The world inside a downtown L.A. warehouse seemed to come to a halt, and all I saw was a blur of colors, where pinkish-red hues bled into shades of yellow and purple. And I was surprised at what I felt: rested but not tired. This was a deep, calming state, one in which I was wide awake but unable to zero in on a specific thought or concern.
Even if only for a moment, worries, loneliness and to-do lists felt as if they were sailing by. Everything I have a tendency to dwell on was present but also slightly out of reach. Although I visited a Chromasonic installation in December, with 2025 off to a stressful start — our region struck by devastating wildfires that have displaced tens of thousands — I’ve been eager to return.
Descriptions for immersive experiences in 2025 have the tendency to sound like mental health retreats. Many boast an ability to surround participants in awe, prompt restorative mindfulness, alleviate anxiety or inspire a dopamine release.
Chromasonic’s downtown Los Angeles exhibit aims to help guests reach a calming, introspective state.
(Chromasonic)
And so it was that I found myself lying on a concrete floor, a small pillow beneath my head and translucent upright slabs surrounding me — aluminum frames with a lightweight, sheer-screened fabric designed to diffuse light. I’ve set foot in many light-and-sound installations over the years and am used to being promised something akin to a world of wonder. If all goes well, I‘ll see some otherworldly art, maybe get a chance to play.
And yet, at Chromasonic, I didn’t want to leave — or move, really.
Chromasonic is a newly opened walk-through art installation in downtown. There’s also a Chromasonic space in Venice, which launched in 2021 and is a more intimate, solitary zone. In downtown’s Arts District, the exhibit — Chromasonic Field is its official name — you’re free to wander and may intermingle with other groups, albeit extremely quietly.
I stroll in and out of mini, boxy spaces while slowly shifting ceiling LED lights make their boundaries feel slightly elusive. A soundtrack of Brian Eno-inspired ambience graces the room, audio in which the synthetic and human intermingle until it’s impossible to discern an instrument. The entire area is dedicated to the transitory.
“What is interesting about Chromasonic is that there’s no cultural context to the sound and no cultural context to the light,” says Susan Magsamen, co-author of “Your Brain on Art: How the Arts Transform Us.” Magsamen is also a faculty member in the department of neurology at Johns Hopkins University, where her academic focus is, in part, on the intersection of the arts and mental health.
“You’re dislocated,” Magsamen says of a Chromasonic work. “It’s not dissonant, but it’s detached. You’re in an suspended space that is very womb-like. There’s nothing to hold on to, to make a pattern about. It’s not designed with a pattern, but it changes. So one of the things it does is it allows your brain to actually rest because there’s nothing to figure out.”
Chromasonic’s creators: Harriet Girardoni, standing from left, and Orpheo McCord; Johannes Girardoni, sitting from left, and Joel Shearer. The space aims to allow us to hear light and see sound.
(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)
Chromasonic is the creation of four artists. Its thesis falls somewhere between art and science. When asked about its emotional ambition, Johannes Girardoni, 57, co-founding artist and Chromasonic’s head of art, speaks of the sort of transcendent experiences most associate with, say, nature, or carefully designed communal environments — an art museum, perhaps, or, for some, a theme park.
A Chromasonic environment, says Girardoni, is designed to be something of a fast track to a meditative state.
“It’s almost like a hack,” Girardoni says. “Your brain and your senses are being activated in very different ways because you’re not finding information — you’re not finding normal narrative and normal reality. Removing all that information — normal physical reality — allows us to move into this expanded, new way of sensing awareness. I would say it’s a very efficient way to get into feeling connected to this moment. It’s a very inward and reflective experience.”
Art-wise, there are antecedents. A collaboration with fellow installation artist and partner Harriet Girardoni, as well as with sound artists/composers Orpheo McCord and Joel Shearer, Chromasonic at first blush appears indebted to the work of Los Angeles-born artist James Turrell in that it is using light as one of its primary materials. The Venice-based Johannes doesn’t shy away from that connection, paraphrasing a Turrell quote about art enabling us to “sense yourself sensing.”
“What we’re doing, specifically, with Chromasonic,” Johannes says, “is understanding that we can increase mindfulness and mental health — just as a stress reduction. It’s art in service of well-being. That’s the main drive of our work.”
Chromasonic is an immersive art show in Los Angeles.
(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)
In terms of accomplishing that goal, the Chromasonic team has been working on ways to turn light into sound and vice versa. Johannes speaks of the downtown space eventually hosting live music performances, the lighting in the venue responding in real time to the musicians. They call this process “Chromasonic Refrequencing,” and it’s an attempt to synchronize light and sound waves, using technology to visualize these frequencies.
Conceptually, it’s a belief that we can see sound and hear light. The software, says Johannes, allows the team to witness how light and sound waves expand and contract. Interpreting them can be a more impressionistic practice, but if it all works, says Johannes, a Chromasonic space will feel as if it’s “living and breathing.”
“Red,” says Johannes, “is a long wave, and violets are a short wave. You can map that to sound. A long wave will generate low sound, if you’re mapping that in real time. … When we compose, we have to be careful. If you’re generating too many different sounds, you’ll get white light very quickly. White light is all frequencies. This is very much about reducing stimulus.”
Researcher Magsamen thinks the Chromasonic team is on to something.
“I think this idea of being radically present marries the other side of the coin to anxiety, depression and fatigue,” Magsamen says. “They’re trying to understand what is noise and what is signal.”
Chromasonic Field can feel like a blur of light and sound, a liminal space aimed at relaxation.
(Chromasonic)
Once, when feeling especially down, someone close to me prescribed rest. “Rest would be good,” she emphasized, and sure, I went to bed. But I tossed, turned and generally did anything but rest. I thought of her advice while lying at Chromasonic, for I think this is the kind of rest she meant, one where concentration and focus were free of the unease they’re often tethered to.
For here, everything was slightly abstracted — a sonic hum gave way to a hazy mixture of lights as I glanced at various ideas and impressions. I’ve felt peace like this before — a trip to Sequoia National Park comes to mind — but what I liked about Chromasonic was that any sense of place felt distorted.
I knew, of course, I was downtown. And yet in this liminal space dedicated to emotional drifting, I truly felt like I was nowhere at all.
