Author: vontmer

Thoughts On The Count of Monte Cristo

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I just finished The Count of Monte Cristo. Overall, it was undeniably a good book. It’s a classic for a reason. Well written, ambitious, and incredibly intricate. The scope alone is impressive. A long, carefully interwoven story where every action echoes forward in time.

The revenge Edmond Dantès takes on Caderousse, Danglars, Villefort, and Fernand is especially intricate. What’s interesting is that he doesn’t destroy them directly. Dumas could’ve had Dantès go Tarantino on their asses. Instead, he presses on levers they themselves put in motion. Their own flaws of greed, ambition, and power become the instruments of their downfall. From a purely narrative standpoint, that’s clever and satisfying.

That said, there were moments where I felt confused. For example, the shift in the book between the first part and the second—where years pass and Edmond suddenly possesses immense wealth, knowledge, and influence—left me disoriented. At first, it felt like the book was starting over. Which, as I read on, made more sense. But nonetheless, emotionally it felt abrupt.

I was also not entirely clear to what degree Monte Cristo planted the idea in Madame de Villefort’s head to poison all the heirs connected to Noirtier. While he may not have directly planted the idea, he played on her selfishness, and it felt like he crossed the line from revenge to pure evil. And the ending left me disoriented too. It seemed like Dumas was setting up Maximilien Morrel to be reunited with Valentine. But again and again he showed us how dead she was. I found myself wanting to Google it all to make sure I hadn’t missed anything important, because things just weren’t adding up.

Those things aside, it didn’t fully resonate with me for deeper reasons.

I tend to be drawn to stories where there’s meaningful transformation in a character from beginning to end. Some redemptive turn, some internal reckoning. The kinds of stories associated with Campbell’s “Hero’s Journey”, for example. The arc of tragedy of identity, loss of self, symbolic death, and then some kind of resurrection or return, completely changed.

That arc feels deeply human. The death-and-resurrection story.

Edmond Dantès has a version of this. In prison, he essentially dies. He even wants to kill himself. Then he finds hope through his friendship with Abbé Faria. But even there, his transformation isn’t one of healing or renewal. It’s vengeance. Retaliation becomes his modus operandi.

I didn’t feel deeply connected to this vengeance-driven narrative. They have power (again, Tarantino) but often feel incomplete and hollow. Because vengeance breeds vengeance. Anger breeds anger. There’s no real end. No sense of wholeness or redemption.

Monte Cristo talks over and over about playing God. Being the hand of God in bringing justice. For someone seemingly so wise, this is not wisdom, it’s folly. And it’s all taken too far when Villefort’s son becomes collateral damage.

From that perspective, the resolution felt hollow.

His mission of living purely for revenge doesn’t resonate on a personal level, either. It’s not how I want to live. When someone wrongs me, building my entire future as a reaction to their actions feels like letting them continue to control my life. It’s not a life of creative freedom.

I want to let go, rather than seek revenge. To choose what I want to pursue, rather than allowing anger to dictate my life path. That doesn’t mean anger isn’t real or valid. But holding onto it long-term isn’t life-giving.

It feels strange to be critical of such a masterfully woven novel. It’s a feat I will never be able to accomplish. Yet, it didn’t draw me in emotionally or provoke much reflection about my own life. A well-crafted, entertaining story, but not a transformative one.

Creativity in the Age of A.I.

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Motivation to create comes and goes for me. Life—house, job, kids, hobbies, relationships—often gets in the way, and it’s easy to make excuses not to put the time into it.

Writing music has never been formulaic for me. Rarely does a piece come to me in its finished form. It takes effort. I overthink things a lot when composing and can get stuck in my own head. I can be my own worst enemy. Sometimes there are stretches—weeks, months, even years—when what I was once passionate about feels like a distant dream or a past life.

Other times, the desire to create hits so hard it’s impossible to focus on anything else. I barely remember to eat.

Creativity is cyclical and mysterious. It doesn’t follow a formula.

