This thesis aims to explore how sound and vibration affect human perception, emotion, and spatial awareness in high-stress or confined environments, using a speculative vibroacoustic pod as a discursive design artefact. Through embodied listening, the work initiates dialogue around sensory care, isolation, and experiential well-being, particularly in contexts that parallel extreme environments, such as construction zones.

What is sound? What does it mean to live with it, to be shaped by it, to be overwhelmed or healed by it?

My relationship with sound began early. As a child who spoke little, introverted and sensitive to my environment, I learned to read the world through its textures of sound. Growing up in New Delhi, I was immersed in an intense soundscape: machines, street vendors, religious ceremonies, horns, nature, and silence. The contrast was stark when I travelled across India: my mother from the North, my father from the East, each region defined by different tones, languages, and sonic behaviours.

This diversity sparked a lifelong curiosity about sound, not just as an auditory experience but also as a social, emotional, and spatial one. Why does certain noise make us anxious? Why do we find comfort in certain tones? Why are astronauts equipped with the most sophisticated sound-dampening technologies, while workers here on Earth, construction workers, for example, are expected to normalize the chaos of high-decibel labour?

This thesis aims to explore such questions through a design practice that combines recording, interviewing, installation, and research. My personal experience is not just a backdrop but a methodological tool. This is an autoethnographic study that uses my sensitivities and encounters as the lens through which to study broader social, technological, and psychological phenomena.

At the core of this thesis is a desire to bridge two worlds: the often-romanticized isolation of space and the frequently overlooked confinement of labour. Through discursive design and a vibroacoustic installation I call the "Mini World", I attempt to recreate and translate the sonic conditions of both, asking participants to experience the contrast between disturbing and calming sound environments physically.

This is not a thesis that claims to have all the answers. It is, instead, a conversation, a starting point, for rethinking how we design with and for sound, especially in environments of extreme sensory strain. This inquiry is rooted in that awareness of how sound connects to space, emotion, identity, and well-being, particularly in contexts of confined or overstimulated environments. It is also rooted in curiosity: how do astronauts experience sound in space habitats where the hum of machines replaces silence? And what about construction workers here on Earth, whose sonic environments are similarly intense but whose needs are rarely centred?

This thesis examines sound as both an aesthetic and infrastructural element, as well as a designable force in environments of mental strain and physical isolation. It engages with vibroacoustic therapy, psychoacoustics, human-centred design, and speculative world- building, drawing on personal autoethnography, fieldwork, and studio-based sound practice.

At the heart of the research is a design intervention: a portable sound pod integrating sound recordings, vibroacoustic excitation, and participatory interaction. Built using lightweight aluminium and equipped with a sound-transducing seat, the pod delivers a two-part sonic experience: one harsh and chaotic, the other calming and structured. This duality is intentional, designed to evoke a physical and emotional contrast in participants.

The key research questions are as follows –

• How can vibroacoustic interventions be designed to support sensory well-being in high-noise, high-risk environments?
• How do individuals experience and describe the emotional impacts of noise and vibration in their daily environments?
• How can this pod design serve as a prototype for mental health research in aerospace and other isolated or high-risk conditions?
• In what ways can speculative design provoke reflection on neglected forms of sensory care?

This project also deliberately blurs disciplinary lines, as it is equally about social design and class discourse as it is about sound engineering. In creating a short film and conducting interviews with construction workers, often excluded from design dialogues, I aim to highlight their sonic environments and emotional realities, drawing parallels with astronauts who, although exalted, are similarly immersed in sensory extremity.

The use of immersive sound is also echoed in Neri Oxman’s Krebs Cycle of Creativity, where she explores the intersection of design, science, and technology. This cycle can also inform the design of sound environments. Joseph Popper, who has researched the effect of auditory environments on human cognition, further informs this by suggesting that sound can create a unique connection between an individual and their environment. This concept of immersive sound experiences has profound implications for reducing stress in high-stakes environments such as space habitats.

1.1 Noise as Class, Sound as Power

Noise is never just noise. It is a social issue. The ability to escape from unpleasant sound is a privilege. Astronauts have specialists designing their environments. Noise is managed. Well-being is tracked.

