I feel the loss of less,
Far from the crash of wave, the taste of salt, the scent of sea,
In sight of land and sky alone I feel your loss of less,
The sail of wind, the wrench of rope, the strength of nature's hand,
With less I feel my loss, as grit my time escapes, with solitary life, this wistful grain of sand.
Music is organized sound that often has patterns we enjoy in the mind and body, that can appeal to our sense of beauty, and may trigger ideas and emotions.
When I hear music I do so differently than anyone else, and so it is with you. We might respond in a similar manner, but not identically. We feel unpredictably according to our personal experience.
Music becomes within.
The piece of music I work on will be called 'Fragile Earth' and supports The Right of Self Protection. At present every choice I make creatively is with this in mind, however for the most part these choices are not reasoned, but instinctive. I have for example selected the instruments for the piece through my feelings about their sounds rather than an adherence to convention or logic.
The journey of making requires trust in my natural inclination. The artist depends on instinct.
Does art make me act? Without doubt in its making, cumulatively in its receiving.
The same work of art may move me to action over many years, yet have no affect at all on another. Art is hit and miss, relies on its resonance to affect, and may or may not aspire to, or do good. It is limited, but the best tool I know to reach across the boundaries of race, gender, culture, politics, and religion.
Can art help protect the environment? Reduce conflict? Champion love? For some, just a little.
Birth: the start of something new: a being; an idea; hope; faith in another; love. A moment of beginning.
I choose to separate those qualities that harm: the birth of hate, of anger, of greed, of envy and desire.
Birth is not only something that happens outside myself, but also within. On this my son's birthday I celebrate by choosing hope. The bedrock of the shale of my uncertainties.
Each day I have the choice of birth.
I do not name the man who scorns nations with his words. A name makes known, and such a man is not a man to note. His words inflame intolerance, the ignorant, the foolish soul.
When someone insults another on the basis of where they live, they make known their own insecurity, their weakness, their failure in thought and honour.
To such a man, face to face, I say with calm and fixed intent: leave my sight.
Some artists create for themselves or for art alone. Art is their means and end. They paint, sculpt, write, compose, dance and more, but not for others nor to pass on, but for the things art gives: shelter, solace, security, pleasure, closure. For some the creation of art is a world contained and controlled for one.
When I do a thing only for myself, no matter its pleasure or benefit, the peace it brings is all too brief.
My choice is to see or not to see, to say or not to say, to act or not to act, to share or not to share.
My aunt fell in love many years ago but never married. She, together with her twin sister who passed away forty years ago, fostered me together with my sisters. My aunt now lives independently in a self-contained home adjacent to mine. In her nineties her faith continues to be integral to her life, she remains intensely inquisitive about the world, and enjoys conversations about anything and everything.
To live well and long requires passion, good fortune, curiosity, tolerance, self-sacrifice, and love.
Art of any kind is made from fragments. Small incomplete pieces: of light, sound, movement, memory, shape, something touched or thought.
Art happens in place or time and sometimes both. With painting it is a place for there is no painting without this. With music it is time for there is no music without this. With a movie it is both.
Making art brings together or presents fragments of my experience and ideas with care for its form.
Antibiotic: anti (against) biotic (something living or having lived); opposing life.
Bacteria: a single cell organism - their biomass exceeds that of all plants and animals on the earth.
I often express my love of life, and yet I do not hesitate to end the life of the bacteria that invades me.
Living, I breathe. I feel, I move, I think. With pain, I protect and defend myself, my all that is my self.
I consider my right of self protection and ponder at the point that life has rights.
I wait for the morning. The pain is intense. My infection has taken hold during a period of tiredness and turmoil. The battlefield of bacteria and white blood cells is beyond my control.
Art also spreads rapidly within me. I hear music and feel better. I read words and ideas flow, one to another, then another. I see the beauty of a painting and my physical distress is relieved.
Art, both infectious and restorative.
A job requires payment. Work does not. The value of work someone does has nothing to do with money. Many define their status and success by the amount of money they earn rather than the non-economic outcomes of their work. It is unfortunate the same is true for many who create art.
A parent may work far harder in their care of a child, than their partner does in their job. That one earns money and the other does not has absolutely no relevance to the significance and impact of their work.
I wake after a couple of hours and cannot sleep. Along with others I spent much of yesterday in an effort to keep my elderly relative at ease as she moved into her new home. I left her in a good place, and people are on call to care for her around the clock, but I cannot sleep. I begin to make.
The act of making brings me balance. Working with words, light and sound I explore my feelings and thoughts in hope they will be shared. After an hour or so of making I am ready once more for sleep.
With another, no matter how flimsy or strong our relationship, how shallow or intense our feelings, there are things I fail to say. As I take in what you say, I think of our history, your gesture and tone. Whether we meet in person, on the page, with sound or light, scent, touch, or taste, there are things I fail to say.
Things can so easily be broken by what in person is said.
With art, music and words I make I do not fail to say. With these the frailties of my life are expelled.
Visual Art: the outcome of creative effort as a means of expression appreciated by sight.
Music: the outcome of creative effort as a means of expression of sound in time, appreciated aurally.
The Vogelkop bowerbird creates elaborate decorative structures that show off its skills and is designed to attract. It also uses a complex landscape of sound to court its mate. This bird makes art and music.
As artificial consciousness approaches, representational art will no longer be an exclusively human act.
My eyes worked well until a serious cycle accident many years ago left me with severe double vision.
Gradually, after many hospital visits over two years, eye muscle physiotherapy and time for my mind to re-synchronize the light that streams through me, the two images gradually came together as one.
I wear glasses for near sight. I am distracted by the smallest smudge or speck of dust and feel uncomfortable if what I see is not pin sharp. For me, to see clearly is wondrous, vital. I love to see.
I love birds, I do not have an affinity with cats. Nevertheless I have taken it upon myself to care for the comfort and security of one as my elderly relative is no longer able to look after him. The cat who is shy and nervous remains with her, but I try my best to ensure he has food, water, and feels settled.
Kenny is bonded with my relative, and she with him. She forgets many things but does not forget him.
Kenny and I have come to trust one another. Unexpectedly, reluctantly, I have come to learn from him.
We Are But Once: words in a poem that consider the privilege and fortune of life and the earth.
Unique: A single word that recognizes the abundant treasures of existence.
You: The reader. Someone else. Another. The all that is not me.
I: Everything I feel and think.
We: the custodians of life.