The Last Metronome

Last year I was at GOMA in Brisbane. Which, by the way, is always a slightly risky move, because you walk in feeling like a relatively successful person…and you walk out wondering if your life has been wasted because you don’t understand conceptual art. But I was standing in front of this piece by Martin Creed. It’s called Work No. 189, and it’s 39 metronomes.

At first, my nervous system basically said, “Absolutely not.” It was a full body experience. A wall of sound. Presto clashing with Lento. Urgent, lazy, frantic, stubborn. A mechanical argument happening in surround sound.

I remember thinking - this is exactly the symphony of modern life. The email that needs an answer. The deadline that is already breathing down your neck. The group chat ping. The news alert. The “you should be doing more” voice in your own head. The ambition. The mum-guilt. The constant hum of unfinished things. Each metronome on their own - totally reasonable. But together…..completely overloading.

Our brains aren't built for endless competing stimuli. When everything is urgent we're perpetually set to "standby mode". Cortisol hums along in the background. Decision fatigue creeps in. You feel busy, but not necessarily purposeful. I call it cognitive clutter.

We to see the other fascinating art installations - but before we finished for the afternoon I was compelled to revisit Creed's metronomes and I'm glad that I did…. because the metronomes were mechanical. They ran on springs - and springs, unwind. The fastest ones started to falter. The Prestos burned through their energy first. They clicked erratically. Then stopped.

The wall of sound thinned out. You could actually hear space between the ticks. And in that space, two or three metronomes would briefly sync up in accidental harmony. Then drift apart again. Yet another metaphor for life… Those fleeting moments when everything lines up. The coffee tastes better. The conversation flows. Your heart swells. Your body exhales. Beautiful. Temporary.

More metronomes stopped. The frantic ones went first. Then the moderately urgent ones. What remained were the slower, steadier rhythms. The long game.

Eventually, only one was left.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

In that almost silent room, it sounded enormous. And I had this slightly nerdy, slightly existential thought. When all the noise in your life winds down, what is left ticking?

Most of the metronomes we wind up every day are powered by short springs. Social approval. Deadlines. Trends. External validation. Even certain goals. They feel urgent and important. But they are finite and our nervous system knows this. That is why chasing everything feels exhausting. We're trying to sustain Presto energy on a Lento body.

The final metronome is different… It's what remains when the inbox is empty. When the kudos fades. When nobody is watching. When you are not performing, proving, or producing. It's what you care about when there's nothing to gain. It's what you would defend even if it cost you something.

When the Prestos burn out and the noise subsides, it will not be your busyness sitting beside you.

It will be a person. If we're lucky, a few. So the question is not whether the relationships in your life matter. Of course they do.

It is whether you are winding them with the same intensity as everything else.

Tick.