Waltz with Suy - continued

Front-right-step,
I chanted in my mind.
Back-left-step,
in my head she danced.

"One, two, three,"
I whispered to her ear.
"One, two, three,"
she drew me to her.

I lost myself,
in her familiar scent.
I lost count,
and traced along her neck.

The arm around my waist,
lovingly led me.
The hand that held my wrist,
I hold on dearly.

Waltz with Suy

Song just for you.

Song, a little sad, I think.

Three times of crumpled words.

Some notes and all my regrets.

All my regrets, of both of us,

are at my fingertips,

like do, ré, mi, fa, sol, la, si, do.


It's a song of a faded love,

like the one which you used to hum.

Three times, nothing of our lives.

Three times, like this melody.

What remains of both of us

is at the hollow of my voice,

like do, ré, mi, fa, sol, la, si, do.

It's a song in remembrance,

not to forget without saying anything.

Forget without saying anything.

triste

I have been moody and slightly depressed all day. I made myself listen to Barber's adagio for strings and wrote... a lot.

My friends here come and go, but I still cannot believe Alexis left Beijing... just like that.

exposed

Creamer's pilot roll came out mostly overexposed. I'll have to spend the next couple months experimenting what suits Creamer well... positives? Negatives? Adjust film ISO speed? Lens filters?

All the pains and overexposed pictures aside, it was still quite a trip.

Thanks to Creamer, I finally used my darkbag for the first time.

hidden dimension of a cello

A month ago I went to my usual hideout for dinner and live Sitar performance. Somewhere along dinner Marie-Claude showed up at my table and introduced Matt to me. Matt is a writer, and has composed poems that he wants to write music for. Matt wants to have cello in the music.

Over the following week I burned a lot of cash on my cello. For the first time in 8 years I held the bow in my hand, struck the strings with my fingers, and leaned my cello against my chest.

I have lost my bow arm, I have lost my left hand positions, I have lost the ability to sing the tunes I have in my head through my instrument... but it felt good to play again nonetheless. Yes, the aching muscles on my back that I haven't used in 8 years, the hardened skin and relentless pressure my fingers held against the strings, the changes in the shapes of my fingertips - utterly slanted and unsightful, but unmistakenly cellist.

Two weeks later I played with Matt for the first time. Raymond, who performed sitar at my regular hangout, also showed up. After another rehearsal Matt booked a recording studio and scheduled our recording session.

Prior to this I have made 5 recordings with 4 orchestras/ensembles. I have also made speech recordings in state-of-the-art studios. However, yesterday was the first time I had to do a multi-track recording on a solo cello. It was also the first time I had to record solely on improvisation, to a piece of music that has nothing written down.

We did the first run with all three of us playing together in the studio. It was great - the adrenaline rush made us more spontaneous to one another than ever. However when we listened to the track in the control room it became clear that the cello part has to be recorded alone. The cello sound resonated with the equipment and introduced drones, my movement and swaying made it impossible for the Mic to capture even energy.

So I went back to the studio alone. I put on the headphones playing Matt and Raymond's and did my tracks... It was the most surreal experience.

I've always thought with all the time I've spent playing on the cello my body remembers how the bow feels in my hand as it arcos across different strings at different angles and speed, that the fingers on my left hand remember how the strings feel under the tips, and the subtle changes in vibrations on the strings as I press on different notes. I thought I remember how the cello resonates with my body and makes the sides of my knees and my chest go slightly numb.

But back in the studio as I put on the headphones they shut me out from my cello's voice. As hard as I tried the cello's sound was barely audible. I was deaf, and I was lost in voices and lines but my own. I desperately tried to hear what my cello sang but the only way I could do that either in the control room, or through the headphone after a run I made.

I came out feeling rather dejected. Not hearing myself when I played meant the only way I could control my tone and timbre was through my muscle memory, and after 8 years of silence every single ounce of it left my body.

How frustrating. I felt quite helpless in the studio. But at the same time it was fun picking up details of how my cello and I responded to each other, details that I missed when I could hear him. Even though I left the studio with my lines still out of tune... I felt that I have discovered a whole new dimension of my cello.

creamer, please!

There has been a very long silence since my last rant. Today I will rant no more and announce homecoming of my new family.

Creamer is rock solid and feels very powerful in my hands. Taking pictures with Creamer is a pain... sometimes, and exciting at the same time. How liberating to be able to fit all that goes into your eyes into one picture with such ease. Of course, they all come out (I think... debut server still undeveloped) curved and slightly distorted, but I think that is severely underrated.

a borderline-marginal person that I am

Quite a few expressed on different occasions that I am adrift, and I am marginal in my values and the lifestyle I pursue, or, in the case of being adrift, the lack of pursuit I make.

Most expressed their thought somewhat dismayed, with a slight hint of disapproval.

Why are these negative traits for most?
Because I want to savour and relish the richness life has to offer?
Because I am not convinced what are valued by most will make me a content individual?

A friend tells me in his country moderation is best, a virtue that should be pursued. But for whose sake is this?

It is interesting that while I am in a country where I am in many ways the opposite from most I feel the least marginal. I lose the point of reference because my own tangent never meet with others', that comparing who I am with others is utterly pointless. Whereas in the US, where people will accept my attitude, they accept me as Alternative.

Even being marginal is so easily dismissed as just being alternative. Oxymoron...

Things are relative, you may say. However I believe truth, beauty and goodness are a matter of conscience, and conscience is absolute. If you see me as collective differences from others and from yourself you may think I am indeed different, and you may think I am unique. But if to you I am but these collective differences, maybe you lack the palette I deserve to be savoured and tasted with.