There’s also that lurking existential question: why create at all? What’s the point? Why try to make something new when it seems like everything’s already been done?

That question feels even heavier in the age of AI-generated art and music. “If AI can do it for me, why should I?” Every time the AI music generator Suno drops a new update, the internet asks, “Are we cooked?” Then someone plays a track they made with it—and it’s honestly pretty impressive, both lyrically and musically.

When Suno first started making waves, I played around with it and was thoroughly underwhelmed by what it made—at least for piano music. Six months later, I tried it again. Still garbage. There were definitely some cool tracks in other genres, but not for solo piano.

Will it get better? Probably. Maybe they’ve mostly trained their model on popular music instead of the kind of piano music I write. But if it does get better—am I cooked? What if AI could make piano music that sounded like mine? What if it were trained on my own songs?

As a software engineer, I’ve even thought about trying it myself—feeding my own music into an AI model on a GPU instance just to see what it would create. What would it sound like? And if it worked… what would I do then?

It raises an interesting question: would I keep creating if AI could do it for me?

For me, the answer is a definite yes. I’d still create. Because creating isn’t optional when you have that drive. Sometimes it goes quiet, but it never dies. The spark is always there.

I honestly don’t think AI will ever create as brilliantly or unpredictably as humans. What makes human art interesting is its surprise, its imperfection, its risk. AI is trained on what already exists—and I haven’t yet seen it come up with something truly new in the world of art.

More importantly, music is about connection. People go to concerts to feel something with other people—to see their favorite artist, to share a moment. There’s something intangible in music that flows through us and connects us. Just like handmade goods mean more than something mass-produced, people want to support people.

That doesn’t mean there’s no place for AI in music. It’s here to stay. But it takes a thoughtful approach. I use AI plugins to help with EQ or leveling when I mix—but they’re just tools. I still need to understand EQ, compression, gain staging, and so on. I’m not against using AI to save time or money—sometimes it’s just practical. Not everyone can afford to hire an attorney, for example, but AI can be a huge help with legal research or document review.

When it comes to logic and reasoning, AI is already incredible. But when it comes to creativity, there’s an ingredient it can’t learn: the human soul. Consciousness. That spark we call by many names—God, love, the divine, whatever you want to call it. It’s intangible, but it’s real.

And that’s why I don’t think artists have anything to fear. What you create is beautiful because it comes from you—your experiences, your life, your perspective. There is, and always will be, only one you. And that can’t be replicated.

* Artwork created by AI (Midjourney)

Reclaiming My Attention

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I’ve been wanting to get back into the habit of writing every day for a while now. Occasionally, I’ll hear of someone who does this practice, and I always think, Yes, I want to start doing that again. They always talk about how beneficial it is. How it clears their mind-clutter. And I’m amazed they’ve been able to keep it up for so long.

Julia Cameron writes about this in The Artist’s Way, which I’ve started several times (but never finished). In the beginning of the book, she says the most important practice any artist can do is “Morning Pages”—writing every day as a way to clear mental clutter. I’ve benefited from this, but inevitably the practice gets stripped away by the stress of life.

I’ve mostly written in private rather than publicly. On a blog, for example. Which makes sense, I think. Who really wants to read the stream-of-consciousness, overworked, anxious thoughts of a self-reflecting artist working through their creative blocks?

There’s an interesting difference between sharing things publicly versus privately. I’ve felt this most tangibly in composing music. When I write music in private, things come together much more slowly. There’s less pressure to form a cohesive musical thought. But when I force myself to share musical ideas publicly with little snippets online, the ideas come together faster, because I don’t have the luxury of overthinking. I have to trust my gut.

I used to do this more often. Sharing publicly felt therapeutic, like it helped me process and work through things. But there was always the risk of being misunderstood. I didn’t like that. Eventually, it felt safer to keep everything to myself.

