Inclement Weather

It's been great to come across work by friends/fellow painters who have also stayed here...  This poem is for them and for Alison in appreciation of her wonderful hospitality.

INCLEMENT WEATHER 

- The Portage, Marlborough Sounds

 

Ah Wayne, your vintage bottles 

and vigorous Torea Bay paintings! I’m not surprised 

to find you’re very present 

here.  As are you, Don, with your rollicking 

clouds and delicate pencil

islands. (I’m pleased to know 

you found the one you’d lost; errant pencil 

and island, both. I see now how their similarly worn 

and whittled shapes might slip easily through

the cracks of the Sounds, your Kowhai

balcony decking.)

 

And John - of course, you and the shimmer 

of your songs hang in the air here, too. 

My private desires notwithstanding, everything is 

exactly as it should be.

 

I sleep and eat and write

alone

yet am not without companionship, 

conversation or colour.

 

Of today’s inclement weather, Alison said

“Would you believe we look

onto lilac water some days lit

by sudden shafts of sunlight. But this! 

This is grey. Hard, cold 

grey and dirty green… And two

walkers still out in it. Best light

the fire, Mark. They’ll need flames

and food by the time they find us,

welcome strokes the minute

they get in.”

 

Sunday, 30 August 2009 

Nature's hand-writing

I'm writing this from misty, moody Marlborough Sounds - in front of me, deep, dark water, hectares of dense native bush, baches clinging to hills that rise above an intricately curving coastline. We really do live in paradise. 

My Q of B exhibition is up and open and doing what it must at this stage - enjoying being in the company and custodianship of The Arthouse team, finding its own voice and communicating independently of me. The days around the hanging and opening were rich and connected and it's time now to trust in the new conversations that will arise out of this chapter. Some time in the next wee, a podcast of writer Helen Lowe's post-opening interview with me will be posted on Plains FM's website (this was broadcast on yesterday morning's Women on Air.). 

I've been offered the treat of a creative residency (oh, so perfectly timed) out at The Portage, miles away from my usual, familiar things; it's a welcome chance to rest, breathe deeply, recharge my battery and sink into some of the writing that's been waiting patiently in my incubation basket this past while. By the end of next week, I hope to have fine-tuned a bunch of still-somewhat-tatty poems, completed a Residency submission and laid down the bones of an ArtScience essay. Yum. It's a rare experience this, being able to shape my days around writing, reading, resting, a daily walk in the forest (we're right on the edge of the Queen Charlotte track... ). 

The gnarly, black-rock-and-kelp coast road leading up to Kaikoura is one my favourite drives on the South Island. As you can see, the sky was in playful mood when I drove up yesterday - like a boisterous child getting up to a few last-minute tricks before bedtime. 

Level with me

QUESTIONS OF BALANCE                                                                

26 August – 13 September 2009

Exhibition statement

Claire Beynon has long been preoccupied with the relationship between apparent opposites. Ever since her first solo show in Johannesburg in 1985, one of her central motivations has been to articulate the creative dynamics between order and spontaneity, reason and intuition, the masculine and feminine, the material and the spiritual… 

 

“Today’s world is increasingly characterized by chaos, clamour and conflict. It seems to me that in our bid to make ourselves heard, we’re forgetting how to listen. There is much reason to protest, but I believe the way forward calls for a subtler approach; contemplation, poetry and pause are becoming widely appreciated as effective methods of engagement in world issues, rather than the old knee-jerk responses of fear and aggression. History has proven time and again that violence, negativity and neglect only attract more of the same; we have to find other ways to say what needs to be said. One thing is certain: it behoves us as artists – and as human beings - to respond. We cannot ignore the world’s lament.”

 

Questions of Balance is a visual/poetic response to our planet’s environmental, spiritual, political and ideological imbalances. It uses the dialectic between the builder’s level (with its enigmatic and ethereal spirit bubbles*) and the plumb bob (all weight and materiality) to evoke a dialogue between our physical and metaphysical worlds and to bring current global questions out into the open.

