Sound Intimacy

"Music and sound influences our perception of the world. At this juncture in time, music, among other things, needs to point to nature - the un-built spaces on our planet. One of my goals as a composer is to create music that point to these places. My weird compositional process involves extensive "fieldwork" where I seep myself in these places. Overtime, my ears, like eyes acclimating to a dark s

pace, gradually tune into the sounds and fluctuating systems that define these places and a certain intimacy is gained. This acclimation time and gained intimacy is a key component to my compositional process and reinforces the music I compose. When I return home from "fieldwork" I will use the collected "artifacts" to render a music that points to these place, amplifying their imperceptible resonances and rhythms." Erik DeLuca 

I love this quote. I love that Erik deems fieldwork and deep resonance with nature as important in the creative process. Somehow I feel that is validating my current artistic process. I remember being sent it from a dear friend whilst I was reading "The secret teachings of plants" by Harold Buhner. A remarkable book that speaks of heart energy and how plants can teach us to be more engaged with our own bodies. Yes, it may be a little left of centre for some. It speaks of our nervous systems and how we can "tone" the parasympathetic nervous system. It has been recently discovered that the heart has an energy all of its own. It is separate from our neural network. So how can we combine both and have the brain waves sitting atop the heart waves for the ultimate in inner peace and creativity? A true combination of mind and body and our emotions. Especially in an age where the adrenaline system (aka as "busy") is seen as King. 'I'm bringing the parasympathetic back' is more my mantra.

Today I went on a little adventure (not of the adrenalin kind). It was down to Fossil Cove. I attempted to walk the trail yesterday only to be stopped a third of the way down by a strong force. I made a recording at the junction, becoming swamped in mosquitoes. Mother nature knows my relationship with her beloved mosquito and I is fraught, and so I retreated back up to the car, attempting not to itch. Kind of like not throat clearing after you have a cold, or been overusing the voice. It always makes it worse once the itch has been scratched....better not to do it in the first place.

So second time lucky today. A steep decline through gorgeous bush area, with lush vegetation, signs of animals and birds everywhere. I came to Fossil cove and it was beautiful. It reminded me of the french "Falaises d'Etretat" made famous by Monet, which I visited 20 years ago, but on a smaller scale. And much more remote, clearly.

Fossil Cove, Tinderbox

Falaises d'Etretat, Monet

The tide was becoming low (I had checked as I certainly did not want to not be able to re-traverse the water). Initially I was able to walk the fossilised ledges and discover small inlets, small bays and small cavernous areas. The area under my feet was ancient. I wondered how many people actually had stood in this cove. A few hundred? Maybe more. Still pristine. When the tide lowered some more I could make my way under the overhang and adventure to the other side. 

Listening to the waves, the roll of the water, noticing her feel; her stillness and sometimes her strong movement.

Just being with nature, sitting a while in contemplation. Noticing the small sea creatures. Finding small cave-like areas where the resonance would change and shift. Knowing from experience now that if it is still damp there is a better chance of it resonating.  Singing. Breathing. Making sound. Being silent. Listening. Being curious. Exploring. Being Queen of being present, and noticing when I wasn't (often the mosquitoes distracted me...)

Buhner talks of the breath in the city "The breath cannot be taken in deeply in such places, it rises shallow and short in the chest. The heart is racing an rapid, then it is thunder muted and soft. Like a tiny bird seeking release, fluttering desperately inside the chest".

I notice the difference in the ability to breathe here. The ease with which the inhale arrives and how the deep surrender of the exhalation can occur. Helped by being in proximity to the trees and vegetation and the ocean. I feel my body can let go inch by inch into something new and wonderful. I am planning on resting deep and anchoring all that I have done into the Earth and continue with this intimacy of "fieldwork".