The Hours
The shortest n simplest answer i’ve been able to offer to my haunting landscapes n imagery in art is philip glass’s soundtrack to the Hours. i’ve played it over n over again ever since i first heard it in sec 4 n scarily enuff, i realize that it has, n still continues to inspire me to find a purpose behind my art making.
one thing abt The Hours soundtrack is that it has broken out of tradition in favour of something more meditative, less neatly delineated, n more true to life.
to me, Glass can find in four repeated notes something of the strange rapture of sameness that we see in a boy waking up, brushing his teeth n going to school on an ordinary weekday morning, or a boy responding to timely signals for lectures n tutorials at specific times of the day, or that same boy finding him being whisked off to church every sunday. We, r creatures who repeat ourselves. n we humans, if we refuse to embrace repetition, if we balk at stuff that seems to praise its textures n rhythms, its endless subtle variations beneath that hypnotic constant, we ignore much of what we mean by life itself.
poets were right abt life as a wet n monotonous grey sprinkled wif bright spots. something i used to think only applicable to life in njc.
alvin ong dozed and watched the sawdust trampled night @ 6:59 PM
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