“The metaphorical implications of these tools are fairly obvious; the spirit level and plumb bob are essential instruments in every builder’s toolbox; without them, sound structures are unattainable, dependent as they are on right relationship between the absolute vertical and absolute horizontal. Truth might be relative, complex and multi-faceted, but there can be no arguing with the simple pronouncements of these two fundamentally reliable tools of measurement. For this reason, there is something inherently comforting about them.

 

I have always had an interest in the sacredness of everyday objects. My intention in this work is to highlight the symbolic potency of the builder’s level and plumb bob and to invite others to consider them in a wider context as metaphorical tools of change and as a means of re-dressing balance in our 21^stCentury. Attributing these humble objects with both intimacy and monumentality gives them a new, larger-than-life presence.  

 

Elusive as it is, balance is an ideal most of us aspire towards. It is an active, dynamic state, redolent with potential, story and meaning.

Dunedin, 15 August 2009

 

*The glass spirit vials incorporated in these sculptural pieces were manufactured by Geier & Bluhm, NY. In 2008, during my second research season in Antarctica, a selection of these – and other - vials were frozen into ice before being transported eighty feet below the Explorers Cove sea ice. The primary motivation behind sending them on an underwater journey was (i) to test their resilience in that extreme environment, (ii) to add a layer of history to what would otherwise remain plain, industrialized objects and (iii) to imbue them with metaphorical potency that would ultimately add ballast to this, and future series of sculptures.

Level Best - CB 2009 

Kwila, stainless steel, glass spirit vials, stainless steel cable & bison wax - 1801 x 91 x 91MM (level) and 471 x 579MM (bob)

Sincere thanks to the terrific men without whose input and practical nous I would not have been able to actualize these 3D pieces --- especially Michael Salmon, Peter Leith, Graham Burgess, Alan Stocker and Robin Nyhof. 

Special thanks, too, to Pete at Nevill Framer's, TDC for Leveling conversations & support, Russell Knowles for keeping an eye out for plumb bobs and builders' levels for me (over a period of months, if not years - bless you, Russell!) and Peter Nicholls & Darryl Daniels for saying 'yes' to me living with your precious plumb bobs for all these months. 

Without community, where would we be? 

Spirit Level, Level Spirit

Yesterday, I helped strap fifteen paintings & drawings into the stomach of an absurdly long freight truck. This work - it suddenly looked like such a humble offering, packaged up in plain, homemade corrugated card boxes! - will be offloaded at The Arthouse gallery in Christchurch sometime this afternoon. One final painting on canvas and four 3D sculptural pieces will accompany me in my car as passengers when I drive North on Sunday.  

Whew. I felt a wave of really strong feeling as that truck pulled away. For some reason, this 'arrival' has a different note to it than it has in previous years. Making this work has been a deeply involving and fascinating journey - this part has not been all that different, at least not obviously so - but the Questions of Balance work seems to have drawn together tight and loose threads from so many different times and aspects of my life. I have the strong sense that the particular explorations of this show mark both the end of something and the beginning of a whole new chapter. 

I'll be posting my artist's statement here in the next day or two - meantime, the exhibition is up on the gallery's webpage if you would like to pop in there to have a look-see. 

My patient youngest son is in the process of helping me give my website a major lift ( to coincide with the opening next Wed., 26 August) - over the next wee while, new pages will be up to explore, including a more in-depth Antarctica page and a sound-related 'room' called LISTEN with the sub-titles 'Elemental Antarctica', 'Stories & Musings', 'Native NZ' and 'Conversations'. It'll take a while to get it all properly orchestrated, but I'm quite excited about what he's doing with it. I've got so much material that's been sitting in the 'pending basket' waiting for something to be made of it. A web update seems like a good place to start.  

If any of you happens to be in Christchurch next week, please do come and join us for a celebratory opening... things will be happening at 62 Gloucester Street from 5.30PM till around dinner time. The doors will be wide open - all welcome. (Oh, and the exhibition will be up till 13 September.)

Gathering Momentum - CB 2009

Oil, chinagraph pencil, liquin & pastel on 600gsm Acquarelle

Mouse - mice. House - hice?

