The Story Arch — A smith wields a hammer and strikes a sword to strengthen it. With every blow the iron molecules are sent into disarray and rearranged. With enough blows and iterations, they discover and organize themselves into more robust molecular structures. This process is not informed by a plan but by an expected outcome that functions solely due to its dysfunctional nature.
We see this occurrence repeating itself in music.
An emotion is struck, but it cannot find the words. The initial impact creates a productive whirlwind that begins to pull and arrange the means to express itself. With every attempt to strike or uproot it it repeats this process, until the thought settles and the emotion is realized.
And again. The artist wields her weapon of choice in an attempt to rid herself of the self-afflicted symptom. In a sense the artist beats herself to extract and portray the truth; knobs are twisted and turned, the pen frantically jots and scratches, vocal cords are stretched and strained. Iteration after iteration structure emerges, but the scaffolding is always left bare for the world to see, it is never complete.
The beauty of the resulting phrase lies in the loss experienced along the way. An unattainable mirage of perfection arises between nothing and the incomplete.
We see this occurrence repeating itself in music.
An emotion is struck, but it cannot find the words. The initial impact creates a productive whirlwind that begins to pull and arrange the means to express itself. With every attempt to strike or uproot it it repeats this process, until the thought settles and the emotion is realized.
And again. The artist wields her weapon of choice in an attempt to rid herself of the self-afflicted symptom. In a sense the artist beats herself to extract and portray the truth; knobs are twisted and turned, the pen frantically jots and scratches, vocal cords are stretched and strained. Iteration after iteration structure emerges, but the scaffolding is always left bare for the world to see, it is never complete.
The beauty of the resulting phrase lies in the loss experienced along the way. An unattainable mirage of perfection arises between nothing and the incomplete.