Honestly, it’s been extremely hard to start again. My brain is conditioned (thank you, phone?) to avoid expressing thoughts in long form. With writing words (and music) you’re forced to be present. Writing music is almost easier, in a way, because there are no words. There’s less to judge. But words… words mean something. When you share them, people can judge them, misunderstand them, twist them. It’s inevitable.

I’ve been out of the habit for so long that I’ve turned starting again into a mountain that feels impossible to climb. But I also know that when you’re facing something that feels insurmountable, there’s only one thing to do: put one foot in front of the other. In this case, one word after the other.

Life has been pretty hectic lately. We just got a 12 (now 13) week old puppy. This week has been a blur. We also just moved my fiancé’s business from the West Coast to the East Coast. There’s so much happening. Having a full-time job, raising kids, taking care of pets, managing my music career, helping my fiancé launch her business, taking care of our home… there is just. So. Much. How do people do it?

Our Google Calendar looks like a Jackson Pollock painting.

I’ve been feeling so scatterbrained that I somehow left my precious copy of The Count of Monte Cristo out in the rain. I love books. I love to read. And if I’m at the point where I’m leaving books outside in a downpour, something is off.

I know I’m the creator of my own chaos in a lot of ways. I take on too much. But it’s also a beautiful and full life.

I’m in the middle of working on new music, too. There’s this piece in D♭ major that has been so elusive to finish. I think it’s the same problem. Being unable to focus long enough. Afraid to sit with it. I don’t know.

I’ve been meditating regularly. A fifty-five days “streak” I think. That has helped a lot. I’m still overwhelmed. Still have a lot to deal with. But I think I’m calmer.

I guess this is my small effort to reclaim my attention. Our phones and technology are relentless. It’s tempting to give myself over to the stress of it all. Lately, in meditation, I’ve been focusing on what I do want. How I want to feel. What I want my life to look like. Because where attention goes, energy flows. I’ve given myself over to worry and stress for too many years.

So we’ll see what comes of this. I hope this is the first post of many. I’m doing it for myself. To clear my headspace. But also for others, if somehow it helps. Time to stop before I start overthinking it again.

Joep Beving’s Solipsism Redux (2025): A Timeless Rebirth

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Joep Beving’s Solipsism Redux is out today — a complete re-recording of his 2015 debut album Solipsism. I’ve been listening through it this morning, and from the very first notes, it’s clear this isn’t just a technical refresh. It’s a reinterpretation. One that feels deeply considered, patient, and alive.

If you know the original, you’ll notice the difference immediately: the pacing here is slower, more unhurried. Beving lets the music breathe. He sinks into each note, allowing silence to stretch just long enough to create space. Space for resonance, space for reflection, and space for us, the listeners, to really hear. His touch feels softer, yet somehow more deliberate, drawing out the subtlety that was always there but now fully illuminated.

These pieces have always stirred something deep in me. They did when I first heard them years ago, and they still do now. But this time they feel different. Matured, like a conversation revisited with the benefit of time and distance. Music grows as people grow, and Redux captures that growth beautifully. It’s not nostalgia, it’s evolution.

What strikes me most is how alive this recording feels. Every time music is performed, it’s made new again, and Beving leans into that truth. Where some artists tire of revisiting old work, he seems to have found fresh meaning in these compositions. If anything, Redux proves that he’s not simply retracing old steps — he’s rediscovering them.

The result is an album that feels timeless, yet renewed. A testament not just to Beving’s skill as a composer, but to his curiosity as a performer. His willingness to return, listen closely, and let the music breathe in a new way.

The Danger of ‘Not Now’: Taking Action Towards Your Goals

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Every year when Graham Weaver teaches at Stanford, on the final day of class he shares the four most important lessons he’s learned in life. I’ve been thinking about them a lot lately. I’ve taken some liberties with the wording for clarity, but this is mostly verbatim from his TikTok video.