We talk about one louse and two lice. Yes. 

But do we say, one slouse and two slice? No, of course not. 

How inconsistent our English language is. 

So, what's all this about? Well, the past twenty four hours have found me in a moral/ethical dilemma over a mouse. One's been living in my house, and last night it become apparent that if I didn't 'deal' with it, I could well end up with a tribe of them and then what good would turning a blind eye do? This rather endearing-looking creature took up residency a week or so ago; it liked the studio (warm floors, cold outdoors) and to begin with, I only caught glimpses of it in there, but then I started detecting evidence of sojourns into my kitchen, and  - well, no, I wasn't too happy about that. The thing is, I'm one of those people who's never been able to squash an ant or a snail or a worm... not because I'm squeamish, mind, (I can deal with stubbed toes and pulled nails, etc... ) but because little creatures matter. And what if - as so many of our world religions suggest - the spirit of our ancestors resides in one of them? (I'm not entirely joking here.)

Deciding what to do about the mouse in my house has been a real wrestle. 

Some years ago, during a particularly cold winter, a mouse came inside looking for warmth - and found it - so I went out and bought two black plastic, 'humane' mouse traps - the kind that have a little tunnel that mice are lured down into (you put a smear of peanut butter onto the back wall) and a door that closes after them once they're in there. I would then walk the mouse-in-its-trap several blocks down the road to an empty piece of land, and there release it.

Well, that was then and this is now - I no longer have those traps and do you think I can find them again in any of our local shops? Nope. I even tried a pet shop, but they're nowhere to be seen. SO, off I went to The Warehouse where I asked two uni-student shelf-packers if they could recommend a humane way to trap a mouse. They fell about laughing and pointed me to The Real Deal. 

'This is what you need!' they said. 

"Were you brought up on a farm?" I ventured, "How come you're so comfortable at the idea of killing this poor creature? I actually don't want to kill this mouse; I would just like it to round up any friends and relations it may have and      go     and     live    outside.'

Hah. Easier wished for than achieved. I reluctantly allowed myself to be convinced into buying a pair of traps for $2.79 then headed home to contemplate how I was going to take the next necessary step.

First up, I rang P & R to ask whether instead of the kind, humane person I thought I was, I was in fact a brutal, heartless monster? They reassured me that setting a trap was the right thing to do. I should grit my teeth, do what I must and cut myself some slack. 'But', I protested, 'this is not who I am. A person doesn't just wake up one morning and find herself equipped to kill an animal.'  

What to do? What to do? Kind R offered to come and 'tidy' things up if I'd like him to once they'd been to the Farmer's Market. Would that make it any easier?  

Anyway, I'm at risk of sounding ridiculous, boring or mellow-dramatic about all this, so I'll cut to the chase. 

Suffice to say it was a smart wee mouse, wily in the way of traps. Not so me. The metal bar came down on me three times while I was baiting it - once on each thumb and once on my right forefinger (none of which seemed unreasonable). The mouse, on the other hand, managed to beat the trap a matching three times before finally setting it off at around midnight last night. There was a sharp 'clack', followed - mercifully - by silence. I couldn't bear to go and check it out, so stayed in my bedroom, apologized out loud and sent blessings to it down the passage. There was no avoiding it this morning, though. 

Before my middle son boarded his plane in Madrid last evening, I was talking with him on Skype. He's a patient fellow. Wise, too. When I mentioned my mouse dilemma, he said 'Mum, you do have to do this, you know. We're not supposed to share our domestic spaces with free-roaming mice. Do what you must, and once it's over, give the animal a respectful burial and bless it into the ground. It'll be okay.' 

It was. 

It is. 

But still. 

  

(Scrap) Metal

About a month ago, a fire razed an old scrap metal yard in our wharf area to the ground. Graders are still clearing the dejected-looking site. When they cut their engines, nothing stirs. Metal in every shape, size and colour huddles up in corners as if reluctant to leave. 

In the building next door, a team of joiners play Salmonella Dub and go about their work. 

