at the age of 17 i hated living in a village to the explicit core. my diaries leave no room for doubts – together with the remaining parts of memory. i hated living there, having lived there all my life (everybody would forever be able to call me a hillbilly with all justification) – and for some reason i was afraid of not being able to escape from there as well. i didnt see myself as a villager but feared being forced to become one… as opposed to this, urban life appeared to me as nothing less than paradise: 24/7 access to unlimited everything and surrounded by people with a horizon beyond pub, car tuning and soccer ground.
soon after that, i got my first own car and internet – both allowed my escape from this context and simplified my late teenage life significantly. at the age of 19 i moved into my first own apartment outside of village borders and for the now following years, lucky me was able to make my big city experiences.
today i’m living in a village again and i’m perfectly fine with that since it was a free & conscious decision – kids and nature; nature and kids and a realistic impression of living in a metropolis. but it must be added that this village is located strategically good = not far from solid arteries of passenger transportation on tarmac and rails, connecting the who is who of the southwestern german boomtowns. and i still have a car and internet. 17 year old me would declare that 35 year old me failed as i obviously wasnt able to escape and didnt even try to get rid of my rotten roots permanently. 35 year old me would call this behaviour hillbilly. it must be added as well, that i managed to meet people with a horizon beyond pub, car tuning and soccer ground nonetheless… but yeah, not in this village here. hehe.
three examples of my pubertal perception of my world back in 1998:
- “darkness is an invention by villagers. it escapes from their heads in the evening, spreads out all over the planet and returns in the morning.”
- i was happy to have a brother only so i couldn’t be forced to have kids with my sister.
- i was afraid that a simple headache could be the beginning of something i called “mental suffocation” – some sort of deadly disease that was caused by “sepulchral silence” and ended with the implosion of the head.
“never in my life i want to become one of those guys who spend their sundays with walking through nature – staring at trees and taking pictures of quiet lakes, listening to bird sounds. never in my life i want to act like this, like traumatized.” (diary, 1998)
what to say? well, 18 years after that, i made my experiences. some of the best, some of the worst. thankful for both, positive and negative climax. and i really find myself enjoying nature from time to time. i’ve reached my personal era of limited energy resources and it simply is the best way to recharge inner batteries. unimaginable for sure for a person living in the era of unlimited energy resources; a person who deliberately used to look for exactly those stress factors that grown-up me tries to avoid now. or escape.
“silence is legit solely after the storm. and storm is needed after too much silence. i dont wanna be one of those guys who are afraid of the idea of something they never really experienced. what they call ‘storm’ by hearsay.” (ib.)
see above. i think i faced storm (maximum strain) and silence (minimum strain) and learned to feel cozy between those two poles. knowing the full spectrum (of what is achievable or— bearable) is essential though for the inner balance of people like me. for being satisfied with what we have. being traumatized at least for a certain while was necessary here. to kill the “hearsay” part of the party. late night wannabe auto-psychoanalytism.
as written in my diaries from earlier days i was afraid of having failed in life at the age of 30. i apparently didnt have much trust in myself. dealing with my ancient fears is part 2 of my mid30-inventory. this time: the fear of dying one day as a silly consumer, without having verified that there is some creative potential inside me, to leave the world without any proof of existence so to speak. fun fact: (the possibility of) having children wasnt mentioned in any diary at all…
anyways, my creative output so far:
writing appears to be the thing for me. i’m writing pretty much since i am able to hold a pen. on the one hand there is a huge amout of diaries and autobiographic texts. on the other hand there are myriads of sheets and files containing short stories, longer stories (fragments mostly) and rather experimental stuff. a decade ago i got the opportunity to read in front of a small and hand-picked audience and i won a small contest. i was part of several writing projects as well. in view of this huge amount of fragments, the idea of completing (not necessarily publishing) a book still lives on. got rather close twice already. recently my writing became more and more some sort of self-therapy though.
using all kinds of software tools as my idea of “making music” (which mostly isnt more than experimenting around) feels a whole lot more creative than writing that became way too normal over the years. earlier days i made tons of loops and some fragmented tracks as well. nowadays i’m focussing on what i call “enriched field recordings”, following the idea of combining “organic” (aleatoric) parts with all sterile, solid and predictable parts. growing plants on concrete. recently i was experimenting with ambient, binaural beats and field recordings. when i got the offer of being published by a netlabel a longer while ago, i immediately lost interest though. not sure why. maybe it was too easy in the end, a lack of challenge. almost killed the vibe. no real aims here.
a couple of years ago i won an art contest together with a friend, publicly performing an interactive sonification of one of his paintings. concept was winner, i’d say but crowd and jury appreciated it. the idea of sonifying visual art isn’t new. in earlier days i wrote a code for automatic sonification of the groundplan of le corbusier’s villa savoye together with a buddy. no real aims here as well. proving potentials from time to time seems to do the trick here as well. ah, almost forgot to mention: in school i managed to be exhibited with a painting at local town hall’s corridor for a week.
since i have a real job and certainly would never be able to live from my “art” (or even feeding a family) successfully reduces pressure on myself concerning my “creative output”. most of the time i enjoy being a consumer indeed…