In the early hours of this morning I dreamt and found myself front row at a Nick Cave gig. It took place in an battered amber-beamed barn, with sawdust floors and tumbleweeds floating in corners. Everything was wooden and solidly sturdy and particularly tangible in its comforting roughness. All was old and weather-beaten and the light took on the hue of soft fire. When he stepped down from the stage and out into the throng, he took hold of my up-stretched hand and held it. Pale palm, long fingers. His touch was cool, not cold, and his grip firm and steady. Although I expected the connection to be fleeting, he didnt let go. I took some of his weight as the crowd moved and rippled and shifted, and as he moved through and among us all - and still he sang. The dream slipped and shunted then, and the crowd was gone, revealing a half-empty rough timber bar at one end, with rough seats and low lights and gentle murmurs. We sat and simply sipped a beer and talked for a time, the two of us, quietly and still. About life and work and art and hope. ...................... Very little remained with me on waking, but scraps of images - amber ancient wood and low ceilings, of that pale strong hand, of a steady, astute blue gaze. And of fleeting sparks of conversation about the alchemy of imagination and inspiration - and of the essential necessity of keeping on creating. (youve got to just keep on pushing push the sky away) The dream returned slowly through the day, thawing gradually through my consciousness. I flicked through some of Nicks film 20,000 Days on Earth later this afternoon, and I think somewhere within his last monologue I can find the essence of what we discussed and considered while I slept: All of our days are numbered. We cannot afford to be idle. To act on a bad idea is better than not to act at all. Because of the worth of the idea never becomes apparent until you do it. Sometimes this idea can be the smallest thing in the world. A little flame that you hunch over and cup with your hand, and pray will not be extinguished by all the storm that howls about it. If you can hold on to that flame, great things can be constructed around it - that are massive, and powerful, and world-changing. All held up by the tiniest of ideas. ~ Nick Cave Yes, indeed. Small beginnings sparking great and beautiful acts of creativity. And how we owe it to ourselves to write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can, as Neil Gaiman once wrote. Im going to let myself be sung to sleep by Mr Cave tonight, and be washed along on the ever-rising waves of Warren Ellis soaring violin. (Im transforming Im vibrating look at me now) And tomorrow I shall draw some more. And keep on creating and nurturing that tiny flame.
Posted on: Sun, 23 Nov 2014 21:32:31 +0000
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