October 9, 2015

‘The slothful man saith, There is a lion without, I shall be slain in the streets (Prov. 22.13).

8.30 am. The possibility of risk, jeopardy, and calamity are the inevitable concomitants of reckless bravery. Life must be lived, and work undertaken, with one’s head in the lion’s mouth … always. 9.00 am. Into the sound studio to face the Cerebos of several uncompleted tracks. Friday morning is often a challenge when it comes to sound mixing. Noise (in the sense of the wrong sound in the wrong place at the wrong time) seeps into the studio, from within the home, in the form of a whirring vacuum cleaner and, from without, through the interference of  low-flying jets, yappy dogs, motorised street cleaners, heavy footfall, and the occasional traffic. These things are sent to test my headphones:

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9.30 am. I undertook the final mix and mastering of the recordings made at Sandra Sagan’s Suspension installation last week. By lunchtime, the lion’s share of the task was complete.

1.40 pm. For the next two and half hours, I poured over the visual patterns of crests and troughs that had begun to emerge on the graphic rendering — pushing the tidal motif further in order to introduce a slow irregular rhythm reminiscent of deliberate, meditative breathing:

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It’s peculiar how some parts of a composition (be that an image or a sound) require a great deal of brow furrowing and teasing to resolve, whereas other parts seem to look after themselves. And it’s the latter which provide the clues as to how the more recalcitrant bits and bobs should be dealt with. Creativity never loses either its mystery or capacity to surprise. But the hardest part, by far, is knowing when to let go of the artwork. 5.10 pm. That time is imminent! Back pain is growing, manoeuvrability is beginning to be impaired. Careful!

7.30 pm. Replaying a composition, after only two hours absence, enabled me to hear for the first time those desperately small inadequacies that needed adjustment before the composition could be released. This piece is as close as I’ve come to the the evocation of a landscape in sound. Strange that it should emerge in response to such an abstract visual proposition.

Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, whither thou goest (Eccl. 9.10).

I live by this wisdom. Neither the size nor the significance of a task should determine the standard of its execution. We have this day only, and in it our metal must be proven.

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I’m commissioning a new custom guitar Crimson Guitars. In essence, it must have no headstock, be light, and of a length that can be taken onboard an airplane. After that, it’s all up for grabs. So begins of a genuine collaboration between the artist and the luthier. I’m looking forward to it.

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