December 7, 2017

8.00 am: A communion. 8.40 am: At the School:

A tiredness has crept into the diary over the past few weeks. One ought to pay attention to such a malady in whatever field of action it occurs. The condition may be indicative of a number of causes: a weary writer, a fatigued life, or an exhausted form. In this instance, at this time of the academic year, all explanations pertain. However, the latter appears to be chief among the reasons.

Something has to change. Sometimes the form – the diaristic mode, particularly – stifles the natural evolution of ideas and patterns of thought. I should review my output over the last year in order to discern the deadwood, mindless repetition (which may reflect the way life was lived at the time), self absorption, indiscretions, unclarity, folly, and dullness of mind. But what would a new form look like? The form must arise from the intent. Therefore, I should attend to intent first. In the present diary there’ll be the anticipation of what is to come. But I’ve yet to recognise it.

Raine’s informal painting:

9.00 am: A morning of third-year painting tutorials. The emphasis over the last two weeks of term will be on preparing for the feedback tutorial/assessment in January. The Christmas vacation will be period when the slack can be tightened, reparations made, and whatever is lacking made up for. 11.00 am: An undisciplined jaunt to the student common room to buy a chocky bar:

On, then, with the email catch up and preparations for the final week of teaching. The last lap is always the hardest. 12.00 pm: A readying of the lecture theatre for the Abstraction module. This would be the final double bill.

2.00 pm: I had time to return home for a brief respite before facing the growing wind and plummeting temperatures en route for the Old College. From 3.00 to the end of the day, I conducted tutorials with the MA Fine Artists. The darkness descended stealthily:

7.00 pm: Thursday evening is traditionally mop and bucket time, when the weeks teaching admin is cleared and the week ahead mapped out. This has been a long and challenging week on so many fronts.

Some principles and observations derived from today’s engagements:

  • Habit keeps the wheel turning when every other motivation deserts us.
  • Something becomes important by the very act of giving it our attention.
  • Take the ordinary and turn it into something special.
  • The students’ Instagram and Snapchat (and their cognates) posts reflect a much more casual, open, and unselfconscious approach to image making than is reflected in their artwork. They ought to pay attention to what they produce for these media. The output may contain the seeds of something relevant to their core business.
  • Don’t aim for grand gestures. Just concentrate on making something honest and meaningful (for you).
  • Talking about our work to another forces us to come clean with ourselves about what we’re doing.
  • The greatest artists were always clear thinkers.
  • A direct correlation can be made between hard work and motivation. They always co-exist, and cannot exist apart from one another.
  • Those who rubbish others reveal more about themselves than they do about the subject of their contempt.
  • We are apt to descend to the level of our own expectations. So, sometimes, you need to let others raise you up to theirs.

December 5, 2017

8.00 am: A communion. 8.30 am: To the Old College via the promenade. The subdued light, the last of night, imbued the landscape with a mood that was neither comforting nor dispiriting. I recalled the title of a painting by de Chirico: The Melancholy of Departure (1916):

One ought not to be fearful of endings, especially of those that are either unavoidable or necessary. We are made stronger by letting go. An ending of one thing is, simultaneously, the beginning of another. To suffer ‘the loss of all things’, the Apostle Paul wrote, opens the way for something far far grander, and which cannot be taken away.

9.00 am: The beginning of MA Fine Art tutorials for the morning. Elli’s grid:

11.00 am: Vocational Practice. We dealt with the vexed issue of using social media on a professional context.

3.00 pm: After an extended lunchtime meeting, I held a PhD Fine Art tutorial. 4.15 pm: Homeward as evening inclined towards night:


5.00 pm: The final Abstraction essay tutorial for the week.

7.30 pm: Admin catch up.

Some principles and observations derived from today’s engagements:

  • Just working can give rise to new ideas. So when you are lost for an idea, just work.
  • Past precedent shapes future expectation.
  • After ‘experimenting’ one ought always to evaluate the outcome against the intent.
  • Don’t resist abstraction when it bids.
  • The problems of your work are tailor made for you, now.
  • It is chiefly by our response to the problems in our work that it advances.

December 4, 2017

A fulsome weekend made up of a church evaluation meeting on Saturday morning, a Holy Trinity Church /Eglwys y Santes Fair lunch on Sunday at the Marine Hotel, Aberystwyth, and an attempt to substantially compose my ‘talk’ (homily/meditation) for the Advent Light service on Friday. And so much else was taking place internally too.


