Empty wall

I built a large acoustic panel last year to put in my room. I wanted to make it really cool, like the ones you see in studios with fancy wood grain. I wanted to put diagonal wood beams to it to give it really professional look, but my measurements failed, and I only had wood enough to make them run horizontally. Thus the whole thing ended up looking like a stupid bed that is raised against the wall. The thing is full of glass wool.

But I noticed that this contraption made a little or no difference to neither the sound recording in my room or the sound from my speakers. Its same with or without it, so I pulled it apart today to make more negative space in my room.

All my effort became nothing, and it could be argued that this was all completely meaningless endeavor. I would have better of spending that money to photo books or my favorite albums. But it’s meaningless also to spend time thinking about it now. It’s done and gone.

Isn’t art exactly like this kind of process? We have big effort do something and then it just vanishes like in thin air and we are empty again? And for sure sometimes this all feels meaningless. Are we just blind to see it?