Hints

My exhibition Questions of Balance opens at The Arthouse in Christchurch on 26 August... I'm expanding my repertoire this time round, showing five wood, aluminium & glass sculptures alongside a sequence of paintings and drawings. This 3D work has only been made possible because of the terrific group of gifted people 'out there' in my home community. Without their patience, generosity, skills and support I would not have been able to actualize my vision. It's been (is still being) a powerful collaborative journey. I've learnt heaps and it's been a wee bit nail-biting at times, but my goodness, excellent people abound... sincere thanks, all.  

Two pics showing early stages of the 'level-&-bob' process, with more images to come over the coming days... 

The Chef in Chefchaouen

This evening's Skype exchange with my twenty-two year old Cancerian son (who's currently traveling solo around Morocco) went like this -

"So, Dan, what does today hold for you?"

"Well, I've met up with a five-star Moroccan chef who is going to teach me how to make a fish tagine from scratch. We're off to market in a mo. to choose the fish..."

"Wow. That sounds awesome!"

"Yep - I'm pretty stoked. I met him yesterday walking about town with a Canadian guy and we started having a yarn. We ended up having tea and a smoke for about an hour, and did the same thing again in the evening. He's very friendly and hospitable."

"What's his name?" (I love the sound of foreign names.) 

"To be honest, I can't remember! I'll find out while we're cooking..."

"This is so cool - to think of you going to market to buy fresh white fish with a Moroccan chef who'll then be teaching you how to make an authentic local meal... Keep your antennae tuned, won't you, and make a mental image of all the ingredients and instructions so that you can recreate it for us when you get home?!" 

"Ha ha! Yup, it's pretty exciting. He's a head chef who works on contract for six months at a time in Europe, the States and Morocco and then he travels the rest of the year. Hey, Ma, I have to go... I'll look out for you online later in case you're still up, but suspect it'll be way too late. Otherwise, tomorrow?..." 

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It's approaching midnight but all I want to do now is Google recipes for Moroccan Fish Tagines and get cooking. The theory is we should eat when we're hungry, right - not when a clock tells us it's dinner time. Well, I more-or-less missed dinner 'proper' this evening because I went to the opening of the Samuel Johnson Tricentennial exhibition at about That Hour (it was  launched by the ebullient Dr. Paul Tankard in the Public Library's Reed Gallery. I encourage you to go and have a look-see; there's a treasure trove of rare material). 

Anyway, I got home at an odd time so ended up having cereal for supper, which explains why my appetite is now roaring (added to which, I'm a Leo and this is our month for roaring).  I feel more than up to an intensely-flavoured midnight feast. Why ever not? There are plenty of lemons, black peppercorns, chillies, coriander, cumin, tumeric, garlic and onions in the kitchen. I even have two fillets of fresh red cod in the fridge. I bought these on my way home from the joiners today; the cod is from our own excellent-if-not-quite-as-romantically-placed fish market, Blue Water Products.) 

Well, I'll be off then, leaving you with this photograph Daniel took of the appropriately-named Chefchaouen, the small, blue, mountain-hugging village he's loving being in.   

If I knew how to, I'd upload the goosebump-inducing recording he sent of the muezzin calling the locals to prayer. 

Namaste. 

  

Photograph - Daniel van Ammers

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Postscript

"Hi Ma, I've just returned from lunch with Mohammed and his brother. Did I mention that he's 52? Which is sweet - makes him more interesting to talk about the world with. Anyway, the tagine was incredible! Made it in a traditional tagine dish which is basically a clay bowl-shaped bottom with a matching clay, inverted cone lid cooked over a flame. We prepared it in the shop/house so that I could watch and smell it cooking. Apparently its pretty common to make up your tagine, take it to the local baker's oven and cook it there... quite a nice communal thing to do, plus the wood fire adds flavour to the rest of the ingredients."

The shop/house where the tagine was prepared. Photograph - Daniel van Ammers

 

And - bless you, Dan - here's the recipe... 