But what about street workers? What about market vendors? What about the people who live beside train stations and highways?

When I began speaking with construction workers in London, they were surprised that anyone cared to ask about sound. “You just get used to it,” one of them told me. “Sometimes it’s like a nightclub. You block it out.” But even in their dismissal, I could hear fatigue.

In her work on co-design, Sanders argues:

“People are no longer satisfied with being told what they need. They want to be active participants in imagining and creating their futures.”

This is precisely what I aimed to do: not to design for people, but to listen with them, to understand their environments, their responses to sound, and their coping mechanisms.

What I found was a shared experience of confinement, of isolation, whether above ground or in space.

1.2 Noise Pollution in Construction Sites vs Space

Living in space means dealing with constant background noise, often at levels between 50 and 70 decibels, which is about the same as that of a busy office or city traffic (NASA, 2022). This prolonged exposure can disrupt circadian rhythms, impair sleep, and contribute to stress- related fatigue. Unlike workers in high-risk terrestrial environments (such as submarines), astronauts lack access to natural sounds, making it even more crucial to create artificial sound solutions for long-term well-being.

Construction sites are inherently noisy environments, with machinery, tools, and equipment generating high levels of sound. This noise pollution can lead to cognitive fatigue, hearing impairment, and increased stress levels among workers. According to several studies, prolonged exposure to high levels of construction noise can result in diminished concentration, impaired decision-making abilities, and increased error rates in tasks that require focus and precision. Furthermore, the constant loud noise is known to elevate cortisol levels, the stress hormone, which can have negative long-term effects on workers' mental health and overall job satisfaction.

Psychoacoustics play a crucial role in understanding the effects of noise pollution on construction workers. While some sounds, such as machinery and heavy equipment, are perceived as intrusive and potentially harmful, others, like rhythmic or natural sounds, have been shown to reduce stress and improve concentration. Research indicates that noise- induced stress on construction sites could be mitigated through effective sound design and the incorporation of sound-absorbing materials or vibroacoustic interventions. By integrating psychoacoustic principles, it is possible to create environments that reduce harmful noise exposure and promote mental and physical well-being, potentially enhancing worker productivity and safety.

1.3 The Mini World: A Design for Reflection

To further reflect on this discussion, I built a "space pod", a literal structure made of aluminium, with a sound seat featuring an embedded exciter device and headphones. People sit inside. They feel sound. They move from discomfort to calm.

It's not a product. It's a discursive object. Something meant to start conversations. To raise awareness about how sound influences people's mood, thoughts, and presence.

This structure is a speculative world, not far from what Dunne & Raby describe as “designs that ask questions rather than give answers”.

It’s a world-making gesture, and an act of care.

The project involves developing a philosophy centred on world-building, in this case, creating a pod and a surrounding soundscape, as a means to provoke discussion around underexplored topics that are often overlooked despite being present in our daily lives.

World-building is approached here as a design concept. The process raises questions such as: What are the necessary conditions to bring this vision to life? These conditions include physical constraints, such as the lack of actual spacecraft materials, limited access to primary data, and insufficient firsthand knowledge from astronauts.

We also consider control factors in the design, including the use of new materials (such as the exciter, soundscape elements, and metal structure) as both physical and conceptual components. Additionally, the pod has the potential to influence new behaviours. As people interact with it, they may develop new ideas, forming theories that prompt shifts in thought and behaviour patterns.

1.4 Perceptual World vs Conceptual World

The perceptual world is the one I’ve built, the world of this idea, which has somehow transformed into a physical space, creating an experience, provoking thought, and attempting to start a much-needed discussion in today’s world. The conceptual world, on the other hand, refers to the underlying model used for worldbuilding.