Rarely have I begun a week feeling so tired and divided in myself. Throughout the morning and afternoon I conducted one-to-one tutorials with my Abstraction module contingent. This was with a view to ensuring all were responding to their chosen question in the most appropriate way. I was nailed to my office. In the spaces in between appointments, I attended to long-overdue emails and structured my final week of teaching, which would begin next Monday:

Fine art students rarely have a considerable gift where it comes to essay writing. I certainly didn’t when I began my undergraduate education. Writing demands a set of skills that aren’t included in the artist’s kit bag. I got better once I: (a) began dealing with what I was passionate about; (b) realised that writing was a creative practice. (You could develop a ‘voice’ here too.); and (c) stopped getting hung up with grammar and syntax during the initial drafts. (I’ve the poet Gillian Clarke to thanks in all these respects. She was a caring, sensitive, non-judgemental, and supportive mentor when I was at art school.) Like making art, writing has been an skill acquired over a long period of time. And, I’m still learning. As a teacher, I have to remember just how hard I found the process back then.

2.00 pm: Two consecutive telephone tutorials followed by a series of office visits from eager essayists until the end of the afternoon. 5.20 pm: Homeward:

6.30 pm: Practice session. 7.30 pm: I returned to Friday’s Advent Light service to finalise preparations.

Some principles and observations derived from today’s engagements:

  • Keep kindred ideas together in paragraphs. Otherwise the sentences begin to read like bullet points: provisional, naked, and unconnected.
  • Too many too short paragraphs in series feel like choppy waters. Go for the flow instead.
  • Ensure that the question is answered. But don’t be afraid to go beyond the bounds of the question in searching and relevant ways.
  • By far the hardest aspect of essay writing is discerning and defining the structure.
  • Begin by writing what you know. (It may not be the first section of the essay, necessarily.) The rest will be emerge from this.
  • Aim to over-write at the outset. This will be the clay from which you will mould the final piece. Some of it will be pared away, other parts will be reshaped, and the remainder, the core of the pot.
  • Write to articulate ideas; write to generate ideas; write to interweave ideas.
  • Many problems result from starting the essay too late.

The experience of either grief or significant loss is like an intense homesickness – like the melancholy of nostalgia for a place to which you cannot any longer return. There are those we lose to death, and there are those we lose to life. The latter are still in our world, but beyond our reach in every respect. For such, our grief is unresolvable.

December 1, 2017

8.15 am: A reckoning. 9.00 am: I laid aside admin until Monday morning. Studiology. I picked up the trail where I’d left it Monday morning and confronted chaos. The challenge was to compose something both distressing and compelling to listen to. When I was young, I’d fill my mouth full of lemon sherbet in order to experience the pain-pleasure principle: that unbearable sweetness, sourness, and sizzle – which numbed my mouth, made my eyes water, and nose burn – and the glorious relief in its aftermath. (I enjoyed the ordeal, in part, because I was in control of the process as both victim and torturer.) This memory would serve as my guiding light.

While files crunched down I disassembled the rig at the centre of the room. It’d become too complex for either comfort or control. When the means of production distracts from the creative process, something has to be done. Simple structures are preferred.

I began constructing sectional components of the composition. Often, I hear the part long before I hear the whole. But in the part is the suggestion of the whole. One just has to attend very carefully in order to discern it. By lunchtime, my rats’ nest of cables had been brought to order.

2.00 pm: From then on, I interwove the ‘horror’ samples in order to generate an intensity. As the rig was simplified in the background, so the composition became increasingly austere and paired down. 3.30 pm: Sundown:

5.00 pm: By now, I’d an acceptable continuity of ‘noise’. The original track bearing the overlaid versions of all four sermons had been excluded. If a piece can work with less elements, then the additional elements must have been superfluous. The slimmed-down rig was established on the large white table. Other devices may be added, as necessary:

7.30 pm: I reviewed the day’s compositional work. It had begun to grow on me. When I listened, my mind’s-eye was filled with a vision of suffering, anger, and disorientation. This was entirely apt, given the nature of late-stage dementia. Afterwards, I began my initial study in Isaiah 9, in preparation for the Advent Light service next Friday.

