Music moves..

…. the soul. Its amazing how a good blast of your favourite tunes can blow away the cobwebs – and what lurks beneath. Is experiencing a block in creativity a result of fear, insecurity, lack of confidence? Who knows? But one thing’s for sure – the coming together of kindred souls over the dulcet sounds of Joni Mitchell on that eternally inspirational “Blue” album surely opens the floodgates, a sort of cerebral sandblasting? Leaves ye a bit raw but hey, at least you’re feelin. No numbness there, then. Sharing the oh so moving strains of the Ni Dhomhnaill sisters, Triona and Maighread, in their ethereal “Idir an da sholas” compilation sets the heart alight and stirs up long lost and and evocative memories. As for the passionate energy and poetry of the Pogues  – let it rip, boys, and bring on the brushes – I’m ready and rockin! Like a rollercoaster, ye follow that hedonistic blast with the heavenly strains of Jeff Buckley – with “Hallelujah, you’re surfing the clouds and waving to now unseen and loving spirits who gently keep you afloat, even when you think you’re drowning.  Buiochas.

Clutter

I spent the last few days organising my studio, new floor put in. Threw out mounds of paper and stuff. Its amazing the amount of rubbish we amass over such short periods. I think that if I could de-clutter the space around, it might make more room for new thoughts. I love the idea of getting rid of possessions – as many as possible. But I think I like the idea more than the practice! Bits provide a comfort zone, like old letters and presents – these objects which link us to our past. But what can you take with you?

Yesterday, I listened to RTE’s Liveline special programme on Kerry writer John Moriarity who died at the weekend. Since he was diagnosed with the big C last year, he regularly spoke to Joe Duffy about his thoughts on his life and his impending death. He spoke of having to look away, on one occasion, for the first time ever, from a sight so beautiful, that it overcame him. It was deeply moving to listen to him and he obviously was a man who had a profoundly spiritual outlook. I think that what he tried to say was that we should savour our lives, each moment, knowing that we only have a short time here. But John felt that death was not the end, that he was just moving onto another level or plane after this life. Here’s hoping. R.I.P. John Moriarity.

Post its plague

I had a surreal conversation with a colleague which concluded with us both deciding that we are post it addicts! The signs are clear for all to see – a work area festooned with little yellow patches fluttering silently. Addiction to this phenomena manifests itself in strange ways – tetchy behaviour when you’re on the phone, looking for that elusive little pad to scribble your details on, sweat breaking out when you’re desperately looking for that phone number written on a post it that you stuck on the computer monitor, along with a hundred others. The yellowness takes over your desk and soon the squares become an entire blanket – a bit like the takeover bid of swathes of Irish countryside by the rhodendrums. The symptoms of addiction worsen – soon you have the incursion of the dreaded yellow sticky bits into other parts of the home – milk cartons take on a festive appearance – cookers begin to look like Easter chicks without the fluff – fridge doors assume daffodil demeanour. There’s no end to it. You know you need to go to post its anonymous when you wake up – go to the bathroom and there it is – a post it stuck on your forehead – with a reminder to wash your teeth scrawled in mirror writing on the little yellow square! You’ve become so addicted that you now need hourly fixes of post it patches stuck to the skin!

Nothing whatsoever to do with creativity, but a mind needs heavy doses of frivolity on occasion!!