The NAIR model (Natural/Artificial versus Cognitive/Physical), provides a valuable framework for understanding the layered complexity of my project. At its core, the work translates a conceptual idea into a perceptual experience, materialising a speculative world through a physical pod-like structure and an immersive soundscape. This transformation aligns with NAIR's continuum between the cognitive and the physical, as well as between the natural and the artificial. The pod exists as an artificial construct, yet it is designed to provoke natural, reactive behaviours in users, inviting them to reflect, question, and engage with underexplored social or existential topics. The installation moves beyond passive observation; it activates both intentional and reactive behaviours, placing the participant in a cognitively rich environment where artificial materials generate natural responses. In this way, NAIR supports the project's aim: to use speculative worldbuilding not only as a design strategy but as a tool for shifting perceptions and prompting dialogue.

Frequencies effect the brain which alters our perception of the world...what does this look like?

Trying to alter our perception first requires understanding how to manipulate that perception to grasp the other world. But what does this mean? What are the characteristics of this "other world"?

• A world without gravity
• A world utterly different from our own
• A world that doesn't exist for most of us

  How can sound be a medium to connect us to this experience?

1. The Voyager Golden Record's purpose is similar to this line of questioning, as it attempts to convey our worth to extraterrestrial beings through recorded sounds from Earth, aiming to make them understand and perceive our world in a way that's true to our reality.

1.5 Isolation and Space

I’ve always been drawn to space, not just as outer space, but psychological space. What does it mean to be alone? To be surrounded by machines? To live in a sensory vacuum?

As an only child, I experienced a lot of isolation. My relationship with sound is also a relationship to solitude, sometimes chosen, sometimes enforced. When I think about astronauts, I think about the loneliness that comes with confined environments. The lack of connection. The overstimulation. The silence that isn’t silent.

This Thesis is...

A story.
A sound.
A provocation.
A tool for reflection. A design for care. An act of noticing.

My research doesn’t begin in a lab or an archive; it starts in the street. It begins with holding a recorder in one hand and holding breath in the other. It starts with stepping into a construction site or a forest with no script, only ears.

I’ve always been attuned to how things sound, but this project sharpened that into practice. I started making recordings years ago, collecting sounds that spoke without language. Sounds that surrounded me in childhood: the crumbling of dry leaves, the hum of water tanks, devotional songs drifting through neighbourhood speakers, footsteps echoing in narrow Delhi alleys.

For this research, I approached sound with curiosity and care. I made field recordings of birds, rivers, rustling trees, and urban machinery. These weren’t just ambient textures; they were archives of presence, fragments of sensory reality that would become raw material for both thinking and making.

2.1 Interview as Collaboration

A turning point in this research was speaking with construction workers. Most had never been asked what they thought about noise. Some looked surprised. Others laughed. But slowly, they began to talk.

“If I’m doing paperwork at my desk and there’s banging going on outside, I wouldn’t be able to concentrate,” one worker told me.

“You kind of just get used to it,” said another. “You don’t have a choice.”

These conversations weren’t structured. They were moments of mutual observation, their work lives and my research world overlapping for a moment.

Sanders & Stappers remind us that:

“People hold latent creativity that can be unlocked when they become co-creators in a design process.”

In that sense, these workers weren’t subjects, but collaborators. Their testimonies didn’t just inform the design of my installation, they shaped its ethics.

2.2 The Short Film

To honour these voices, I created a short film documenting both the environmental sounds of the construction site and the spoken experiences of the workers. This was a choice of medium as much as a message; sound had to be seen, not just heard.

The film became a way to visualise the politics of noise, not as abstract data but as lived experience. By weaving visual and sonic textures together, the film highlights how invisible pressures, such as sound, become embedded in the body.

It also served a dual function: it created empathy in viewers while also providing validation for the workers, who saw their environments reflected at them with care.

As Schafer writes:

“When we become conscious of the soundscape we inhabit, we gain the power to redesign it.”

This project is exactly that, an attempt to redesign the relationship between bodies, environments, and sound.

2.3 The Studio

Parallel to my fieldwork, I spent time with musicians from the Royal College of Music (RCM) to record multiple pieces, one of them being The Swan. It’s a melancholic, gentle composition, a direct contrast to the metallic chaos of construction sounds.

Collaborating with musicians was crucial. They brought structure to my intuition. We recorded the cello and piano parts, and then I layered these with natural soundscapes, including birds, water, and wind. The editing process was slow and intentional; each sound was placed not just for auditory pleasure but for emotional impact.