Masaccio’s The Expulsion of Adam and Eve from Eden (c. 1415) meets heroism, rigour, determination, and a final resolution:


November 29, 2017

6.00 am: I awoke before the alarm. Of all people I, as trip co-ordinator, could not be late for the bus. I’ve a strident bedside clock. But it doesn’t prevent me from falling asleep after it has alarmed me. 7.15 am: In the dark and frosty morning the student and I stood outside the railway station waiting for the coach that would shuttle us to Cardiff. A few weak stomachs and bladders slowed our progress. We arrived at the National Museum Wales at 10.30 am:

The students and I spread throughout the upper galleries and two exhibitions, principally: Bacon to Doig and Who Decides?. For the purposes of the exercise, the students undertook to examine the objective, display, curatorship, and works in one or more exhibition (with an focus on abstract painting) with a view to writing a journalistic report. This will be submitted for assessment in the context of the Abstraction module:


It was my parents who first brought me to the Museum. School trips stretched only to zoos far further afield. So much for a breadth of education. I’ve many good memories associated with it and Cardiff. My first ever publication was a review of an exhibition of Welsh landscape painting entitled The Dark Hills; the Heavy Clouds, which I saw in 1981, in the months after graduating from the art school in Newport. That was my initial and tentative step towards a PhD in Art History, which I began in 1986. When my vinyl-buying friends bussed down to the capital from Abertillery, we’d always stop in at the Museum before returning home, to take in a gallery or one of the natural history exhibition rooms. You did that sort of thing in those days:

On my trip into the centre over lunch, I found Spillers Records – the oldest record shop in the world. I wasn’t going to either buy or browse; it was just reassuring to know that the shop survived. I like continuity. Unlike Cranes music shop – the city’s only half-decent guitar retailer – which appears to be relocating, I knew not where. The area around by St John the Baptist Church had been ‘Christmas Marketed’ – overwritten with a vaguely pixie-ville aesthetic.

On passing Tabernacl Welsh Baptist Chapel in the Hayes, I noticed that one of its four front doors was open to enable the Weight Watchers club members to enter. I’d never been in the chapel before; I took the opportunity. It’s a magnificent example of its type. Externally, it could pass for a theatre or cinema. Inside, the façade windows present themselves in a curiously asymmetric fashion. The occasion was an unexpected treat:

I returned to the Museum at 1.30 pm, to catch up on departmental business and my thoughts. I’ve revived a habit of sending picture postcards to friends. Email and the likes of FaceBook have more-or-less made the custom redundant. (‘Video killed the radio star’, as it were.) However, the effort expended on choosing an appropriate postcard, buying both it and a stamp, composing a sentiment, writing an address, and finding a postbox (no mean feat), signifies a level of commitment to the recipient that merely dashing off a one-liner and pressing ‘send’ cannot.

3.30 pm: I returned to the Swaps: Photographs from the David Hurn Collection exhibition. Hurn’s office (the hub of ‘Doc Phot’, as his course was known) was next to my first-year studio at Newport. We passed one another but never spoke. I’d little interest in photography at the time. That grew, along with a passion for architecture, in the following decade. Now I find the art form utterly beguiling. 4.00 pm: I took a final spin around the two other exhibitions. Museums and galleries are falling over backwards to ingratiate themselves with a broad general public. (Footfall in funding, after all.) But there’s a danger of implying that the artwork’s meaning is entirely up for grabs: ‘THERE IS NO RIGHT OR WRONG’ opinion about art, one exhibition board boldly (or capitally) proclaimed. Relativism rules. The expert is dead. I demur. As a maker, I’m not content for my own work to be interpreted will-nilly. Which is why I go to lengths to hedge it about with statements of intent and exposition. It should not mean anything to anyone.

5.15 am: The coach returned to take us home.

November 28, 2017

7.45 am: A shadow was cast over the landscape.

8.00 am: A communion. ‘Finding the way’. 8.35 am: I moved against the brittle breeze,  under a theatre of a dark-grey cloud, warm raking sunlight, and light rain showers that, in partnership, orchestrated a spontaneous rainbow over the sea. (A promissory.)

