my first way of telling something was through sound. not words, but vibration. an attempt to bridge the distance between myself and the world. I remember the feeling of needing to say something before I even knew what language was. and sound was the gesture by which I existed.

sound does not express; it is expression. 

there is nothing heroic about music. it is not an act but a form of attention. it asks that you forget yourself, or perhaps that you cease to be anyone at all. in that listening, everything becomes clear: the distance between you and the world, between beginning and end.

and when I make something, I don’t hear it as beauty but as proof of presence. each sound marks that I exist, and that there is something outside me to answer to. sometimes I think music is the only way to exist without possessing. it leaves no trace; it vanishes as it happens, and in that vanishing lies its purity.

perhaps that is what I’ve been trying to say all along: that meaning doesn’t survive in what we hold on to, but in what we allow to sound, and then let go.