“Design is really an act of communication... which means having a deep understanding of the person with whom the designer is communicating.”

This applied not just to objects, but to frequencies, to how people interpret sonic texture.

Working with musicians from the Royal College of Music (RCM) was extremely fruitful. Collaborating with them was essential to understanding the impact of music and its effects on the mind. Experimenting with specific sound pieces played a crucial role in the research, serving as a form of practice in working with music. This process was meaningful to the overall research experience, particularly in understanding the complete recorded live music experience. In this context, the cellist is recording the Sarabande from J.S. Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1 in G major, which is known for its calming effects.

2.4 The Mini World as Experiential Therapy

The Mini World is best understood as a non-clinical but therapeutic intervention. This design artefact does not aim to diagnose or treat mental illness in a formal medical context but rather to create conditions for emotional regulation, sensory awareness, and psychological relief. By combining sound, vibration, and spatial enclosure, this world fosters a momentary retreat from overstimulation. This temporary perceptual shift may help participants become more attuned to their emotional states. In this way, the pod aligns with broader models of arts-in- health practices, where creative and sensory experiences contribute to individual well-being not through clinical protocol but through affective, embodied encounters. The design encourages introspection, calm, and meditative presence, functioning as a tool for self- regulation, reorientation, and silent reflection, qualities increasingly essential in high-noise, high-pressure environments. It offers a form of care that is quiet, immersive, and participatory without being medicalised.

3.1 The Pod

The pod was ergonomically designed to comfortably accommodate a single user in a seated position, ensuring an immersive and personal experience.

Constructed from lightweight aluminium, making it -

• Durable: Resistant to wear and tear.
• Lightweight: Easy to transport and assemble.
• Minimalistic aesthetic: A sleek, modern look that aligns with the space-inspired theme.

It supports the integration of vibroacoustic elements, such as sound vibrations through the seating surface, to deepen the sensory experience.

Height: 59 inches Width: 57 inches Depth: 31 inches
Seat Height: 20.5 inches

Out of this came the Mini World, a modular, chair-based pod structure, housing an exciter device (the DAYTONAUDIO Dayton Audio BST-300EX) attached to the back of the chair and an amplifier feeding live vibrations.

Sound-dampening Sorbothane was also used as a special material in the structure to prevent the metal frame from rattling.

3.2 Sound Design

The sound piece was created with a central intention: to highlight the stark contrast between unpleasant and pleasant auditory experiences. In the first part, I deliberately used harsh, jarring, and uncomfortable sounds, such as construction site noise and mechanical machinery, to evoke a sense of disturbance and chaos. These sounds were explicitly chosen to feel annoying and intrusive, reflecting the kind of auditory environment that is often dismissed or ignored in daily life.

As the piece progresses, it transitions into a softer, more soothing soundscape, introducing calming frequencies that bring a sense of peace and relief. This shift is crucial. It allows the listener to feel the contrast between the two auditory worlds.

The goal is not just to create discomfort and then comfort but to make the listener more conscious of how sound affects mood, tension, and perception. By juxtaposing the unsettling with the serene, the piece encourages a deeper appreciation for both extremes and a recognition that even unpleasant sounds carry significance. They shape our environment and emotional responses.

In essence, the piece explores the full emotional spectrum of sound, making the audience not only hear but feel the difference.

This was not entertainment. It was an experiential design rooted in Vibroacoustic Therapy (VAT).

People sit in the chair, wear headphones, and feel the sound move through their spine, legs, chest, and skin. The exciter translates sound into bodily rhythm, like a silent subwoofer embedded in the self.

My practice doesn’t separate design from emotion. Every sound I recorded, edited, layered, and tested was also a way to explore my own body. What overwhelms me? What soothes me? Why do specific frequencies feel like memory?

This is also a politics of listening. To make space for voices not often heard. To value how something sounds, not just what it says.

The pod — the sound piece — the short film — the recordings — all are speculative artefacts. Not answers. But openings.

What is the goal of the sound piece?