 

"So, he layered slices of potato along the bottom, then covered them with slices of tomato. After this he added a herb mixture which was made with lots of powdered red pepper, black pepper, cumin, a bunch of fresh parsley and about a half handful of finely chopped garlic. He mixed this into a wet paste with olive oil and a bit of water, then ladled it over the potato/tomatoes. Next, the other constituents were layered one at a time; fish, tomatoes, sauce, green peppers, jalapenos, more tomato, more fish, the rest of the herb mix, 2 cups of water and then a lid. Here's a photo of the finished product - easily the best meal I've eaten in Morocco."

Mohammed's Chefchaouen Fish Tagine. Photograph - DanvanAm

Maniototo bar codes

&

(There are days when standing on one's head helps.)

For Men, Also For Ladies And Children

'The New Zealand Footballers write: 

Gentlemen,

It may interest you to learn that the "JASON UNDERWEAR" has given general satisfaction to members of the New Zealand Football Team. Its general good qualities (especially the fact of its being unshrinkable) justify us in commending it to all Athletes and Sportsmen.

Yours faithfully

Fred Roberts, etc...

4 January 1906.'

The perfect food

for brain and brawn...

Not fish, but flour? 

Who was this Mr Henry Wright?

I'll be posting a few quirky pics over the coming days... they're from the 'wall of history' in my living room. Said wall is exactly as I found it when I bought this old house seven or eight years ago (and as it would've been for who-knows-how-many decades before then.) Basically, it's home to a rather motley and entertaining collection of NZ electioneering posters and advertisements, ranging in date from 1860 to about two-thirds of the way through the last century.  

The poster below is my response to this weekend's entry on Penelope's blog.  

Does she not know there are certain rules and standards a woman is expected to uphold?!  (No hard feelings, R!) 

 

I'd love to see some excellent sabre-toothed woman come up with a similarly outrageous (and funny, let's face it) Declaration to Epicene Men? 

Wistful about distance

Life's been pretty full-on the past couple of weeks which means I've been more offline than on... 

Returning to the blogosphere, I feel a little like one of those eels that's swum - or crawled (they sometimes have to, when there's a mission to accomplish and/or the going gets muddy) - upstream to lay her eggs and hatch her babies in fresh water, before turning round and heading back to the salty water she's more accustomed to inhabiting... Will the dolphins and jellyfish still recognize her?! Will the sea lettuce and kelp taste the same? 

Hmmm. I guess a regular old eel would flick her tail and splash about where she finds herself? Eels are supposedly adaptable creatures... 

Speaking of eels, once upon a time, in the 1980's (when I was a student at art college in London), I lived in a drafty old house with an 86-year Cornish woman who - every month, come what may - donated a fraction of her very small fortune to two charities; 'Save the Eel' and 'Save the Donkey.' She did this with the fervour of a zealot and in the process taught me to respect the former and look with renewed tenderness at the latter... Oh, and she - Jessica - was the person who first introduced me to the delights of guinness. (Her father gave her her first tot of the black potion when she was two years old, and from that point on, planted a shot glass of guinness in her hands every evening throughout her childhood - 'iron is fortifying, my dear.')    

Anyway, I woke this morning wishing I could momentarily bridge the physical gap between our small island nation and certain large continents to the South and North West of us. Perhaps our S. Island earthquake had something to do with this? (It registered a daunting 7.8 but, remarkably, caused just about no obvious damage.). I also found myself considering the fact that one of the odd themes of my life has been that I often end up living at a significant distance from loved ones.  I state this fairly matter-of-factly because, well, it's just one of those things; for the most part, I've become accustomed to working with the dynamic, even - dare I say it - to appreciate various aspects of it. 

Every so often, however, distance renders a gal a little wistful! 

The following poem speaks to that - (my harbourside house sits directly opposite the Otago peninsula with its memorial to an unknown soldier; this poem lay quietly in an incubation chamber for some years before finally making its way onto the page.)

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LOOKOUT SOLDIER

I so don’t approve of war, soldier, but

every morning, come what may, I salute you

from my bathroom window. If I could I would

fling stepping stones into the harbour, anchor

a boardwalk into the sandbar, re-orchestrate

the tides. But boats would run aground, soldier,

and gulls be dazed by the rock-solid obstacles

they’d find in their everyday

path of flight.

