Desire
There is some sort of desire – but an inability to realise it.
Some sort of instinct – or are these received patterns of behaviour?
Work happened, but not the kind of work I had planned for, not the sort of labour I expected.
I made something in spite of myself. Why, how, what was it?
I was sick of something and went wild. I was sick of making things to order, or perhaps sick of the limitations of certain types of materials. The way everything gets weighed in text. Packaged in expectation. I didn’t want to make anything that could be saved as a PDF. I was tired of hiding behind images. I opened the door and walked outside. I drifted and met new friends and returned to old ways of thinking, playing and expressing myself.
I knew it was naive, but it was also about hope, about trying to rediscover something sensual in what had become routine. It was also about ending a relationship with the current phase in my life and allowing my focus to be shifted. I was sick of playing roles that had already been written for me. It has to be my structure now. Even if its an odd one. So, in some ways, the decision to make music, rather than strictly visual, gallery based ‘fine’ art, was about stopping for a moment, coming to terms with myself, what I’m frightened of, and imagining what I might want, now and in the future.
