Music

Cursory Observations on the Foundations of my Work

| Forgotten Fields
Der Wanderer über dem Nebelmeer (Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog) (1818) by Caspar David Friedrich
Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog by Caspar David Friedrich

One illuminating byproduct of self-examination has been uncovering the sources of my attraction to sadness. It is an emotion I have felt for as long as I can remember, and I have written in the past about its origins1. Briefly, in my formative years, I experienced the absence of a parental bond, constantly in the care (or rather neglect) of others who had neither the time nor inclination to connect with me emotionally. A highly sensitive2 child—what in the “humours”3 of Greco-Roman medicine could be described as a “melancholic” temperament—I took this to mean that I was unloveable, unwanted and wrong for needing attention; and so I slowly withdrew, emotionally and physically, consoling myself with solitude, reflection, knowledge and beauty—things to which I was naturally drawn that did not require the company of others.

It was with this sense of life4—that existence is tenuous connection, consoling isolation and undeserved joy—that I indulged my desire to create; and what I created, what I admired and took pleasure in, was a manifestation of my inner life. My taste in music illustrates this perfectly: I would enjoy cheerful music but felt that I was “wrong” for doing so, guiltily listening then setting it aside, convinced I am unworthy of happiness. Only sorrowful music felt “right”. When I discovered the ambient, drone and shoegaze genres, it was as if I could hear my sense of life played on instruments: the haze of my experience concretised in reverberations and obfuscated in textures. Unsurprisingly, I embraced those musical styles wholeheartedly. Something similar happened in other art forms: the more melancholy the work, the more appropriate to my sense of life it felt, and the greater its effect on the content and aesthetic of my tastes.

You see it in my choice of project titles—the visions they conjure of separation (Forgotten Fields, Lonely Swallow5); in my music—the sense of longing (for connection) and lamentation (for not attaining it)6; in my poetry—the simple rhymes (evocative of a romanticised childhood); in my aesthetic—the minimalist abstract visuals (reflecting a child seeking warmth in ideas to escape the coldness of his reality); in my theme—nature as a source of solitude, beauty and comfort (requiring only that I exist to receive it); in my subjects—the fleeting moments of the natural world (as insignificant as I felt in childhood: a bird singing in the distance, the wind spilling over the grass, clouds dissolving in the sky). Understanding the origins of these—how my upbringing and temperament conspired to produce them—is deeply affirming.

  1. “This November”
  2. “Sensory process sensitivity”, Wikipedia
  3. “Four temperaments”, Wikipedia
  4. “Sense of life” is a term coined by Ayn Rand. It describes our subconscious understanding of existence which in turn determines the nature of our character and how we respond to the world.
  5. My micro-label.
  6. The best example is The Zephyr and the Swallow.

This February

| Forgotten Fields
Cumulonimbus in February, 2 February 2019. Copyright 2019 Forgotten Fields. All rights reserved.
I took this photograph of cumulonimbus clouds, bearers of hope and change.

I joined SubscribeStar

I am delighted to share that I have joined SubscribeStar1, a platform enabling one to support a creator through a subscription. My reasons for doing so are to create an opportunity to support what I do, and to establish a space where I may experiment with ideas. Whether on matters philosophical, sacred or secular—in the form of essays, musical and poetic sketches or photography—it shall be my studio; a creative laboratory, if you will.

The artistic process is complex; the thinking of the artist obscure. On SubscribeStar, I shall clarify my process and thinking in the company of sympathetic minds with whom I hope to deliberate. I shall treat it also as a journal wherein I may share the updates, observations and discoveries hitherto contained in the monthly digests. My goal is to create a subscription section on this website, but until then, SubscribeStar will perform that function.

I reflected upon this blog

Ever since I joined social media in 2016, I have devotedly shared there distilled ideas and updates. These I then assembled and elaborated upon on the blog, particularly over the past year, in the “This Month” posts. So consistent have I been, it has become an observance. Now that I have joined SubscribeStar, I can better investigate subjects without burdening followers with the bombardment of posts that will inevitably result from my doing so.

This then is the last “This Month” post. It does not mean, however, that I shall no longer be active here. On this blog, I intend to share at the appropriate times what emerges from SubscribeStar. I shall make official announcements and present work and ideas in their developed form—that is, not the works in progress or the extemporary rumination that will be characteristic of my SubscribeStar activity. SubscribeStar will be messy; the blog will be neat.

I wrote this, my 100th post

Glancing over the development of the blog reminds me of my enthusiasm when I started this project in 2016. Armed with an iPad and no idea how to compose experimental music, my love for airships was all the encouragement I needed to learn. I was amazed that the blog attracted any interest at all and I did my best to present to readers what I considered engaging and interesting; 100 posts later, I hope I have succeeded.

Whenever there is change, one is reminded of what one values in life. This February, I appreciated anew your faith in my work. I may give form to a theme in music and poetry, but what joy is there in beholding the outcome alone? For proof of my work’s merit, I rely on you. Your judgements—your comprehension, appreciation and criticism—help me evaluate my own; and I assure you, I would be all the poorer without them.

Footnotes

  1. Forgotten Fields on SubscribeStar

Why experimental music?

| Forgotten Fields

SubscribeStar AQ03

AQ03

What it means to me

“Experimental music” is a somewhat nebulous term, but I think of it as a descriptor for musical exploration in whatever genre, or combination of genres, one happens to do so. To me, it is the liberty to invent new ways of expressing a theme in a composition. Whether I use elements from classical music, drone or vocals, my primary goal is to put them at the service of a concept. Of course, every composition in any genre is an experiment of some sort, but there are times when the outcome is not readily classifiable.

My journey into the genre

Some of my earliest musical ideas were rudimentary experiments, before I knew what “experimental music” was. I would write minimal pieces for the piano and combine them with poetry and field recording—in essence, the raw beginnings of what I am doing now. Before the advent of the Internet, it never occurred to me that others may be doing the same. It was decades before I would return to this approach—having long explored acoustic music—this time, aided by the digital democratisation of music production.

Forgotten Fields

My interest in experimental music was revived with the discovery of post-rock and the genres with which it was often confused—like shoegaze, dream pop, ambient and electronic music. By the time I heard “Container Ships” by Loscil from Sketches from New Brighton four years after its release, I was ready to compose experimental music again. That album was the catalyst for my first release, Airship, a work that laid the foundation for what Forgotten Fields ultimately became: the consolidation of my artistic ideas.