Sometimes, oftentimes, we exist outside the world of being composers. We finish a piece, rediscover that fresh air and relationships and other interests exist, and before we know it, we forget that we were composers in the first place. Then, some big ugly commission or contest or (god forbid!) inspirational moment comes and hits us on the head and we are left suddenly sitting in front of a blank piece of paper once again.
It's kind of like being subject to a highly irrational interrogation by a police detective, or some special crime scene investigator. Someone keeps asking you why you did it, what you did, and the fact is, you're actually not that person at all. You can only scratch your head and keep saying "I didn't do it! I don't know how it happened", with them getting continually more frustrated. (Think of this as the dialogue between your rational mind - the interrogator, and your composer mind - the interogatee).
Or, better yet, think of suddenly finding yourself in your everyday job, except it's not actually YOUR job, but your neighbour's. Suddenly you're in a law office, and told that yes, your last case was absolutely exceptionally handled, now, please can you handle the next one just as well?
Perhaps the best thing we can do as composers is to continue; the more we do so, the less we forget in between. Do we ever reach a point at which transitioning from piece to piece is as seemless as we imagine it be? Do we ever have the luxury of feeling like a real artist from the first moment to the last, or - heavin forbid - in between periods of creation? Or is it simply the act of creating that forms us as artists? Do we have to learn each time we begin at a blank page how to be a creator again, and once our piece leaves us enter back into the world of the living?
(open ended questions. answers from anyone appreciated.)
I never know how I make art. When I try to remember how I wrote something that was even remotely decent, I'm completely dumbfounded. I think a big part of my ridiculously long spell of writer's block has been my own overblown impression of the work that I did before, and feeling like I can't measure up. Or something equally bullshitty.
ReplyDeleteI once heard a professional composer say that the scariest and most difficult moment was staring at the blank page...the longer I compose the more I agree.
ReplyDelete