Audio war "Uhr".

Listen also in English

Bildbearbeitung des Fotos von Abiodun Ageh bei Unsplash

I take you on a journey of creativity, surprises and changes of direction, because this story evolves in ways I didn’t expect.

I started intending to record an interview with my friend Kathleen McCann, who painted the painting I wanted to talk about for my Small Audio Art project. A friend who lives 10 hours time difference away.

I end up sharing much more, beyond the messages I sent, the questions I wrote, the quiet rooms I asked for.

The piece becomes a gentle reflection on time, care, and the balance between being present and absent. Hard moments in life quietly emerge, along with the demands on time, and the love that carries through it all.

Join me in this quiet and thoughtful exploration of art, friendship, and the spaces between sound and silence. I hope it stays with you.

The painting that inspired me was created by my good friend of many adventures, artist, activist and overall amazing human being Kathleen McCann.

Small Audio Art is a community brought together by Phoebe McIndoe with artists and audio makers looking for togetherness in a scattered world. The prompt for this audio was 'painting'.

Ich erzähle einen kleinen, aber eindringlichen Moment, der mein eigenes Bedauern über meine Reaktion in einem bestimmten Moment unseres kollektiven Lebens widerspiegelt. Eine Reflexion darüber, wie leicht Angst unsere Wahrnehmung verzerren kann und uns vergessen lässt, was wirklich zählt: Mitgefühl und Hoffnung. Diese Arbeit hat den zweiten Preis beim Kurzhörspielwettbewerb der Hörspielwiese Kölln 2025 gewonnen.
"Eine Glanzleistung, die vor allem von der Stimme von M. Cristina Marras lebt."

Diese Arbeit ist eine Adaption und Neuinterpretation eines ursprünglich auf Englisch für Small Audio Art erstellten Audios, das auch von Radiophrenia 2025 veröffentlicht wurde.

This is my very first commissioned piece in German, published on Deutschanldfunk Kultur's Doku Drops, a monthly audio magazine curated and moderated by Judith Geffert and Ingo Kottkamp, featuring short documentary pieces.

In my piece, Da ist dieser Moment (There is this moment), I explore that fleeting, endless moment of waiting, the pause between dialling a phone number and hearing the other side pick up.

What seems like nothing on the outside opens up an entire universe of thoughts, feelings, and possibilities on the inside.

Text, sound and voice: M. Cristina Marras
Producer: Judith Geffert

Artwork Photo by Adam Hamel on Unsplash

A surreal exchange of words by the Aurora Bridge, near the railway. A dialogue between unlikely spies that makes a mockery of spy stories with irony and nonsense.

The scene is set by the historic bridge in Seattle, known for its striking presence over Lake Union. This audio work reimagines the soundscape of the Hannover Hydroelectric Power Plant. It is part of the Cities and Memory project, blending place, story, and sound to invite listeners into a playful world of coded secrets and hidden meanings.

Created for Cities and Memory using the 'Hydroelectric power plant, Hannover' recording by Jurgen Morgenstern-Feise.

Photo by Nationaal Archief on Unsplash

Created in 2 days, just as the rules of Sonic Dash require, without too much fuss, a bit rough and really rushed.

The theme was 'too much information,' to be interpreted freely. My luck is having a lot of interesting and original friends scattered around the world who come to my aid without asking too many questions when I show up again with one of my strange requests.

You might actually recognise some voices (many of them work in the podcast and audio world), but I am not writing their names here. Because when I asked them to tell me 'too much information,' I also specified that it didn’t necessarily had to be true. In short, don’t form any opinions based solely on what you hear here, I warn you!

I’ve already thanked my friends personally, even those I couldn’t include (there were many friends and only two minutes to fill), but I still like to repeat my thanks here because this really is a wonderful community.

Enjoy the ride! (works best with headphones).

Photo by Igor Omilaev on Unsplash

A story of childhood wonder, loss, and the consequences of chasing what we don’t fully understand, a cautionary tale about the stories we inherit, the memories we cling to, and the dangers of tampering with time-real or imagined.

Photo by Egor Litvinov on Unsplash

What happens when a clock that used to hang at the wall stops working, and is thrown away? And why do we feel compelled to shake a matchbox, even if we do not intend to use it? In this work you will not find a definitive answer to these questions, but I invite you to listen nonetheless, for a quiet exploration of the persistent habits of our memory, of what remains after people and objects disappear from our life, how the sound of their lives lingers long after they are gone.

I created this story for Small Audio Art, a community created by Phoebe McIndoe with artists and audio makers looking for togetherness in a scattered world. The prompt for this audio was 'clock'.

[Höre auch auf Deutsch]

Image reworking of Photo by Abiodun Ageh on Unsplash