figura: magi: ruddí

A beautiful quote from Timothy Morton has provided a kind of center for my thinking of late,  Between what we take to be things there exist other things, as if the universe were jammed with entities like clowns in a crowded Expressionist painting. An abyss of things that emanates from them, not a yawning void that threatens to engulf them, but a sunlit nothingness filled with dust that seems to spray out of them like dry mist sparkling with firefly swarms.

For me, the activity of composing moves all the time between listening , improvising , generating , dreaming , notating , worrying etc… I 'm seeking a way of working that allows these different parts of composing to ripple out against one another, collide and share secrets; rather than follow some orderly procession from one stage to the next  as if I were eating a tube of Pringles or chain smoking cigarettes. So I leave gaps everywhere, I think, play, dream; maybe things emanate and maybe they don't.