9.00 am: I’m the equivalent of power-walking through the day in an attempt to keep a step ahead of my own game. Thursday’s classes had to be prepared today, since I’d be away all day tomorrow. And this was ordinarily a full day too. I’d not washed my tea cup sufficiently – a mouthful of soapy PG Tips as a consequence. 10.00 am: The first of a number of MA Fine Art tutorials today. 11.10 am: Vocational Practice. We were looking at the vexed issue of applying criteria assessment in an tutorial feedback context. It’s one of those areas of discussion that, naturally, students have strong opinions about. (They’ve suffered under it.) When I was an undergraduate, we were never told how the marks that we’d been given had been arrived at. Nor were we bold enough to inquire. How things have changed:

12.30 pm: An MA advisory session (over my lunch). Someone at the crossroads. 1.15 pm: A personal tutorial. 2.00 am: MA tutorials recommenced. Brigitte’s colour box:

In the spaces in between teaching, I worked away at admin implied by pretty much every incoming email that cluttered my inbox. Today, on my broader rounds, I’ve encountered students in the department who are trying to cope with insuperable problems. Their tenacity and determination were inspiring.

5.15 pm: Homeward:

7.15 pm: Preparations for travel tomorrow and myriad minor admins to put to rout. The remnant of emails will have to be dealt with on the bus.

Some principles and observations derived from today’s engagements:

  • Objectify > clarify > identify > recognise > discern > decide > determine  > repeat
  • There’s a line. At one end is a ‘classical’ sensibility, and at the other, a ‘romantic’ sensibility. The ‘classical’ (rationale, cerebral, clear-cut, linear, geometric, light, achromatic, cool, restrained, and preconceived); the ‘romantic’ (intuitive, instinctual, dark, chromatic, tonal, emotional, diffuse, evolutionary, improvisational, and spontaneous). Most students are somewhere in between, and often inclined to one end rather than to the other.
  • We must each have a vision for ourselves as much as for our work. This should be: confident, without being immodest; certain, with being restrictive; and consistent, without being inflexible.
  • There are times when the irresolutions of either the heart, mind, or soul may take us to the very brink.
  • No one should suffer outside of a supportive community.
  • There are many voices in our head when choices have to be made. Why do we listen to one more than the other? Why do we tend to heed the negative more than the positive voice?
  • If we are physically uncomfortable with the means of making, does that suggest that we are going about it in the wrong way?
  • Looking > excavating > finding > recovering > discovering
  • Rehearsal isn’t the same as preparation: One might prepare for an act that is related to, but substantially different from, the final outcome.


November 27, 2017


It hailed, like dried peas poured onto a metal baking tray. 9.30 am: My hairdresser told me about a paranormal experience they’d had in a local hotel room recently. It betrayed a number of classic features associated with ghostly encounters: intense cold spots, interference with electrical equipment, and the sudden and violent movement of objects. Apparently, a university students had died in the room back in the 1920s. I don’t doubt the witness’s experience. But how does one begin to interpret these phenomena?

Throughout the day, I unpacked and stored the equipment that I’d used at yesterday’s I. Nothing. Lack. event, and generally tidied up and reorganised the studio in readiness for the next phase of work, that would begin Monday afternoon. ‘I’m getting there’, I said, to reassure myself. Quite how all the composed material fits together as a coherent album has not disclosed itself yet. It will. It always does. But I must pay attention to what the compositions are telling me in the meantime:

Ed Pinset sent me a link to his review, on The Sound Projector radio and internet magazine, of The Bible in Translation album. It’s always encouraging to receive an intelligent and genuinely supportive response to something one has done. I’m under no illusion: the work that I produce in either the sonic or the visual field has a very limited audience. I’ve no interest in making it more palatable. But I do exert a considerable effort to explain to the public the difficulties involved in encountering the work. That’s not a concession; that’s a responsibility. Bowie once said, something to the effect, that if he’d been totally uncompromising about his music, then he’d have had no audience at all.

Today. A morning of admin – culling responsibilities that still hung in the air following last week’s busyness, and preparing for the week ahead. By 12.30 pm, my attention had moved from the School’s to my own research admin. My CV and websites needed updating. I made a start:

2.30 pm: Studiology. Then I began to sift the acoustic recordings that were made on Friday at Bethel, beginning with the loud and chaotic samples based on white noise predominantly:


Very little had to be done in terms of equalisation and stereo enhancement. I’m pursuing a policy of minimal intervention in this respect. Those samples that captured MacMillan’s voice only, summoned a very authentic sense of him being, once again, preaching in the building. After all, originally, his voice would have sounded out through a PA system, although not a 1000-watt version, like I was using. 5.00 pm: Evening fell:

7.30 pm: I put together a handout for the Cardiff trip. I’ve not had a pretext for taking the students there since the days of the now defunct Chapels in Wales module. 8.30 pm: Back at the mixing desk, with a view to exploring how the more chaotic samples (nicknamed ‘Horror 1-4’) might be integrated with the overlaid sermons sample (which conspicuously fails in its present condition). The sounds of the final Monday evening fair drifted on the wind towards me as I did so.  My sonic invention and the real world strangely mimicked one another. By the close of the session, a solution had tentatively begun to suggest itself.