Give yourself the gift of doing something you’re truly excited about in this one precious life.
I can’t express how differently you’ll show up when you’re doing something that lights you up. You’ll have more energy. You’ll attract the right people. You’ll have more fun. And you’ll be far more likely to stick with it for the long haul. That path—chasing your real dream—is what your life should be about. That’s the journey you’re meant to be on.

Don’t underestimate yourself.
Think back to a time when you were at your absolute best. That’s the real you. You have those gifts. And you get to bring them with you into the next chapter of your life. Remember, you being excited about something for a long time is the most powerful force there is.

Beware of the two most dangerous words: “Not now.”
People don’t usually give up on their dreams—they delay them. “First I’ve got to get more experience… pay off some loans… get this bonus… get married… pay off the mortgage.” Eventually, “Not now” delayed too long becomes “Not ever.” So keep this in mind: it will never feel like the right time. It will always feel too early. You’ll always feel not quite ready. And it will always be easier to repeat today what you did yesterday. So ask yourself: “Ten years from now, what will I wish I had started today?” And start that journey.

Realize life is an internal battle, not an external one.
On one side is fear, doubt, self-judgment, and societal pressure telling you what you should do, who you should be, and what your life should look like. On the other side is your truth—your soul, your heart—telling you what it really wants. That’s the side you want to win. I used to think life was full of a million complicated decisions. But the longer I live, the more I realize there’s really only one: Will you give yourself permission to be who you really want to be and live the life you truly want to live?

As a software engineer, it’s been hard to ignore the recent wave of tech layoffs. It’s made me reflect more than usual on my future—and what I’d do if I lost my job.

Part of me thinks I’d just look for another one. But I’ve been working full-time since I graduated college, and the one thing I’ve learned is that I’m not pursuing my calling. Some jobs have been better than others, but the fact remains: I’m not passionate about this career path.

I have dreams like everyone else, but I often lose sight of them. Life gets busy. Self-doubt creeps in. I get discouraged. There’s never enough time. I get distracted. Sometimes I even question whether my dreams are too big—or if I’m worthy of them.

“Why should I get to do what I love when so many others are suffering, or don’t even have a choice because of their circumstances?”

But no matter how far away my dreams seem—no matter how many excuses I make—I can’t let them go. Letting them go would feel like a kind of death.

I hear people talk about the power of visualization and the science behind it. I’ve heard enough stories to believe that when people start living as if their dreams are already reality, they begin to experience that reality. Doors open. They no longer have to force outcomes because they’re aligned with the right “frequency” to draw in what they want.

It can sound like spiritual woo-woo—but I’ve actually experienced this for myself… when I can manage to get out of my own way.

There’s solid science backing this up: our thoughts shape our experiences. If you change your mindset, your reality starts to change.

I no longer need convincing. I know visualization works. I know we often see what we actually believe to be true about our life.

But I still struggle to practice it consistently. I lose heart easily. I meditate in the morning to get my head in the right space, but ten minutes go by and one small challenge sends me back into a scarcity mindset. I continue to see myself as stuck—so I stay stuck. It becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. I believe these things about myself because they’re all I choose to see.

I struggle to visualize the life I want because it feels too improbable.

I’m afraid to show up fully. Afraid to express myself honestly. I spend too much energy trying to keep the peace, stay small, and avoid disappointing others.

Showing up fully means being vulnerable. Maybe I’ve been burned too many times and lost courage.

Showing up fully means letting myself get excited about my dreams. Maybe I’ve been disappointed too often, and it hurts too much.

It’s easier to play it safe.
Easier to do what’s normal.
Pursue security.
Work for someone else until retirement.

I’m afraid to take up space. I worry my dreams aren’t worthy of people’s time or attention.

But where has all that fear gotten me? I’m forty years old, and I’m still living under the same limiting beliefs I’ve always had. Despite all the striving, nothing has really changed.

If it’s true that we see what we believe, then I must believe I’m only allowed to take up some space—not enough to do this full-time.

