Writing (words or music) has always been one of the most intimate things I can do, that's why I can communicate some things only in writing, and maybe it's much better that way. Verba Volant, Scripta Manent the Latins said, and I think they were right.
Some say creation is about discovering that each one has its Demons, the demons that live inside you for life, and that if you are lucky, you can learn to control. A director always directs the same film until the end, and only in the sum of all his works together is the true meaning of what he wanted to say and, in general, the first and last works coincide without resembling each other.
The same happens for the writer and the musician: the same book, the same song…Always in search of that thing, that thing that escapes, but It can almost be touched, defined, captured, using a word or tune.
But what is that thing? What is the object of this frantic search? What is the name of the Demon that keeps me awake at night and that I could not live without? What is the name of my obsession?
It has many names and many faces. Sometimes that demon is me, sometimes it's reality, maybe life itself is a prankish Demon who likes to play with us, and I let him play: because I like it when reality surprises me when an event arouses my curiosity, I love it when I can feel the slow, deep breath of the world, even if only for a moment.
Music is the proof that the world is still breathing and that reality - my reality - although surreal, can still surprise and It's here that the story I want to tell everyone begins: we are still only at the beginning, or rather, at the prologue.
Some say creation is about discovering that each one has its Demons, the demons that live inside you for life, and that if you are lucky, you can learn to control. A director always directs the same film until the end, and only in the sum of all his works together is the true meaning of what he wanted to say and, in general, the first and last works coincide without resembling each other.
The same happens for the writer and the musician: the same book, the same song…Always in search of that thing, that thing that escapes, but It can almost be touched, defined, captured, using a word or tune.
But what is that thing? What is the object of this frantic search? What is the name of the Demon that keeps me awake at night and that I could not live without? What is the name of my obsession?
It has many names and many faces. Sometimes that demon is me, sometimes it's reality, maybe life itself is a prankish Demon who likes to play with us, and I let him play: because I like it when reality surprises me when an event arouses my curiosity, I love it when I can feel the slow, deep breath of the world, even if only for a moment.
Music is the proof that the world is still breathing and that reality - my reality - although surreal, can still surprise and It's here that the story I want to tell everyone begins: we are still only at the beginning, or rather, at the prologue.
