21 august 2018

you made me forget about
past and pain
time you washed out
like a soft
summer rain

The first time I heard Sibylle Baier sing those words it was like a startling revelation, like I was just mucking about on Tumblr with my crappy old laptop late at night and suddenly it it felt like this wise and powerful person was in the room with me, telling me her story.

But that's art, I guess. Communication that short-circuits convention to reach across borders, across decades or centuries, and just zap you directly in a part of your cognition that doesn't operate logically.

Making art — for me, anyway — means surrendering the capacity to make sense of things. And letting those things make sense of you, maybe.