I’ve been dreaming poetic dreams of mycelium which is really thought connecting to thought through boundaries which are really just illusions. I’ve been coiled and waiting like a pike in the hot weedy shallows, ready to spring at my duckling dinner. Racing like a strong salmon through the lines and hooks that dangle my possible death, crawling like a crayfish … More dry dry #Water
I went subterranean twelve weeks ago, maybe more. Came up again two days ago, I think. I know this because I found myself gardening yesterday. This was a tunnel of a place I’ve been in, a way into and through the deep, long list entitled Impossible-but-Necessary. In twelve weeks strong and beautiful people died, shockingly, … More A broadly curved road
The Harness is off. It’s over there on the floor. Curious, to see this thing I’ve worn for 30+ years… Who made it? Why so tight? Why the rough rope? It’s ingenious, actually. There’s a pull cord I see that will jab thumbtacks into my backside when I’m slowing down, and simultaneously tighten the collar … More Who designed this?
twenty extra minutes uphill, but it didn’t feel like it because of Dire Straits and Jake Coco. In fact, my wings carried me up that hill in time with the music, and then I was soaring high high above everything where the horizon is curved, warm sun on my back. My theory is this: I’m … More Wings
It’s easy to deflate yourself when you’re making art. It’s not just art-making – it’s making anything, really if you are serious about doing it as your vocation. Honestly, you ask yourself, who really cares whether this works or not? The world will not stop spinning, the grass and the children will grow regardless of … More The Courage muscle
Interesting, isn’t it, that we divide ‘commercial’ music from ‘real’ music? When in fact all music is consumed, and all professional musicians are in the business of earning a living – no matter what genre they play in. We say to our kids – no don’t be a musician, you’ll never make it, it’s too … More This business of music
Yesterday was requiem day as I worked in the studio, which seemed fitting, somehow. Every layer of grief and joy is expressed and exposed in them – the Mozart, the Brahms, the Faure, the Rutter. Outside my windows there raged a storm that tore hydro lines and uprooted trees – for a while my phone … More Saturday morning, 4am