No man is an island …
… nor is any camper. Every snatched moment of solitude is countered by at least as many spent in the company of like-minded (or perhaps mind-opening) others: from the rhythmic pad of be-sneakered feet at dawn, running solo along the pavement beneath my window, to the steady stream of rehearsal-ready or retiring hordes traversing King William Street back and forth throughout the day; from the lingering strains of isolated instruments carried through the early breeze to throbbing conglomerates filling every pocket of air with resonance; from the first to sit down at table to the last to begrudgingly leave the ball on the oval after the post-meal kick.
We take responsibility for our own notes to play our part in the whole.
Players play, but more importantly they listen, they take in the others around them. Composers gift us their art by delineating on the page the sounds within their teeming brains, administrators perform their own specially designated choreography in an organisational ballet and WAMs write, share, collect and collate.
Even if the only times we see some is while we eat with them, sometimes through this intermittent communion we learn more about one another than if we were to be by their side all day; they have more to tell us, and we have more space to attend to it. I have heard composers spilling opinions and their obstacles, flautists lamenting note-ful plenitude, AAs considering the benefits of layering methods for stage setup and have laughed with my fellow WAMsmiths til my belly ached, over bowls, plates, mugs, napkins and handfuls of varying gastronomic fare.
Musing, and musicking. One needs the other, one feeds the other, and here (hear) we enjoy them both.
Jennifer Mills
Words About Music participant