“You used to compose music,” a friend said to me a few days ago, going on to reminisce about his years as an art teacher – which freed me from the need to respond.
Later that day, I did formulate something I might have said: “My head is still full of music. I just don’t bother writing it down.”
Eventually, we recognise that we’re not going to be discovered, not going to be stars, not destined to rise to meteoric fame, not headed for international careers … lucrative commissions … world-wide recognition …
Does that mean our creative impulses are destined to shrivel and die?
Several of my friends are painters. None of them are household names. But they all love to paint. It’s the love that makes us amateurs.
PS: I’ve unpacked the music manuscript box.