Ha—listen to me, pretending I know how to play the guitar.
Submit a number (or numbers) to my ask box:
1. Name five pieces of art that inspire you to create. Why?
2. Write five one-sentence prompts.
3. Name three places you create productively.
4. Name three places you DON’T create productively.
5. Is there something that you want from your art? What is it?
6. Name an artist whose creative process you admire. Why?
7. Is there a creative field you wish you knew more about? What is it?
8. What’s the most recent exhibit/performance/work you really connected with? What about it spoke to you?
9. Do you research your projects? If so, how?
10. What’s a question you wish someone would ask you about your work?
11. Describe a formative moment in your creative life.
12. Do you work through drafts, or do you work straight toward a final product?
13. How much or little do you value spontaneity in your work? If you use drafts, how do you preserve it?
14. If you had an hour with the artist of your choice, who would it be? What questions would you ask?
15. Describe your art in your own words.
16. Name a technology that helps you create.
17. Name a technology that makes you lazy.
18. How technical are you about your work? How do you improve your technique?
19. What’s your favorite piece of art you’ve ever made?
20. Wild card. Submit number 20 and a question of your choice.
Harmony in Three Parts, from another perspective:
A man in dark glasses turned the corner of a run-down block. There was green in the distance, behind the shabby outline of the motel, a field of corn or some other grain bowing neatly in the breeze.
He walked to the pay telephone across the street and put the receiver under his chin. He pushed some coins, one at time, through the slot and waited for the dial tone. While he waited, he unwrapped a tattered piece of paper from where it was tucked in his sleeve, but he didn’t really read it. He dialed the numbers, humming intermittently.
“I have a confession to make,” Jim said.
Before he had a chance to answer, the phone in her pocket began to vibrate. She pulled it apologetically into view. ”Sorry,” she said, “I have to take this.” He didn’t see who it was. She got up from the table and walked to the opposite side of the bus. He watched as she pulled her thick bangs all the way back, tangling them in her long fingers.
Someone picked up the other end.
“Hey there darling,” he said, adjusting the phone between his shoulder and chin, “How’s the desert treating you this fine morning?”
He leaned one shoulder against the edge of the payphone.
“Stop it,” she said, almost laughing, twisting her body so it shielded her from everything but the window glass. She slumped a little against it.Read more
Highway Song - Amelie Andrezel
By some miracle, the demon that possesses my sound card was quiescent long enough for me to actually use my recording software today. The result is a much more sophisticated recording of Highway Song.
Not very tin cans, but until I actually have mics and pedals that can create and capture the sound I want, it’s just going to have to happen from a place of post-processing.
Sharp Knife - Amelie Andrezel
Marjorie’s flyin’ her airplane
Johnny, he’s got one too,
They got the whole sky to sail through tonight:
Love is a bolt out of the blue…
And missing the Moon
About the beauty of space
I’m Lonely (But I Ain’t That Lonely Yet) - The White Stripes
Cover by Amelie Andrezel
I’m working on a guitar arrangement for this song. Not perfect yet, but maybe you’ll listen anyway?
The night gets cold and I am in France again.
The darkness is the same, here and there, in the corners of the ceiling. Perhaps I will open the window and step out on to the balcony. It will be quiet; it is always quiet. Here is a world of silent music. Even now, on my country lane, I catch myself listening for it. The motes of dust tumble by, slowly, on the beat.
I cannot recall the words.
My head is too full already. I am too much of memory, too much found to grasp the ends of strings once lost, frayed edges that once unraveled a city.
Here is the night. I go walking in France.
Blunderbuss - Jack White
Covered by Amelie Andrezel
Have a nice recording of my one-woman band cover of Blunderbuss. Guitar, mandolin, snare, and tambourine. Enjoy.
|A man and a woman pick up the phone.|
|Man:||Hey there, darling. How's the desert treating you this fine morning?|
|Man:||No, really. How's the road? Better than the show, or worse?|
|Woman:||Better in some ways, worse in others. You know how it goes.|
|Man:||You know I do.||(PAUSE)||I called about Tulsa. We still on?|
|Woman:||Yeah. Yeah of course.|
|Man:||What does that mean? Do I get more than a few hours, or are we gonna stay ships, just passing in the night?|
|Woman:||You know how I feel about daylight.|
|Man:||Is that any reason to keep me in the dark?||(PAUSE)||You got somebody else in the room?|
|Man:||Well, tell him hi from me.|
|Woman:||What makes you think he's a he?|
|Man:||I don't think anything. I only know you have a soft spot for strays.|
|Woman:||It's a big bus.|
|Man:||How is Lindsay, anyway?|
|Man:||Well, when he wakes up, tell him I hate him.|
|Woman:||I'll be sure to do that.|
|Man:||I know you will.||(PAUSE)||How are you, really?|
|Man:||Well enough, I see.||(PAUSE)||Well, I got up early and walked to a pay phone. My hair is a mess and Indiana is the ugliest desert that I've ever seen. I'm tired of deserts that don't have you in them. So let me ask you this... you gonna give me something to make me well enough too?|
|Woman:||How good are you at asking questions?|
|Man:||You're gonna play it like that, are you? You're gonna keep things discreet?|
|Woman:||Something like that.|
|Man:||Alright then, alright. Let me see... I bet you got up this morning and you didn't close the door. I bet you put on your slippers then you took them off so you didn't make a sound. I bet you're drinking cold coffee because you're afraid the noise of the machine is gonna wake somebody up.|
|Man:||I bet you sat for an hour, just watching the road. I bet you haven't even had your first cigarette.|
|Woman:||No, I haven't.|
|Man:||I bet you're wearing that ugly grey sweater and I bet your toes are bare and cold. I bet the polish on your nails is chipping and I bet there's still sweat in your hair because you never remember to shower before falling asleep.|
|Woman:||Guilty. Only not the sweater.|
|Man:||It's that red t-shirt, isn't it? The one with the long sleeves.|
|Man:||Well, I guess I can't be right about everything.|
|Woman:||Yeah, but you can think you are.|
|Man:||You know what else I think?|
|Woman:||No, but I bet you're going to tell me.|
|Man:||I think you'd give anything to be alone, just for one hour--just you and the road. I think that's how it's always been. I think that's how it'll be in Tulsa, too... just you and the road, alone in my bed.||(PAUSE)||I'll leave you be, darling, alone in my arms. I always will. I'll just kiss the back of your head and I'll let you drive away. You won't even have to drink cold coffee.|
|Woman:||Or leave the door open.|
|Man:||You can close the door on me any time.|
|Woman:||I'll hold you to that.|
|Man:||I know you will.||(PAUSE, NOISE IN THE BACKGROUND)|
|Man:||Well, that's the bus. Gotta go. Always a pleasure.|
|Woman:||Yeah, you too.|