To put numbers to it: I earn about $1,500/month in music streaming royalties. I have tens of thousands of monthly listeners. I’ve played a handful of shows. I’ve sold a couple hundred records.

That’s more than most musicians can say. I’ve worked hard to get here. And considering the state of the music industry, I’ve done well.

So I feel guilty saying: I want more.

Not just more money. I know money doesn’t equal happiness.

I want to expand more.
I want to take up more space in the world through my creativity.

Because there’s this pull I’ve never been able to shake.
This energy inside me that takes up so much space, it’s hard to contain.
It’s like a car that’s constantly being filled with gas, and if I don’t drive 100mph, it overflows, catches fire, and burns away. I can either cut off the fuel and live a dull, stagnant life, or I can press the pedal as hard as I want, when I want.

My mind is constantly buzzing with ideas.
I want more people to hear my music.
I want to play more shows for more people.

I want to give myself the gift of doing something I’m genuinely excited about—because I know that when I’m doing what I love, I show up differently. I light up. I have more energy. There is no question about that.

If I lost my job, I’d be at a fork in the road. I’d have to choose: keep doing the same thing and getting the same results—or go full throttle toward my dreams.

Jim Carrey once said:

“My father could have been a great comedian, but he didn’t believe that was possible for him. So he made a conservative choice. Instead, he got a safe job as an accountant. When I was twelve, he was let go from that safe job, and our family had to do whatever we could to survive. I learned many great lessons from my father—not the least of which was that you can fail at what you don’t want, so you might as well take a chance on doing what you love.”

Given my current situation, I don’t think quitting my job is wise. But I do know there’s so much more I could be doing, right now, to pursue my dreams.

What are those dreams?

I want the freedom to follow my creative impulses every day.
Primarily, that means composing new music and performing in small, intimate venues around the world. But it also includes things like community, exercise, reading and writing, gardening, photography, videography, and sound engineering. Whatever captures my attention. Pursuing inspiration all around me.

So why am I writing this?

To give myself a reset. To take stock of where I’m at, and re-establish where I want to go.

Starting today, I’m choosing two things:

  1. Believe—unequivocally—in my dreams, regardless of what happens in my life or what anyone says.
  2. Do one small thing every day to work toward those dreams, without worrying how quickly I get there.
  3. Share this journey with others.

Because I’ve lived long enough to know: the grass isn’t always greener.
It’s not about reaching some perfect future goal that will make me permanently happy.

It’s about being alive on the journey.
That’s what I want for myself.

“In Circles” / Out Now

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Hello! Over the last few months I’ve been working on some new music I wanted to make sure you knew about. The first is called “In Circles”, which was released today (11.01.24). Here is some context around the piece:

Have you ever tried to step outside your life, to observe it from a storyteller’s perspective? Or like a movie-goer? We watch the protagonist on the screen go through a horrific, life-altering event. They lose a loved one. They lose money, status, or the things they find their identity in. Or they lose everything. It’s often in those moments, that as the observer we think, “There’s still an hour left in this movie. I wonder what happens next? I wonder how they’ll get through this one!” By the end, it all becomes clear. Our lives are like a story. We often find ourselves in situations that seem beyond our control. Situations that lead us into despair. What would it be like to step outside our story in that moment? To shift our thinking from: “This is it. I’ll never get out of this.” To: “I wonder how my story will unfold from here. I wonder what unexpected good things will come my way.” To view ourselves as the protagonist.

“In Circles” is about the hope that comes to us in our darkest moments.

The other is called “When Morning Comes”.

Both can be found on any streaming service as well. I hope you enjoy listening to them as much as I enjoy playing them.

—Vontmer

All Art Is a Work in Progress

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I’ve been reading Rick Rubin’s book, The Creative Act: A Way of Being. In his chapters on self-doubt, he writes about the ways we self-sabotage as an artist.

Flaws are human, and the attraction of art is the humanity held in it… With life comes pain, insecurity, and fear.

