In Between

Half of a roof
El Bolson, Argentina

It seems easiest to start backwards when introducing yourself. Where you are from. Where you have been. Who you have been---up until the point that you begin introducing yourself. It almost creates a strange liminal space between you and your audience. Between them not knowing you at all and a beginning, as they start to see you as a person with a past.

For me, meeting places is much like meeting a person. Reacting to what can be seen, physical, tangible features, is often the most powerful part of being in a new place. But once you are acquainted with a landscape, these physicalities, once simply described, only add to the complexity of the place. Nuances begin to develop as familiarity with a place grows, and meanings are attached to landmarks, street signs, and paths up a hill. My walk back home, a well-trudged route, has its own melody. The chatter as I pass Brewed Awakening Cafe is the background noise, the pull on the back of my calves walking up the steep incline is the sigh that intermittently escapes my mouth, and the creak of the big, wooden door as I enter is the resounding tone left in my ears as I tromp up the stairs, signaling my return home. If I take the same walk up Euclid years from now, memories of this routine may rush back into my head.

The imagined journey we have started through Argentina lies somewhere in the liminal ' in between' space of an introduction. We have been introduced, yet we haven't gotten a chance to really get to know each other. The work that follows is my contemplation of this place and its music, often started as I sit looking out my window.