4 in the morning, 4 days in. It feels like the routine is : don’t even try to have a routine, or a three-part-plan, as the most beautiful things that happen to you are always out of accidents. Just give yourself a canvas for the night, the first brushstroke, the rest is a dance between you and sentient colours.
This actually is quite a liberating experience, but everything evolves so fast, that way. More interesting conversations lead to more pertinent questions and enlightening answers. A cornucopia of Food For Thought.
So, for my own future re-reads of myself and archive purposes, a bountiful of Food For Thought I’ll continue to obsess on below.
Why do I write when I am able to say?
To leave traces? Are all traces relevant? Are the most beautiful conversation meant to stay hidden? To which extent do I spread the love i have for artists? At the same time, are some incredible performances meant to be named as such only after they are done, and remain undocumented?
Being right here, right now. Receiving everything so deeply, in a way that probably no one will ever understand… Seeing on a performer’s face way too many things, because I know their music a little too intimately. Covert frustration at technical failures, moments of deep concentration… Everything becomes graceful, when you get to see someone twist and turn a song, live.
I sometimes wish it was possible to hear every possible version of a song. Hear its whole history. Maybe that’s the gift and the curse of the musician, right here : you have the knowledge, but you alone have it.
So right here, right now, participating in the history of a song.