We’re all different and we’re all imperfect, and the imperfections are what makes each of us and our work interesting. We create pieces reflective of who we are, and if insecurity is part of who we are, then our work will have a greater degree of truth in it as a result. (73)

Self-doubt and insecurity are things I struggle with as an artist. It’s much easier to see the worth of others’ creations than our own. When we look at something we’ve made, along with it we see all its imperfections, and the struggle that got us there. It’s tainted.

To Rubin, though, our imperfections and insecurities lend authenticity and truth to our creations. Ironically, they make our creations better. As artists, we are challenged to see them as strengths, instead.

The people who choose to do art are, many times, the most vulnerable…

The sensitivity that allows them to make the art is the same vulnerability that makes them more tender to being judged. Still, many continue to share their work and risk criticism in spite of this. It’s as if they have no other choice. Being an artist is who the are, and they are made whole through self-expression…

Adversity is part of the process. (74)

I feel that phrase intensely: “Made whole through self-expression.” It’s why when we repress our creative impulses, we feel empty and stifled. And when we let them flow, we feel alive.

If you are struggling to take the first step in expressing yourself, or if you feel stuck, Rubin has some helpful thoughts on this.

How do we move forward, considering the stories we tell ourselves?

One of the best strategies is to lower the stakes.

We tend to think that what we’re making is the most important thing in our lives and that it’s going to define us for all eternity. Consider moving forward with the more accurate point of view that it’s a small work, a beginning. The mission is to complete the project so you can move on to the next. That next one is a stepping-stone to the following work. And so it continues in productive rhythm for the entirety of your creative life.

All art is a work in progress. It’s helpful to see the piece we’re working on as an experiment. One in which we can’t predict the outcome. Whatever the result, we will receive useful information that will benefit the next experiment.

If you start from the position that there is no right or wrong, no good or bad, and creativity is just free play with no rules, it’s easier to submerge yourself joyfully in the process of making things.

We’re not playing to win, we’re playing to play. And ultimately, playing is fun. (77-78)

I’ve found this to be true. Those times when I am too much of a perfectionist, my creativity suffers. It puts far too much weight and pressure on one single piece. However, when I compose more freely, more playfully, I find that each phrase, each melody, each chord progression is teaching me something new. Every piece is a stepping stone.

I learn more through this “free play” — improvisation — than through slogging away over the perfect placement of notes and harmonies.

So as artists, let’s not let our imperfections and insecurities hold us back. Instead, choose to see them as “a guiding force in our creativity”.

Polarity – The Power of Thought in Everyday Life

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I’ve been thinking a lot about the following quote:  

Each thought has a negative and positive polarity, just like electricity. If you have the negative pole, on the other side a positive pole is created. It is automatic… 

If you can remain in the right state – that is, undistracted, silent, just a witness to everything, to whatsoever is happening, with no idea arising in you – then no idea will arise in others around you… Think and you will see: if you think of enemies you will create them, if you think of friends they will appear. If you love, love appears all around you; if you hate, hate appears. 

Whatsoever you go on thinking is being fulfilled by a certain law. If you don’t think anything, then nothing happens to you…

…if you want to “do” you will live in the ego… If you drop the ego, if you drop the idea of being a doer and you simply relax into life and are in a let-go… Then things happen.”

—OSHO, Ancient Music in the Pines

I’ve always struggled to believe how powerful thought is in everyday life. So many people talk about how “you attract what you fear”, or the “power of positive thinking”, or “creating your own reality”, that it can be quite confusing to sort through what is genuine. I’ve seen far too many people “create” their way  into self-deception. 

The way Osho puts it is the simplest and most straightforward version of this idea I’ve read. The idea that my thoughts create polarity is very compelling. It doesn’t take a lot of life experience to tell me that when I’m always negative, all I see is negativity. When I complain, all I see are things to complain about. When I regularly express gratitude, I’m happier and more content. 

