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Friday, 27 January 2012

...!...

   Epiphanies vary in intensity, ranging from the quintessential conversion that prompted Saul of Tarsus to turn an obscure and unlikely case of reincarnation into a world wide death cult to the more mundane revelations enjoyed by people who pay psychotherapists to tell them to think about themselves for a change.

   I once had an epiphany, it was while sailing through Wallonia, I made a note of the exact time and location of its occurrence as, by all accounts, that's an important part of having one. Unfortunately I lost the note, which degrades my moment of searing clarity somewhat, reducing it instead to a brief realisation that occurred somewhere in Belgium on a boat.

   Whatever the correct term for my psychic experience the exhilaration of having suddenly found a subject to eternally explore (In my case the relationship between small aviary birds and their owners) quite overwhelmed me, waves of certainty washed my doubts away leaving my future as immaculate and full of promise as a newly laid zebra finch egg. 

Tuesday, 17 January 2012

Proto-Rothko



A mural colour scheme suggested by James McNeill Whistler.
Whistler died in 1903, the year Mark Rothko was born.
Coincidence? Well, yes.


Monday, 16 January 2012

Beyond words

   Blind Willie Johnson (1897-1945) was familiar with tribulation: he lost his sight when his stepmother threw lye in his face, syphilis took his strength and having lost his house in a fire he continued to sleep in the ruins until he in turn was lost to malarial fever. Luckily for us Johnson managed to leave behind an intimation of the spirit that generally got him through in a musical reflection called “Dark was the Night, Cold was the Ground”, a piece made all the richer by its lack of ornamentation;



Friday, 13 January 2012

Deus ex machina



   A burst appendix halted production here at “Musings” HQ, but experts and friends came to my aid (I owe a particular debt of gratitude to Dennis and Ellie) and I'm now happily reinstalled on my chaise longue, ear cocked and awaiting the muse's whisper. Hope she doesn't come up with anything too complicated.