after Jack Collom & for Tom Snarsky
the ogre looked at his thumb
and said six feet above you
is an eyeball
and around the eyeball is a mouth
gaping with teeth
and behind the eyeball
is a locked box
in the shape of a skull
and inside the skull is
a quiet ending
a quiet ending
a quiet ending
my soul
*
I bought an alto recorder. The thing with wooden recorders is that one has to work them in slowly and there is a precise protocol because the wood has to slowly adapt to the climate but especially the act of being played and the moisture and pressure that results. As such, one is directed only to play slow low notes and for no longer than five minutes in the first week. Then low and middle range notes for not longer than ten minutes in the second and so forth. Faster and higher notes and longer playing can only be introduced gradually.
I like that one has to consider one’s breath and the wood of the instrument and how they interact. Wood. Breath. Wood taking in the breath, its moisture, pressure, temperature. Is that a model for considering interactions with the forest?
I decided that I’d explore what it means to have to play only low notes slowly. What does that do to time? To intention? To the speed in which I engage with the world?
Yesterday, I went for a walk through the woods in the rain. I video-recorded a small section of the woods as I walked then returned to my computer (on my wooden desk.) I recorded myself playing slow and low for almost five minutes on the new recorder and multitracked it. Then I added a slowed down and pitch-shifted recording of our old out-of-tune piano. Next, I added flute.
I took the video that I recorded and slowed it down, then I masked out most of the background, leaving just a few flickering trees. I left some of the rain sounds and added the recorded music.
There’s something revealing about the slowness of the video and the music. About the sounds made of breath and wood. Its slow unfolding, a change without change, feels like an authentic engagement with the experience of considering the forest, of being surrounded by the forest, its presence and my sense of myself engaging with it. Certainly, I appreciate being able to make something from the experience and the meditative slowness and consideration that it encourages.
*