I think that’s what I’m ultimately attempting with these daily “sketches”. These last six days I’ve been happier. Because instead of complaining about work that brings me little joy, I’m choosing to do something I enjoy. While the caption of these daily posts on social media is “Day __ of composing everyday until I can quit corporate America and create full-time,” honestly, that’s not the end goal. I would love it if that became possible. But I’m enjoying myself so much, it doesn’t really matter.

Photo credit: Me. I saw these billowy clouds outside my front door the other day and thought it was captivating!

Getting Unstuck – My 30 Day Challenge to Myself

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Have you ever felt completely stuck? Like you have all these ideas, but they stay in some kind of creative purgatory with no way out? You can’t act on them, and you don’t know why. Nothing is flowing. Everything feels stagnant.

When people talk about “writer’s block”, I’ve always assumed it meant they have no new ideas. But I think it’s worse than that. You still have ideas, but you’re doubting every single one.

You’re constantly questioning: “Is it good enough?” Our internal critic shuts us down before the idea has a chance to breath. 

I’ve personally felt like this for the last six months. The ideas are there, but I don’t know what to do with them. Well actually: I know exactly what to do with them. I’m just scared. I don’t even know if I know what I’m scared of. Scared of baring my soul again? Afraid people won’t like my new ideas? 

All this fear drives me insane. It happens to me every time I release an album. I think it’s partly because I’m still too close to the thing I just made, and I compare every new idea to what I’ve already done.

I start asking myself: “Is my best work behind me?” “Should I play it safe and just recreate what I’ve already done?” I talk myself in circles, and end up creating nothing at all. 

The most annoying part is: I know exactly what I need to do to get unstuck. I need to just start.

And so that’s what I’ve decided to do. Challenge myself to write a new piece every day, for thirty days. (Maybe more? We’ll see how it goes.) It doesn’t matter how short it is, or how good. I know it’s the only way to turn off the chatter in my brain, to get into my heart, and back into a creative flow.

Photo by Simon Berger on Unsplash

Mullica River Cottages Show No. 2

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On Saturday evening, May 11, I played my first show in over a year. It was an absolutely incredible experience. So many thanks to Gina at Mullica River Cottages for organizing the whole event, and Sean at S. W. Piano Tuning for renting me the beautiful Yamaha upright. It was a joy to play. The weather was perfect, the audience was a delight, and the catbirds seemed to be singing along. It was magical. Just like last time.

The last show I had was in Maine, on Jan 14, 2023. I wish they weren’t so far and few between. Though perhaps I only have myself to blame. There is a part of me that feels like I’m simply waiting for someone else to do the work of organizing them. I did come across a site the other week, though, called Peerspace which looks like it could push me in the right direction. Some of the venues include pianos. I’ve been thinking about doing a trial run in a city nearby. Maybe NYC, Brooklyn or D.C. There just seem to be a lot of logistics to consider. So much planning. Not only the space, but the piano, tuning, lighting, seating, ticketing. And without even seeing the space in person. But I suppose it’s always a risk. Creating is inherently risky. The Maine show was a risk, given how remote it was. It’s always worth it, though. Playing for people, that is. It always makes me so happy. I love connecting with people in that way.

Aside from shows, lately I’ve been thinking about what direction to go in since my last release, Home Is You. The period between releases always feels like a wandering. Fallowness. Like trying to find the direction I’m supposed to head in. Though it always feels like I end up going in the same direction. It just takes time to find the path on the other side. Or perhaps I was just resting.

With each album release I’ve been more comfortable with taking my time to write more music. The process feels different each time. Though similar in one particular way. It always starts with a lot of small ideas. A satisfying, two-line melody. An interesting four bar chord progression. A catchy rhythm.

I’m also very timid to start again after releasing an album. Is it fear of failure? Is it lack of inspiration? Or just the natural rhythm of things? Perhaps all three. Also, I want to challenge myself to grow as a composer with each release. As time goes on I want my pieces to… age, perhaps? Mature? I don’t know.