I so don’t approve of war, soldier, but

every afternoon, as circumstance dictates, I greet you

from my bathroom window. If I could I would

walk on water, trail kelp and cockles

up the banks, join you for a picnic

and sweet, idle chatter on your hill. I’d lay you

down, untie your army-issue boots, let breathe

your tired feet. I’d put you in direct contact

with air and ground.

I so don’t approve of war, soldier, but

every evening, as night follows day, I light a candle

and blow you kisses from my bathroom window. If honour

and proximity allowed it, I would invite you

in. In the measurable distance between there

and here, you and I have already seen the worst

and best of each other; you from where you stand

on the raised eyebrow of your hill, I

through my mirage of water.   

   

Adding warmth to cold

There's plenty to appreciate these chilly winter days. . .  

The birth of a healthy son - and grandson - to dear friends

Pumpkin flesh and pumpkin pips

Alice & Oscar's chooks' eggs

Kerikeri oranges

Candlelight at the close of day

The grace and resilience of friendship.

SEVEN

Blogger is not allowing me to upload the pdf file I'd planned on posting here today. It's an invitation to the lunchtime opening - tomorrow, Friday 26 June - of a group show titled SEVEN. It'll all be happening from noon till closing time at The Artists' Room, Dowling Street, Dunedin. 

Contributing artists are Sam Foley, Greg Lewis, Sharon Singer, Alannah Brown, Ro Bradshaw, Michael Tuffery and moi. The show will be up for three + weeks and as far as I know images are already posted up on the gallery website.

It would be great if those of you in the Dunedin area could come along to the opening tomorrow.

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The seven small drawings/paintings (plus one 'Curiosity Box' titled Group Dynamic) I've made for this exhibition explore notions of weight and weightlessness, transparency and opacity, poise and balance.

Group Dynamic - A Curiosity Box

 

Nectar-feeders

I was scrunching up old newspapers to start a fire last night (reading as I went along, as one does) and came across an article in the ODT with the following opening line - 

The kindness of strangers may be leading to the untimely deaths of some of our native birds... Mixing sugar and water together may not seem like a recipe for disaster but left for several days could be deadly for unsuspecting nectar-feeding tui and bellbirds, Russell Evans of Invercargill said. 'We could be killing them through our kindness...'

I immediately went outside to my bird feeder and brought the sticky-but-empty (yay - the birds know to come daily now) sugar water bowl inside for a good scrub. Over the weekend, a kind, bird-savvy friend gifted my feathered visitors a rather ecclesiastical drinking chalice he'd made out of a coconut shell; I figured out how to unhook that and brought it in for a wash, too. 

I must admit I'm tempted to genuflect and sign myself when I walk past this neat little coconut cup on my way to the bird tray each morning; the way it's bracketed onto the old tree trunk reminds me of the little troughs that carry holy water at the entrance to churches.

 

Photograph: Gail Bouton

Important to note is that if we don't keep the sugar water good and clean and fresh tra la la, we're at risk of giving our precious native birds a range of potentially fatal infections; aspergillus (respiratory disease caused by a fungus infection), salmonella and candidiasis amongst these. So, let's take care...

Feeding tips: 

* Dissolve one cup of sugar in two cups of water.

* Put out just enough sugar water to last for a day

* Wash the container each day

* Sit back and wait for the birds to take their place 

   at the banquet table.

Thus

On Thursday evening, I went down to the Town Hall with a trio of friends to hear Finnish Clarinettest Kari Kriikku playing with the NZSO.  Pietari Inkinen was musical director.   

Here's an excerpt from pre-concert advertising - 

Clarinet Revolution. Musical Revelation.  There's something about Finland. . . In the last two decades this small and remarkable country has been producing great musicians in such continuous waves it has become a source of global wonder. Amongst this catalogue of new musical giants is the clarinettist Kari Kriikku who has firmly established himself as a fearless performer of almost outrageous virtuosity. . .  

