There's something inexplicably but undeniably magic about the evenings where all plans fall through and suddenly a portal opens up with which to travel through in any direction of my choosing, free of obligation, so to say ~ free of forethought. Dreamy downbeats bearing names like "Lemon Jelly" and "Ses Salines" negotiate the contours of my eager ears and choreograph the dance between hand, pen and paper. It's not my composition - I am more the conduit than the artist. I provide a route through which to transform an energy floating listlessly through space hungry to become something tangible. In return, it allows me to learn from whatever it has to offer my empty canvas. I never know what will come out of it, but something wonderful always does.
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