Small bits and bobs, random thoughts and words that may or may not become music.
Jotted in the front of my latest notebook…
The absence of the witch does not invalidate the spell – Emily Dickinson
A friend while reflecting on my love for Ben Harper wrote…
You and your calligraphy of love
Covered in ivory snow
my Northern Kingdom
What’s the point of earth shattering sex when all it leaves are ruins?
From the book I wrote…
When you were small I calmed you by playing the music of Mstislav “Slava” Rostropovich, the Soviet cellist and conductor. Have you ever wondered why him Roman? His skill was so prodigious that composers had no choice but to write music solely for his instrument. No longer was the cello doomed to inhabit small spaces, fusing its sound with the rest of the orchestra then fading into oblivion. Finally the complexity and beauty of the cello’s voice was centre stage. The world was no longer the same after Mr Rostropovich.
Silently I called you my little Slava, the boy with the moon in his eyes and stars at the tips of his fingers. The small boy who for one eternal season stole my heart and kept running and running – until he found himself on the shores of a new world….