I wish I could conjure up one new artwork a day. I’m kinda already doing that, but it never seems enough to pump out simple endeavours, as prolific as it may be. There should be one major focus, one big project that takes months. A Muto. There is a big project, something that will take years to materialize.
The project, as you know, is the trip around South America. It’s kinda backpacking, yes. But it’s also kinda work – the spreading of the gospel of open-source music by Pravda23. A travel case containing a laptop, small, quality speakers, a dynamic microphone, a soundcard, a small midi controller, perhaps some percussion instruments and a violin.
In the meantime, I must familiarize myself with my equipment and the show-on-the-road lifestyle. I must optimize the amount of weight I’m carrying and consider all the possibilities. I have to keep this on the burner. In the long run, it’s what I’m doing now.
Next week I’ll be teaching the future tense “I am going” to my classes. It’s a beautiful marriage of meanings when you use the present participle “ing”. It means both “This is presently happening” and “I plan to make this happen”. When I say I am going to South America to tour backpacker spots and guest houses, connecting and recording people along the way, there’s no causal hiatus between the intention to go and the path I’m daily walking to get there. It’s not an idea. It’s not a dream. It’s a cash projection. It’s an advance flight booking.
Mornings before school are violin. Squeezing a few listens to the work of my international DJ-composer-performer peers on the Ableton forum during the day. Evenings are playtime, usually behind the violin again, often creating the backing tracks and clips. Or drawing something, or making a short stop-motion animation on my camera phone. Every day, alone, focusing, sharpening my blade, preparing for the trip, for the unknown, for the risky endeavour. For the frowns of the concerned family members – when are you going to settle down. For the life worth living. There’s no guarantee that I won’t come home broke with nothing to show for it but good times a bunch of MP3s. This is my battle. This is my victory.
You wrote this on the 25th October 2010 in your apartment in Seoul.