I wanted to find the right shape for each song. But almost every time I’d make something I’d have to ask myself, “What do you want to hear?” Maybe nothing, and that’s okay. My desire was the only rule.
I wanted to find the right shape for each song. But almost every time I’d make something I’d have to ask myself, “What do you want to hear?” Maybe nothing, and that’s okay. My desire was the only rule.
“At the top of a hill our automobile stuck in a snowdrift. Peasants ran out of a cottage near by, shouting with laughter because machinery had made a fool of itself, and dug out the automobile with incredible rapidity. They were doubtless anxious to get back and tell a horse about it.”
Rebecca West | Black Lamb and Grey Falcon