A few solid days working on the scores for Music Of Poetic Objects. Spending more time on some than others. The ones for The Love Reliquary began as solo piano works, but I've added the full string arrangements to the pretty second tune (The Lost Princess), and today did some scores for the Swift Triptych, which are strange in the sequence and don't really translate into or render themselves well as 'real-world' instruments. In these circumstances I wonder what the utility of scores are; but I've notated most of the important parts, while removing parts like white noise, background flames etc. I suppose a paper version is better than no record at all.
Attended a dinner and murder mystery play night last night with Deborah, a generous Christmas gift to us both. The food was excellent, though I can't eat beyond 6pm as my digestion is so slow. I wasn't interested in playing the game, solving the mystery play which took part all around is, but I enjoyed observing it all. If reading a 'whodunnit' we don't have to try and solve it, and such fictions are designed to be illogical, unrealistic, and to subvert or make fools of the reader anyway. Deborah looked beautiful, like a Mucha subject. The star of the evening for me was the venue, the stunning interiors of old Crewe Hall. It's probably the best looking historical building I've visited, more beautiful even than Chester Cathedral.
Reading about Kafka, some consider his personality schizoid. I share many, not all, of these traits; certainly so when I programmed alone until my mid-30s. This has been playing on my mind recently, but personality is, I think, too complicated to label or categorise. Everyone is unique, and can be understood only on an emotional level, like art. Rationality needs time and time to calculate, becoming more accurate over time. Emotions understand instantly, like waves in the frequency domain vs in the time domain. Like atoms as particles or waves. Rationality and emotions have this duality. Perhaps our perceptions of time have a similar relationship.
I ate late, so had indigestion and stomach agonies. I got up at 2 or 3am, and watched television while standing (in such discomfort, even sitting is too unpleasant). By chance, the BBC showed two hour-long programmes about Kate Bush, one a documentary, and a second programme of her television appearances. Both hugely inspiring (I copied her dance moves!). What a great artist she is, or was, and great beauty she is, or was. I was struck with many sadnessess, but why? Perhaps envy, and sad at my eternal obscurity and feelings that everything I do is ignored or pointless, that I and my actions are worthless; when I feel that I can create and have created some good music, paintings, books. Again I recalled the schizoid traits of these feelings of obscurity, reminding me that my perceptions may not reflect reality. My training as a small child was that the things I do are unimportant. Now I know, on an intellectual level, the importance of all things.
I'm driven and eternally busy; productive and setting higher and higher standards without being paralysed by perfectionism. These are good traits. I feel inspired, that I'm working better than ever, that my 5-year old music explorations, perhaps now at an end, can be completed, and that I can create many new artworks in music, in painting, in writing, and in every area. I wish I had ten clones so that I could do all of these things. Perhaps all of my creations will always be ignored by the world, but perhaps everyone thinks that. I've to have a 'success', yet some things I've made (and make) are more successful than others. A breakthrough may occur. Some things I've made have been good, I judge them so at least, even if all things seem to be equally disregarded. It I had a 'hit' artwork, a hit song, a hit painting, its popularity would certainly annoy me relative to the many other good things I've made, and I expect that all artists feel this.
Have spent today working on the last bits of Music Of Poetic Objects scores, including some alternative piano versions. Perhaps a week is a long time to spend on such things, but as with all art or science, its impossible to know if this time was wasted or well spent. Perhaps this week's work will be my 'Leaf by Niggle'.
One other job was the hefty admin work concerning the release of The Myth Of Sisyphus, now due for release on 10th April. I've compiled, uploaded, and filed new videos for each track. As usual, I'll do no promotion for any of it. Is this a schizoid trait? It's true that I don't revel in, or even like, showing off my wares; but I do, sometimes try to promote them - I can still love my creations even if I don't love telling others about them - and TMOS is an album I'm proud of. I think the lack of such promotion feels like time stolen from the creation of new and more exciting works, and a dire lack of resources and/or reward makes promoting no better than not promoting. At one time I paid to advertise Flatspace. After a year, I decided to stop and sales continued at the same rate for at least a year - the money was wasted, that promotion useless. I've yet to try any form of promotion that has been worth doing. Perhaps most artists do love sharing their work, do love performing, do love telling others about their work; and that this is their reward. The hugely critical responses I've experienced in the past have burned my emotional fingers in this regard, such that the opportunity instantly feels risky, fearful and prone to pain and disaster; thus promoting my works always has this barrier to overcome.
An introspective roll along this section of road. Time to rest, and complete the scores. A new week to fill dawns. Analysis is useful because it can create revelations. To the gods of art I thank and pray. Let us roll our rock on this dark road. Onwards, onwards we push.
