On barren days,
At hours when I, apart, have
Bent low in thought of the great charm thou hast,
Behold with music’s many-stringed charms
The silence groweth thou. O rare delight!
The melody upon clear strings inflected
Were dull when o’er taut sense thy presence floweth,
With quivering notes’ accord that never palleth.
“I like exploring discomfort, “mistakes,” what happens when they are left in, incorporated. Silence is a mistake, we’re supposed to cut out the negative space on an album, in a conversation. I think I’ve spent much of my life feeling like I was a mistake, needed to change myself in order to fit in, which of course would involve talking more or better. Still struggle with it. I suppose in the silence there is a lot of trying to come to terms with myself, examining a need for slowness and space. This music is a room that I take care of, I help decide what is accepted. Here distortion and mistakes, silence, deep sadness and misunderstanding, they all have a place. They all fit in to the pattern.”
Liz Harris