Strolling On a Deserted Beach
In "Keith Jarrett: The Art of Improvisation," the pianist and composer Keith Jarrett makes an observation that music doesn't come from music. For him, music doesn’t originate solely from within the realm of existing musical structures, rules, or conventions. Instead, he believes that true music draws inspiration from life itself, influenced by the world around us — the books we read, the games we play, our interactions with others, and our personal experiences.
The same principle, I think, applies to screenwriting and photography. Great screenplays don't derive solely from other screenplays, and photographs aren't born from other photographs.
However, this doesn't mean that screenwriters shouldn't learn elements of their craft from other screenplays or that photographers can't find inspiration in classic or contemporary photography. It's just that, in order to elevate our creative work, we must allow various forms of art, and not just art but also science, history, anthropology, sports, etc. to enrich our creative well. At least, that's what I believe Jarrett meant, and I tend to agree with him.
Today, after playing nurse to my wife Luba, who was sick with Covid for a week, I decided to ignore a looming deadline and invited her to take a stroll on a deserted beach in Breezy Point, Queens. It was her first time venturing outside since falling ill, and I wanted to surprise her.
My friend Amy Madden Taylor, a talented rock and blues bass player also writes wonderful poetry (yes, a published poet), which Luba had been planning to read for a while. So, as we strolled down the deserted beach and inhaled the salty sea breeze mixed with the gooey musk of wet segull feathers, I decided to read Luba verses from Amy's latest collection, "My Shadow on Your Street."
My plan was simple: to walk and read. However, I couldn't resist bringing my Ricoh GR III with me.
Initially, I thought, Walking, Reading, Shooting - that's a haven for the monkey mind. Then, I recalled a story about a young Buddhist monk confronting his teacher who was reading and eating simultaneously. The monk said, "Teacher, didn't you tell us, 'if you eat, you only eat; and if you read, you only read?'" The teacher smiled and responded, "Yes, and when you eat and read, you only eat and read."
So, I decided that I would walk, read, and shoot... and only walk, read, and shoot.
On the beach of night at lowest tide,
the moon walking like a drunk
across the waves to the horizon…
you left me, as you do—like an old song--
unmoored, uplifted, Jesus on my tongue
to wash down the bitter taste
of your cargo apathy…
And yet I couldn’t leave--
terrified by the rising surf,
the evening crescendo—
like some kind of ghosted superstition
even now I can’t turn my back
on the darkening horizon,
on the cold sleeping fish,
the invisible boats, the sea-loneliness
like no other... not even death
seems as inevitable as the first black night
without you.
Thanks for reading and viewing.
‘til next time,
ak