November 24, 2017

This has been a fulsome week:

Tuesday and Wednesday were dedicated to preparations for the Explore Your Archive event, held at the National Library of Wales on November 22. Teaching carried on around and about the construction of a script, PowerPoint, and workshop materials. It’s difficult to quantify how much time and effort the MA students had invested in the project. It had been considerable, and showed. In pairs, they presented an engaging breadth of ideas and potentialities with the panache of seasoned professionals. The School could be rightly proud of them; this was a fine example of public engagement:

Thursday. 8.00 am: A communion. 8.30 am: My phone was almost exhausted of charge and I’d forgotten my camera and iPad. No photography, then, until I returned home this evening. Only words. These would need to be (and could be) sufficient unto the day.

S: ‘I didn’t know what to paint, so I painted the Venus at the top of the stairs. I go passed it every day’. Van Gogh’s painting of Gauguin’s boots: an attitude of curiosity about the ordinary. Using the mundane and familiar aspects of our lives as a resource. Preferring the aesthetic of a damp patch to a Titian. Automatic writing. Patty Smith’s poetry. Send a postcard to yourself every day. There’s nothing wrong about working on paper. T: ‘But do you know why you like pattern?’ Buy better brushes that are more appropriate to the task. Don’t over emphasise a contrast; look to the whole before determining the measure of the part. Commit yourself to several paintings on the same subject. (Tutorial notes from ‘The Black Notebook’ (November 24, 2017) 1).

Today. 8.00 am: Boxes were transported from the studio to the front passage. 8.50 am: Off to School to meet Mr Garrett (my ‘roadie’) who drove me (with table and stand installed) back home to pick up the boxes and on to Bethel chapel. Dr Williams had already opened up. From 9.30 am until the advertised beginning of the event, I set up furniture, attached cables, plugged in patches, and booted up computers. It’s hardly worth frightening oneself by thinking about all the things that could go wrong at this stage. Any one piece of equipment or connector might fail. I’ve always taken as many precautions as my imagination could conceive. One day, I’ll be caught out. 11.00 am: I began an operational test:

Everything was fully functional. Thereafter, I could throw myself into my agenda for the day:

11.10 am: I’d prepared a number of samples to play through the PA. These were recorded using a microphone set in the central aisle at the rear of the main room, downstairs. I wanted to capture the sound of the samples in conjunction with the building’s ambience. In all likelihood, these recordings will be mixed in with the studio recordings:

I walked around the chapel interiors (downstairs and upstairs), listening to the acoustic properties of the playback as it interacted with the capacious interior. I hadn’t reckoned on how solemn, stirring, and eerie the voice of the Rev. Douglas MacMillan would sound, once more resounding within that building as it had done 38 years ago. This was, too, the voice of a now dead man, reanimated … resurrected. As the recordings proceeded, the noises of the world outside bled into mix – just as they had done when the original, analogue capture was made. At 12.30 pm: I began recording only the external noises: children and seagulls screeching, cars passing, doors banging, footsteps passing by the front and sides of the chapel. Those sounds had their own melancholy. They’re the noises, so I recalled, that’d inhabited the silences between prayers in chapels. The absence of visitors during the morning was welcome in this respect. (Not that I’d assumed there’d be any, either then or after lunch.) This was not a performance; this was chapel as studio. I was at work.

12.40 pm: My hands only were cold. Before lunch, I relocated the microphone in the pulpit:

I’d become aware that I was hearing a particularly resonant reflection of the PA output, as  the sound bounced off the gallery facade and the rear wall. This would be the preacher’s perspective on their own voice. Over lunch (some mini sausage rolls and a packet of Pombear), I was the audience for my own work. I’ve been curious about volume levels in a public environment. I like loud. (Cinemas rarely present films loudly enough. Sound must be felt as well as heard.) At higher amplitudes, the building resonates (collaborates) more noticeably. The composition entitled ‘Intervals’ sounded formidable.

