It was one year ago today that I stopped working on the Symphony No. 1 in G major. And since that day, I have written no music.
Yes, I’ve done a few exercises, one of which is promising, but on the whole I just haven’t been able to get back into that part of my brain. It’s not that I haven’t tried, although of course I have not tried very assiduously, it’s just that I’ve not been “inspired.”
And so I’ve piddled around, revising “Sir Christémas” and arranging “Blake Leads a Walk on the Milky Way” for two-piano accompaniment; I’m supposed to be revising the orchestral score as a standalone piece. But new, exciting work? Nada.
It’s not that I haven’t been creative, because I have. I have been taken aback at how strongly my interest in painting has elbowed its way into my brain. Probably a Lichtenbergian strategy to keep me from writing music. We got Coriolanus up and running, and Lacuna keeps plugging along on Wednesdays. I write. I sing in Masterworks.
But I haven’t written any music for a year. Maybe I can make myself feel bad enough about it to want to do something.
4 thoughts on “An anniversary”
As another Lichtenbergian diversion (is that redundant?), you should consider an essay entitled “Guilt as creative imperative”
If that were the case, then wouldn’t Marc outstrip us all? (Yes, I know I’m handing him a straight line.)
Oh no, that whole bad faith, existential guilt thing is so last century.
Oh, I get it. Something to do with strippers. Actually, I prefer the term “exotic dancer.”