More than the patterns, the linking interstices,
the fibrous threads of connection, shimmering, transforming
to the atomic in the rhythms of Brownian movement,
there is the sensation where I can place my hands
on the stone and feel the resonance,
the distillation of the past performances,
the keen concentration of attention,
the enthusiasm of reception seething beneath the surface
and permeating through the structure
with the vast possibilities of expectations
humming through the spacious chambers
of the Lincoln Center.
Gearing myself up for my next work. I must admit that this was actually not sketched on the subway, but in the library this morning while I was waiting to use one of the computers and check my email.
Although I am not yet certain how I will structure the composition, I am becoming convinced it will be formulated upon the Lincoln Center and will most probably be an episodic, lyrical narrative. Ultimately though, we will have to wait and see. I have long since learned that the more I allow the production to deviate from my original intentions and notions, the more fully the work develops itself. As Tuesday Paz says in Nunatak, "Logic is an extremely important tool for effectiveness within society, but one must not limit oneself to it."
Many comments in even this little sketch will require extensive elaboration and clarification, especially the comment upon Brownian Motion, which will actually become an illustration of the quality of clarity and resolution in perception, in addition to the musical realities which permeates our entire being. From this, I tend to think of one of Rilke's images where he describes the activities of our lives maturing fruit in another dimension where this fruit is gathered by angels. I will have to search to find this illustration again though, perhaps it is in his New Poems.
For the time being, I am waiting for the rain to pass, so I can set up my little book stand outside and continue reading poetry to the passing crowds.
As odd as it may sound, this is actually a realistic depiction of the sensations I have often felt at the performance center. And this is when I am not attending a performance. When I am attending performances, it is different. As I described to a friend in a past email, when I attend a performance of the New York City Ballet, I feel like I am sitting directly at the face of the sun and the whole production fills me with light and heat so I feel I could burst into flames and rise like a Firebird. But then again perhaps I listen to a little too much Stravinsky and read too many Russian folk tales, not to mention suffering from some severe cases of "delusions of grandeur."
Anyway, enough of this rambling this morning. I typically keep such free association compositions, or perhaps more accurately described as bricolages, in my private journals, but due to my current transitional period, I have to expose myself, because I can't stop writing. It has become as important of a part of my existence as breathing, sleeping and dreaming.