11 December 2007
A friend of mine from Sicily had a cousin, whose childhood friend later became a very famous artist. While playing in the attic, he would roll up some of his sketches and stick them in between the rafters. Many years later, the cousin returned to the house in search of these sketches, but since there was no washing machine, to light the fire to heat the water, grandmother found that these rolled up papers came in quite handy, not having the slightest idea that one of these fire starters could have purchased a Laundromat, or maybe half the town.
By now someone there could have started quite a collection of pretty stamps and a colorful assortment of original manuscripts with who knows how much more to follow. Ever think about the Pandora's box you could open if you gave me a chance? Or the monster you may have helped create as a result of an experiment three decades ago? Ever have a idea get so big in your head, so clear that it has to be real?
To interpret a song, the singer must first become permeated by the melody and lyrics, practicing until it becomes a part of you. Then it seems to come alive inside of you. While singing you open a window into your heart, sharing the emotion. So the closer the song aligns with what you have actually lived, the more genuine the performance. Better yet is to write your own songs. Other elements come into play, texture, visual. Push the envelope so that it becomes a box, then a billowing pouch floating through the sky, with cascading fireworks of raspberry gelatin and clattering sparkles of butterfly shaped manatees.
The cornerstone of anyone else ever believing in you is that you have an unshakeable belief in yourself. Stop believing, you start to die inside. When you believe, life has meaning, direction. While which direction this is may not be apparent, what matters is that you are going somewhere, crazy perhaps, but enjoying the ride.
You could die in the street, but it just wouldn't matter, once you swallow defeat, all you taste is the pain...