Thoughts on musical experiences, my own works, and who knows what else.
As I write this post, a light rain waters the bright green grass outside my artist studio. I can hear faint grunts and rustlings from the wombat who lives in the artist complex; he has come out of hiding to chew on the grass outside my door. I attempted to record him earlier, but as I approached him with my hand-held recorder, he gave me an extremely human glare before trundling off to a safer spot over on the other side of the plaza.
Having the space and time to enjoy these small encounters, to explore the relatively uncharted bush, to allow ideas (good and bad) to float over to you like a lazy current in the nearby river, is a privilege. I have been allotted two weeks in the idyllic Bundanon Trust Artist in Residence complex, to turn my time to whatever creative pursuits I deem necessary. There is no deadline, no expectation of producing a new masterpiece. Just time to create, reflect, and then hopefully create some more.
After just under 72 hours here, I feel like I have been more focused, more inspired and more driven to create and think than I have in all of the past year. Having a period of time uninterrupted by studies, employment, or even the pressure to catch up with friends and family is rare for artists, who often rely on secondary employments(s) to get by. This is my first artistic residency, and I am already gobsmacked by the difference it has made to my creative mindset.
I've knocked over life and work admin, attended to some much needed planning for composer collective lost+sound, started a new radiophonic work and begun thinking about three others. I've made a dent in my thesis reading list, and have even found the time to do some writing. I've been lost in the bush, had a stand-off with some very muscular marsupials, and found peace at one of the Shoalhaven river's hidden beaches for an hour or so.
If this is Day 3, I can't wait to see how I feel on Day 14.