String Theory?

on a street corner in Portsmouth, NH

the harpist plucks

her strings to keep the world

in motion

all the while singing

to herself

it is a lonely job

 **************************************************************************************

Over the summer, I was in Portsmouth playing at a music festival and after the set, my band mates and I set out walking to a local coffee shop for some drinks and snacks. We meandered along the crowded sidewalks and as we were crossing the last side street to our destination, I noticed a small group of people carefully observing a street musician. She was an older woman, older than I am, anyway, with a comfortable off-white cotton dress with some sort of stitched designs on it.

Her instrument of choice was not guitar or fiddle (not to typify street musicians) but a rather large harp.  What struck me as I watched her play was the strength I could see in her muscular arms.  Assumptions had previously gotten the best of me thinking that the harp produced a delicate sound therefore a player only needs delicate hands to play. However, I could not be more far off. Harp strings (for this size harp) are much larger than any guitar’s strings and need more strength to pluck. And although she seemed to be enjoying herself I couldn’t help but think about how it was like work, especially watching the passersby hurrying along to whatever their destination as she sat still, making the harp strings vibrate, as if their vibrations were what kept the world in motion.*

I have since started listening to some more harp music with a better appreciation, particularly Joanna Newsom (to get my indie folk fix) and Yolanda Kondonassis, in particular an album of hers called “Music of Alan Hovhaness.” Something else to check out which I enjoyed is a documentary called “Harp Dreams.”

*expand on this idea - vibration=sound, sound=movement, non-movement=death, etc.

Bread Post No.1...bringing us all up to speed.

So I am a bread lover. There is no way I could ever subscribe to a low carb diet. But I am okay with that, more so now that I have started to learn how to make some tasty artisan style breads. The key factor was when I acquired a copy (thanks to my mom) of "Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day" (that should be read in a deep radio announcer's voice with lots of reverb). It is a nice basic book by Jeff Hertzberg, MD and Zoe Francois. I had started reading Rose Levy Beranbaum's "The Bread Bible" and it seemed very interesting but at this stage was a little too intimidating for me. I do plan on revisiting it in the future.

Back to the breads. I believe I have made around 20 loaves so far, mostly sticking with the French boule but tweaking some with herbs and most recently kalamata olives (yum!), but I did stray once into the whole wheat sandwich loaf realm. It's been a very rewarding process and I thought I'd share a few pictures.

 French boule 


Crust



Crumb

  

This one was a little plump.




Topped with some sesame seeds.



Mmm, olives!





fragments of life - the pleasure of short pieces

one thing i have noticed about my compositions is the tendency towards shortness. even though i imagine writing these wonderful grandiose symphonies filled with numerous movements and changing themes what i end up with are small fragmented thoughts that sometimes don't always seem quite finished. i feel i have been coming to terms with this more and more lately. maybe the collection of these fragments somehow form a whole of myself even though i can't yet quite piece them together.

what has helped me is listening to accomplished musicians who have also produced wonderfully beautiful pieces that last only a few minutes. specifically i have been enjoying the piano works of Debussy, Poulenc and Satie. i listen and have this feeling that there is not always closure in some of their pieces as well. of course at this moment i have not a specific piece to site but this should entice the reader to do some research if you are not familiar with these composers. and as i am not formally trained musically i forgive myself.

what i do enjoy about short pieces is the ability to evoke a mood rather quickly. like some sort of wordless haiku.

TASK: periodically post an image or a poem or a song or any combination of those mentioned (not sure if i can post a sound file but i do see a video option so maybe i should start delving into the world of video production...just one more thing to add to my list of things to do, right?)

Two September images from a camp in Industry, ME

I.

charred marshmallow

black shell       fragile

pulled like a scab

revealing white molten rawness

oozing slowly in the night air

II.

at some point in the early morning

the water begins to ripple

as the wind slowly starts to blow

a whisper over the dead lake

 

Up until recently we've been having a rather mild autumn.  But now the nights are frigid and the sunshine of the day does little to warm the air. It made me think of September when I stayed up at a camp with a dear old friend and some other folks who I had met my first year of college in Farmington, ME. It was a very relaxing and healing occasion. The quietude, simplistic and rustic qualities of the three days/two nights spent there sparked my desire to reinvent myself in some way, or, in the very least, to revisit the ideas I had about my life and which direction I would like it to head.

TASK: I should go back to some old, unfinished compositions once again and see if I can do anything with them now.

note to self: bach has his set of inventions, maybe i should create a series of my own. short pieces. each representing a person who is trying to reinvent themselves. maybe call them the reinventions.

Post No. 1...what do I say?

Such an odd thing for me to do, start a blog. I have a hard time keeping a diary. Never have I filled all the pages of a journal. But with an artist living in my soul I continually feel the need to express something in some way even as hard as it may sometimes seem. So for now I am thinking this will be a home for sharing some of my musical ideas, photography attempts, poetic mumblings, and journal of recent bread making ventures. Welcome to my sylvan bower.