Why should I make excuses? Why should I justify my style to the critics? I'm playing what I feel, see, hear in the moment. Playing what I almost touch in the moment. You beside me, Ever beside me. That is my truth whether it's Mozart. Satie. Debussy. Each note at my fingertips drips with the same. Drips with a certain synaesthesia.
'jardins sous la pluie'
so many portraits merge
in a single tear
Author’s Note: ekphrasis from The Concert by Vermeer with title from Shakespeare Sonnet 113