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Three very different works featured in this concert: (i) Tchaikovsky's Overture 1812, (ii) Tiensuu's Puro for clarinet and orchestra and (iii) Rimsky-Korsakov's Scheherazade. 

For me, the concert would have been complete - and I, replete - with the Jukka Tiensuu piece all on its own. It seemed a little irreverent to sandwich this breath-holdingly complex composition between the extravagant pomp of the 1812 Overture and the similarly theatrical Scheherazade. Not that Tiensuu's Puro didn't include certain of these elements; it did, but in such a way that seemed to be more about content and communication than display - which was surprising, given the composition so blatantly called on virtuosity for its rendition. 

And Kari Kriikku? He was so at one with his instrument, he might as well have been inside it - or it inside him. He was earnest, mournful, sexy, playful, respectful, provocative, as engaged with the audience as he was with the conductor and orchestra. There he was, in perfect control of the breath, sustaining notes for what seemed like an eternity - and there I was, perched on the edge of my chair, forgetting at times to breathe! (So much for what I'm supposedly learning in my yoga classes?) Kriikku drew layers and textures from his clarinet that were unlike any I'd heard before. 

It's not my intention to be ungenerous towards the Tchaikovsky or Rimsy-Korsokov pieces, but in the context of this particular concert, Tiensuu's Puro deserved to stand alone. (I confess that at the end of the concert, I was reminded of an old boarding school punishment; if we were caught having a midnight feast, everything would be confiscated and we'd have to eat a pulverized concoction of all the ingredients for breakfast the next day; sardines, jelly babies, vanilla wine biscuits, caramelized condensed milk and the SA equivalent of Twisties are delicious on their own, but being offered them all mushed together in one bowl was not a tummy-calming combination!).

Since the concert, I've found myself wondering whether the nature of performance might be changing? I like to think of performers as being amongst us, and of performances (whether music, poetry readings, art exhibitions, etc...) as being less about the individual musician, writer or artist and more about the content and its potential to prompt dialogue, forge connections and invite community engagement.

My wish for 'just' the Tiensuu piece that night very likely relates to the fact that I'm increasingly content in the company of silence these days; when I do work with music, I tend to choose composers like Faure, Arvo Part, John Cage, Philip Glass, Pat Metheny (who stays up late and plays his guitar to the 'Quiet Night' in his garage at home), Zbigniew Preisner and, sometimes, early Keith Jarrett (how could one tire of his Koln Concert?). 

It's just occurred to me - where are all the women? I almost omitted one of the contemporary musicians I admire most - and yes, she's a woman; cellist Zoe Keating.  Meet her and tune in to her music here.

Anyway, getting back to where I was. . . Each of these composers has spoken about the importance of working as consciously or deliberately with silence and the space between notes as with the notes themselves; a method I deeply appreciate. To be honest, I find densely jam-packed, heavily-scored (every-instrument-must-be-in) music slightly alarming. While I can respect its cleverness, the 'too-muchness' of it can feel like an assault and knocks my ions around. 

Restraint, measure and distillation I find far more alluring. When there's less rather than more, we as listeners are offered time, space and permission to enter the music differently and to participate. When this happens, we're less separated out from the music and the musicians and for a time are free to roam the landscape of staves and airwaves together - the experience becomes less 'them' & 'us' and more 'thus'; i.e. a community in it together. This has to be a good thing.  

John Cage has plenty of insightful things to say about music, sound and listening - and for an astonishing and moving performance of his 4'33" piece, click here.  

When it comes down to it, music, dance, research, plumbing, writing, anaesthetizing, diving, brick-laying, teaching, painting, etc... are all pretty much one and the same thing; each is a balancing act, an outward expression of our combined humanity. Rising out of everything and nothing, each activity pays attention to the weight of a particular note (or notes) and its relationship to what happens to be on either side of it.  

The ear asks for resting places every bit as much as the eye, the feet, the hand, the mind and the heart do.  

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PS. I've just been browsing the web and... well, I'll say no more, but please treat yourselves to this (Zoe Keating improvising with violinist Paul Mercer) and this  (May 2009 performance of 'Escape Artist', a track from her forthcoming new album).