Here's a strange thing: I was just glancing back over my diary of ten years ago, reading a tiresome litany of complaints to myself about how hard work was at that point, when I realised that I had the most vivid recall of all the sort of 'artistic' things I had managed somehow to cram in to those over-full days - books read, music listened to, that sort of thing. And it was only minutes before opening the diary to glance back that I had decided to write this post on how precious a few similar encounters with the 'artistic' over the last day or so have been to me in a vaguely similar busy period. Nothing really changes.
But that's not exactly the point, for today, at least. Here I just want to briefly celebrate the curious truth that when you haven't really got time for reading or listening or viewing, the little time you can carve out takes on a peculiar and rewarding intensity. The other day I had the good fortune to listen to White Willow's Ignis Fatuus followed by Bill Frisell's Disframer, albums I know very well, and it was like hearing them for the first time. Both utterly beautiful.
Later this evening I'll be falling asleep to the glorious discordances of VDGG's Present, an album that continues to grow in my estimation and I almost can't wait. Except it means the end of a day and its possibilities.
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