The waves of the Atlantic Ocean sweep over my head,like a blanket of sea foam ,they come in their ever onward torrent.So,do I pretend I’m Canute,that despot King,or do I dream in my Iris Murdoch stupor?

Really,I don’t know,I just don’t ,so I dwell,like a granite statue,carved out if the cliff,polished by the sea breakers.In my dwelling,I realise that my wetness,in my state their,I begin to feel a sense of me that is true,it’s depth of now is really with me ,and I know that I’ve captured something that I glimpsed as a child,that other worldliness as it were.

As the sound ,the tutti water orchestra almost generates an explosion in my ears,I resist the urge to cover my lobes because I just want to be there in the moment.Why,this orchestra has,as it’s conductor,Mother Nature,it has an insistence on “Allegro con brio”,and it’s a tone poem of Mahler,Beria,Cage,and Berlioz.

From my time here on the Atlantic shore,I restore my faith in who I am,in what I am,and in the essence of what I am to live my life as an artist as true to myself as I can be.I hope that those who truly know me recognise that in me.



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