One thing that the world has been learning the past few years is that people deal with grief differently. That’s why we can never judge how people react to death of loved ones, beloved pets, other living creatures, and even life changes. Artists and creative people in particular sometimes have profound ways of honoring whatever it is that they have lost.
When a 65-year-old oak tree in Steve Parker’s front yard died from a fungal disease called oak wilt, he wanted to create a tribute to this tree that served as a refuge for migratory birds in their area. What he created was a sound sculpture, a record player that could play actual discs with bird songs, a fitting honor to the life and legacy of the tree.
Designer: Steve Parker
Parker cut the trunk of the diseased tree into “wood cookies” or cross-sectional slices. He then carved grooves directly into the discs to create playable records. He then built a victrola or record player that is specifically designed to play the wooden records. This player is placed on a pedestal and the round tree slices are displayed on the walls behind it.
What plays on the wooden records is equally special. He etched the songs of migratory birds that once nested in the oak tree. You hear a scratchy, wooden sound which actually reminds you of that branch that would hit the side of an old farm house, which can be nostalgic or creepy depending on your experience of it.
Creating these wooden records wasn’t easy. Live oak is notoriously difficult to work with because it cracks as it dries, and many woodworkers avoid it entirely. But Parker saw those imperfections as part of the piece’s authenticity. Those cracks and warps in the sound aren’t flaws, they’re features that honor the tree’s natural character even in death.
But the wooden records are only part of “Funeral for a Tree.” Parker also created a companion sculpture called “Sheng Shrine”: a plant-like, valve-driven instrument built from salvaged brass valves from euphoniums and trumpets, copper tubing, and breathing bags. What makes this piece particularly moving is what animates it: CPAP machines and ventilators, the same medical equipment used to help people breathe when they’re ill.
These breathing machines give life to discarded Chinese shengs (mouth organs). The sheng is traditionally associated with the phoenix, and the word itself means life, voice, and sound in Mandarin. Parker collaborated with sheng virtuoso Jipo Yang, who interpreted the bird calls and performed short compositions around them. The sounds you hear include the clicks of tiny relays, the grunts of air pumps that almost sound like snores, and the wheezing as air pushes through the reeds. It’s mechanical yet deeply emotional.
There’s another layer to this work that makes it even more poignant. Parker realized that his grief for the tree echoed the loss of his father to cancer. Both were slow, inevitable declines where care could not prevent loss. When his father was really sick, Parker’s family monitored his breathing to assess his comfort and sense where his body was going. Those CPAP machines and ventilators in “Sheng Shrine” carry those memories. They’re devices associated with life support, transformed into instruments that give breath to dead instruments playing songs for a dead tree.
What makes “Funeral for a Tree” so powerful is that it’s not Steve Parker performing a requiem for the tree. It’s the tree performing its own memorial service. The wood itself becomes the instrument, the bird songs it once sheltered become the music, and the breath that once rustled through its leaves is replaced by mechanical breathing that keeps the dirge alive.
In transforming something most people would haul away as waste into a functioning musical instrument, Parker reminds us that grief doesn’t have to be silent or passive. Sometimes the most profound way to honor a loss is to let it speak for itself, to give it voice and breath and let it tell its own story. In doing so, he’s created something that transcends the personal: a meditation on memory, loss, and the ways we try to hold onto what’s gone.