Some keywords for desired emotional response -

Calm

Peace

Intensity

Meditative

Liberating Spiritual

4.1 Interview Reflections

Interviews were conducted with seven participants, each offering distinct insights into their experience with the pod.

4.2 Colour Analysis

As part of the qualitative analysis, a colour palette was developed based on the emotional and sensory descriptions provided by participants during their pod experience. This palette serves as a visual translation of their subjective states, representing how sound, vibration, and space can evoke complex emotional responses. Each colour corresponds to a distinct psychological or perceptual impression: the warm earth tone (#8E6F5E) suggests grounded-ness and embodiment; charcoal black (#2F2F32) reflects moments of unease or deep introspection; soft yellow (#FFD86A) offers warmth and mental clarity; teal (#3E888C) evokes breath, calmness, and fluidity; deep forest green (#2E5E4E) represents introspection and psychological balance; and midnight blue (#0B1D3A) signifies isolation, space, and stillness. These associations were not imposed but emerged organically through participants’ reflections, illustrating how sensory experiences can be internalised and recalled through colour. The palette thus becomes a tool for visualising affective response, allowing the data to move beyond text and into a more immersive, interpretive dimension.

The artwork visualises the emotional spectrum articulated by participants during their pod experience, using the previously developed colour palette as a foundational guide. The deep blues and muted charcoal tones reflect feelings of isolation, introspection, and the vast unknown, resonating with the participant who described “midnight blue” as the dominant colour evoked in the pod. The central figure of the whale, suspended and silent, acts as a metaphor for calm immersion and spatial suspension, akin to being adrift in sound or space. The golden hues in the upper right convey warmth, quiet, and relief, drawing from the soft yellow in the palette (#FFD86A), associated with moments of clarity and peace in the soundscape. Earthy greens and browns ground the scene, tying it back to the themes of being “tied to the earth,” as noted by one participant reflecting on the sounds of the river and breathing. The moonlit boat on still waters, marked by a small red sail, introduces a subtle tension, perhaps an echo of vulnerability or gentle resistance, surrounded by the dark void of introspective space. Together, these elements merge into a landscape that is not literal but emotional: a perceptual world shaped by frequency, memory, and affective resonance.

4.3 Triggers for Discussion

I am using a few sentences here that I believe have been able to provoke a new thought or idea and can be further discussed -

"Do you think there is an actual gap in society, and does this pod sort of help to connect it?"

"Why astronauts?" — "Because it feels like a journey going out into space."

"That felt like asteroids crashing in... I thought it was the sound of engines."

"It’s all connecting now because I put it in — some of it was intentional."

"I want to create a pod in a space shuttle that astronauts can go to relax."

"That gap comes in society — because why can’t I get access?"

"So it kind of contradicted my own question."

"Who even cares about them?" (re: construction workers)

"If I had access to astronauts, it would’ve changed everything."

"Just saying there’s a gap isn’t enough."

"It’s an experience design and a public design. So many things are intersecting."

"It’s design fiction — a fiction of what could be."

This thesis began with a question: What does it mean to listen in spaces that do not hear back? Through an autoethnographic and practice-led inquiry, I have explored how vibroacoustic design might serve as both a critique and care tool in high-noise, high-stress environments, from construction sites to speculative space habitats.

The “Mini World” installation evolved into more than just a prototype. It became a space of feeling, conversation, and provocation, a discursive object that allowed participants to inhabit unfamiliar sensory worlds. These experiences, as the interviews revealed, not only engaged bodies through vibration and sound but also prompted reflection on memory, class, space, and isolation. Participants described shifts in emotional states, imaginative journeys, and moments of sensory relief, underscoring the potential for sonic interventions to regulate and reframe our mental landscapes.

This project affirms that care can be designed not as a final product but as an evolving dialogue, a pod of listening. By drawing parallels between astronauts and construction workers, between the exalted and the overlooked, this thesis proposes a speculative ethics of sound: one that does not aim to fix but to attune. Attune to fatigue. To overstimulation. To silence. To presence.

If we are to design futures that are not only liveable but listenable, then sound must no longer be relegated to the background. It must be foregrounded as an agent of meaning, critique, and healing.