1.20 pm: Once the recordings were made, I moved towards unknown territory – heavily processing sounds played from the cassette tape recorders through modulators at high volume, and capturing the acoustic on the microphone. I developed a sound that was clearly influenced by that of the fairground as it had drifted on the wind from Park Avenue and into my studio on Monday evenings over the past fortnight: menacing;  hellish. Throughout, I asked myself the question: ‘How does the sound articulate the theme or concept of the work?’ It’s not enough that it appeals to the ear alone.

By mid afternoon, I’d realised most of the chaotic noises that could stand in for a mind ravaged by dementia. The final endeavour of the day was to record a modulation of white noise at very high volume. Those living with the disease often suffer from this sound in their head as a constant. Dreadful!

5.00 pm: Packing was well underway. This had been a fruitful day. 5.20 pm: Homeward.



November 20, 2017

7.45 am: A communion. This would be a heavy week on all fronts, and I entered it with a virulent cold. 8.30 am: Administrations were put into place in order to ensure that my commitments for the week could be honoured and the additional layer of activities superimposed effectively. Many people needed to be kept in the loop.

9.00 am: Back to the Archive to Archive project and to the finalisation of my PowerPoint and introductory talk:

The presentation needs to be short and to the point. 11.30 am: Against the weather and, I’m sure, against the doctor’s advice, I headed for Bethel Baptist Church to survey the context of Friday’s presentation. Just knowing where sockets are, and what pieces of the furniture (like the communion table) cannot be moved, helped me to visualise the set up. I will be based in the sêt fawr [big set], below the pulpit …

… looking towards the magnificent organ:

12.20 pm: Homebase. My voice is severely scotched. Back to the presentation. This will not be a day for reflection. After lunch, I began preparing illustrative sound files.

7.30 pm: Ever onwards, until the evening’s end:


November 17, 2017

8.00 am: A communion. I began reading Isaiah, chapter 9, verses 1 to 7 in preparation for my Advent Light talk at Holy Trinity Church on 8 December. For me, its important to live inside a text for some time before inviting others to enter. 9.00 am: Studiology. I reviewed Monday’s tentative beginnings of the jazz/hywl composition before re-opening Turn Table. My encounter with Basquiat’s work on Wednesday had enabled me to see opportunities within the composition that were previously obscured. Quite how his influence has affected my work has more to do with an attitude than an idea or a process. But it just goes to show how important is the habit of exposing oneself to other artists’ work. 10.45 am: I directed a copy of the mixdown of the composition to my discerning ‘external ear’ for a critical review.

Back, then, to the earlier pierce. I’d learned something from the revision of Turn Table that gave me greater confidence when it came to opening it up again. Progress (or, at best, evolution) was painfully slow; it had to be, this was a difficult and delicate operation requiring me to listen attentively from the beginning to the end of the composition every time a new element was added:

Thoughts about PhDs in Fine art and Art History, extracted from a Messenger exchange during the morning:

  • Do you have to be self-reflective to be in charge of what you’re doing?
  • If you’re an intuitive and instinctual artist, and that works for you, why screw it up by trying to be intellectual and systematic?
  • The idea of self-reflective research in fine art practice would hardly have occurred to artists such as Cézanne, Picasso, and Braque. They’d have preferred to ‘theorise’ over a bottle of wine in a cafe rather than on paper.
  • Self reflection: a self conscious, critical analysis with a view to discerning what was, is, and is to come.
  • Sometimes the issue is not one of aptitude but, rather, of necessity.
  • The right thing at the wrong time.
  • What I wanted to do was to develop a context for me work. That’s always been pre-eminently important. I don’t need to do a PhD to reflect upon my practice. That takes place in situ.But I do need to know the traditions in which I work.
  • Two parallel streams (art history and art practice), converging only within oneself.
  • Borderers (like those on the Welsh Marches and the Salopian edge): living and crossing over between two countries and counties. One can be a borderer between disciplines. too.

2.00 pm: After lunch I made a dash for the finishing line of the text-to-beat alignment. Along the way, small adjustments were made to the duration of the samples. It takes an inordinate amount of time to generate just three minutes of composition. But, then again, some of the best singles ever released were shorter. 5.00 pm: The evening began to draw in:

7.30 pm: I began work on my introduction for The dementia project at the Royal Commission on Wednesday. Once I’ve written the first paragraph, I know where I am in respect to the tone of the piece, its density, pace, and unfolding.