I live in a quiet place and have the good fortune of hearing small things move: the air through the dry crisp leaves of autumn, the untroubled ruffle of a bird's wing, the sporadic drops of mist to earth. I become aware of a moment, stretching, precious, long before my breath falls and rises for the next.
Music cannot exist without its travel from one moment to another, and yet as I play I loose all track of time. Perhaps this is why I love so much to share within its fluent arms.
For three months, between creative projects, I have sought tools and learning to help me make with something new in an effort to combine different media to form a unified whole. I am not technically minded and feel overwhelmed by the scale and challenge.
The only qualities that will help me complete what I start is my stubborn persistence and determination. My talent, such as it is, has little impact on getting things done.
My kin are my family by birth and choice. I ponder on the kindred spirit, someone who experiences the world as I do, someone I feel affinity with, instinctively.
Kindred spirits: open, sympathetic, resonant.
I think of two bronze hollow tubes suspended from a tree. As the air travels across and through them, they move, together. Their nature is to sound and share their sound.