I went for a run the other day. And sure enough, some kind of insect flew into my mouth. Or rather into my throat. It was as dis-pleasant as it was disgusting. I tried to cough, tried to throw up. Spitting for all I was worth. A moment later I was back into rhythm running. Not really knowing where the fly had gone. What was I to do? I ran on feeling dirty.

Naturally, I realized I must have swallowed some metaphor. Thinking about it, the fly in my throat seemed like an analogy to getting a bad review. You can’t protect yourself against it, neither can you let it stop you, nor can you let the fear of it make you decide not to do your art. If you’re on a mission, have a set goal, your job is to keep on going.

Spit out what you can and swallow the rest. What doesn’t kill you is protein.

If I went around town with my phone photographing the streets I probably wouldn’t end up with street photography like Henri Cartier-Bresson. Since I’m not much of a photographer the pictures would likely be bland. Not saying anything in particular. Failing to fascinate us today because they depict normality.

But over time those bland pictures would would become interesting, telling a story of a time gone by. Their value would increase as a result of incremental changes. Because the city will change. Store fronts will be redesigned, new restaurants will open, buildings will be torn down and built up, people on the street will change with the fashion.

I think there’s a parallell here to other creative work. Things we write, play, paint, our failed attempts. In the moment of creation we might think they suck. But sometimes when I return to failed experiments and quick sketches a year later – some might surprise me by being better than I recalled.

The pieces haven’t changed. Distance and detachment have made me receptive in a new way. Because I’m new. I have changed incrementally too.

Yesterday, on my way home I biked past a torn down poster in an underpass. It was torn into pieces lying on the ground. I recall wondering for a second what it had been for. Had it made someone offended?

I didn’t stop to pick it up and go looking for a trash can. It’s not my job.

This morning I biked past the same spot and noticed that the winds of the night had done their work. The litter was scattered over a big area. If it had caused offense to someone yesterday, now it was offending everyone.

Picking up the pieces yesterday would have been easy. Now, a lot more work.

I didn’t do anything wrong. But more importantly, I didn’t do anything right.

A day job can be a lot of things. It depends on your perspective. As an artist it is tempting to view it as an obstacle of your success. It takes your time and leaves you too tired for doing your real work. Quitting can be tempting. For a few it works. For most it probably doesn’t.

Apart from the financial aspects, security, stability and freeing your mind from worry of making ends meet. Day jobs also come with colleagues, laughs, coffee breaks, anecdotes, new insights, successes, failures, routines that make you get up in the morning, lunch breaks that you can use for creative challenges or going to the gym. To be honest, I never got that much done in my periods of temporary unemployment.

Quitting your day job might sound like a dream. Yet, you don’t miss your water til your well runs dry.

Or as the Swedish saying goes: You don’t miss the cow until the stall is empty.

In his article How to be an artist art critic Jerry Saltz presented 33 lessons for artists. Lesson 12 read like this: “Know What You Hate. It is probably you. Exercise: Make a list of three artists whose work you despise. Make a list of five things about each artist that you do not like; be as specific as possible. Often there’s something about what these artists do that you share. Really think about this.”

There are a lot of great tips in the article, and many that I found easily applicable or possible to translate to my field (music/lyrics) rather than the visual arts. Yet,lesson number 12 always struck me as enigmatic. What did I hate? And why? In music? In art?

Tomorrow on January 24 I’m starting The Creative’s Workshop, a 100 day peer-to-peer learning experience which has piqued my interest for quite some time. I’m a bit unsure of what to expect, although my expectation are high. I have great trust and respect for the Akimbo organization running it and for Seth Godin who has set up the workshop. I’ll know one thing that will be encouraged during the workshop is to publish “dailies”. So, I’m making an effort to defibrillate this blog in the hope of getting the pulse going again.

I changed the theme here. But I’m not very good with setting up wordpress, and I have zero patience for learning it. My plan is to do three types of posts continually. Inspiration – sharing things that inspires me. Jams – musical experiments with no other outlet. And last Thoughts – that will be me thinking out loud about some thought or question.

I’ve also decided to make 2022 some sort of Depth Year for me. Depth year is a concept developed and suggested by David running the blog Raptitude and I first learnt about it on the online music community Lines. So, what is it? It’s about going deeper, not wider. Focusing on what you got, right here. I’m hoping to tie loose ends together. I want to finish songs that have been lying around without lyrics, and I want to formally release and ship my music. On Bandcamp, Spotify or possibly to other artists, if anyone should be interested.

Depth Year – also means not buying stuff. This is not the year that I will waste time researching new equipment to buy. In fact, I won’t buy anything unless absolutely necessary. (Making a note of exception for a Midi foot controller).

In the end, I’ll probably keep a pretty liberal attitude to the dogmas suggested for a Depth Year. But my hope is nevertheless that it will help me make 2022 a year of significance. I feel ready to put in the work.

Merry Christmas!
So, a few weeks ago I was about to post to ask for tips on cable management. And when typing I came up with the solution that would work for me. Simply to put an Ikea picture ledge (actually two) situated 15 cm below my desk.

This seems to work really well. It cleans up my desk, everything stays accessible and removeable (if to be brought somewhere) and it also gave me some extra storage space for small synths and gadgets. I figured I’d share it so it could help someone else too.

About time to restart. Summer’s been great. I had a long vacation – from myself. At least from musical self and the dreams and thoughts that usually occupy my mind. I think that was a really good thing. Just like it’s good with a change of scenery, it’s good to change the interior of your head.

Summer was long. The weather was great. I bought a small, battered sailing dinghy – and sailed it. Now the dinghy is out of the water for the season and I’m trying to get ready for getting ready. Well, it sort of feels that way. The inertia of doing music seems enormous. I got home and started the biggest cleaning project studio for the last ten years. Let’s say it was needed. In the process I ripped out a lot of stuff in my patchbay, so now nothing really works.

I suddenly see the point in having a cable tester.

For the fall my plan is to write a short manifest of rules, arbitrary constraints. Focus on the process. Work fast, have fun, worry less about the end result. Getting over myself. Stop overthinking.

Maybe I should just start with making something deliberately silly. Something not even trying to be good. I’ll think about that for a while.

No, I’ve never been to Barcelona. Pre-Covid, pre-climate crisis awareness with cheap airfare available, it was a really nice and accessible destination for a weekend trip. I believe most people I know have been there – maybe even twice. And many probably take it for granted that I’ve been there too.

I think it’s quite a common thing to assume that other people have made the same experiences or come to the same conclusions as we have, when in fact their view of the world is a lot different than ours.

In that way, insights and realisations aren’t that unlike destinations. For some it takes a bit longer getting there.

Or we’ll have to meet them where they are.