John Densmore - The Seekers: Meetings With Remarkable Musicians

Discover Your Next Great Read

Get sneak peeks, book recommendations, and news about your favorite authors.

Explore book giveaways, sneak peeks, deals, and more.

An artist, Shes a real artist. Hes a unique artist. Artists are like that. Not like you and me. They feel things, they see things, they understand things in different ways than most people do. Painters, drummers, sculptors, singers, conductors, directors, designers, poets, actors, dancing masters, performers, seekers all. They are sensitive, they see underneath, they see beyond, they see the big picture, they notice the smallest detail. We admire artists, and we dont trust them. The rest of the world gets on with its business while artists daydream and criticize people who actually get things done. They live in their own world, and they should mind their own affairs, stick to what they know. What makes artists so special anyway?

Nothing.

Nothing at all. No more special than you. Each of us has got their own. Each and every one, through our particular way of observing and listening, of being in the world, is free to interpret and communicate what is happening around us. There is no need to be considered or to consider oneself an artist, in the sense that we conventionally and exclusively use the term, in order to weigh what happens to us in the course of our lives, in order to record in our minds what our experiences mean to us, to decide what attracts and repels us, to relate to and communicate, if and as we choose to, what we find meaningful. Children do not separate themselves as artists or non-artists. Why should adults do so?

You are alive, you receive. You may fine-tune your hearing, you may work on your rhythm, your timing, and find the right moment to dip your toes in the river. Once your skin gets used to the temperature, you may find yourself wading in deeper, maybe going under all the way to your chin. You might have to give it a few tries before getting that far. You dont have to swim. Theres nothing to know. You can get out anytime you like. Just sit onshore and watch how others disappear under the surface and come up somewhere else. Watch the rain drops on the gently flowing ripples, if they come. Feel the suns warmth, if it shines. Get goosebumps, if you do. See what you see, make that picture for yourself. Thats all it is, being an artist. Dont ever swim, if it isnt your thing, dont go near the water. Stand on a hilltop, behind a tree, hearing others splash and laugh. No one even needs to know you were there. You understand, you sense as much as anyone else does in their own personal way, whether youre near or far. You can simply imagine being at the bottom, you can count the minnows and tadpoles, the sinking leaves as they swirl around you. You spin at your own speed and dance to the beat you carry as you drift with the current, allowing yourself to float away. You comprehend, already creating, already leaving your mark, even if at first you

cant

hear

keep

listening

to the melody

come up

in a drop

that runs

across the wall

hangs

on the doorknob

sing

together

across

the city

squeeze

a note

that stays

in your fist

pulling

your hair

Unnameable

unknowable

unreasoning

trusting

trading

tuning

tinted

windows

When

did

sound

start

was

there

ever

none?

its absence

unimaginable

its very thought

makes

noise

we begin

and

end

a murmur

risen

from the water

that brought us

keeps us

afloat

lingering

joining

infinite

song

stream

Ensuing

harmony

however

faint

understated

our inevitable

participation

outlasts us

every

echo

imagined

recorded

somewhere

every

piece

variation

remembered

rephrased

desired

unwritten

forgot

unplayed

as time

expands

contracts

reinterprets

resuscitates

incessant hum

we accompany

consciously

or not

VIGGO MORTENSEN