Spouting off at Spouting Horn

Art isn’t optional for humans. The link between writing and music. Red and Yellow.

The landscapers drove me out of the house. The string trimmer is a torture instrument from the Devil.

I headed for Spouting Horn Park and found a shady picnic table that looked down the coast away from the Horn; no tourists in sight, with a nice breeze at my back and some sort of sweet tropical fragrance teasing me.

Earlier we’d had a shower, heavy at times, lasting almost an hour. But now there’s more blue than fluffy white clouds, though I can see the old storm tops well to leeward.

I’ve been listening to The Anthropocene Reviewed, by John Green, read by the author, and recommended by my Brilliant Son, who’s about the same age as Green.

It’s a fascinating series of essays in which Green ranks various things in today’s world (the Anthropocene) with a 5-star ranking system.

Credit: CC.

One of my favorite essays is about the Lascaux Caves, in France. Lascaux was one of our stops on our first trip to Europe, back in 1986. They had just closed off the original cave to tourism, but we were able to tour Lascaux II, a recreation, shown above.

What an adventure we had on that trip! I put Chevy Chase to shame a few times, just ask the kids.

Anyway, getting back to Lascaux: after describing the cave paintings, Green says that this Paleolithic art proves that art isn’t optional with our species.

I found that incredibly liberating. Art isn’t optional~!

Music, sculpture, designs on pottery, and of course painting are required by our species. We humans have an innate need to create, to express ourselves, to communicate with others.

I’d been trying to understand the link between writing and music. Now it became a bit clearer.

Until I started writing this journal, in January of 2024, I practiced my French horn almost every day, usually for at least 45 minutes. Even though I was no longer in an orchestra or my beloved woodwind quintet, I still kept up my chops and worked on solos, with particular attention to Bach’s unmeasured preludes for cello, transcribed for horn.

But almost immediately after beginning to write, I put the horn away. The same creative urge that had driven me my whole life to play music was now satisfied by writing.

Why?

Here are some parallels and similarities between music and writing:

◦ Both music and writing are “performed” in the sense that there is an audience. While I could have written, and indeed I’d tried to write, regularly in the past, unless I got published there was no audience except those poor family members I browbeat to read what I wrote. Now with Substack I can connect with my audience by simply hitting the “Publish” button.

◦ Both music and writing involve getting in “the flow.” A good example of music where you can feel the flow are the Bach Unmeasured Preludes for Cello. YoYo Ma’s performances are particularly exemplary. The music transports you, becoming your sole and complete focus. And when I write, a flow of words dominates my brain, rolling around until the flow is put to paper or keyed in. For example, just now as I have been typing this up, I forgot where I was! That is until this big rooster just jumped onto the picnic table.

Here’s my theory: there’s a part of the brain that mixes and matches ideas, themes, notes, dynamics, and rhythms, then spits it out into channels. In music, the channel is the instrument you’re playing, or, if you’re the conductor, your instrument is the entire orchestra. In writing, the outlet channel from the mixer is the pen and paper or keyboard.

That’s the flow: the thought to the page and the music from the page to the player through the instrument to the audience.

There must be some need to share this flow process with our fellows, whether by acting, singing, listening, writing or reading, we share with other humans our enjoyment of “the flow.”

And Audiences are critical to the artist. Isn’t it interesting that the word “critic” describes some one who “criticizes” but also is the root of “critical?” We could say that it’s critical that we have critics.

Even if the criticism is hurtful, we’ve still been heard. And of course all good writers and performers are their own best critics.

The word “critic” comes from the Greek word “kritikós,” meaning ‘able to discern.’

The current definition of critic is a person who offers reasoned judgment or analysis, value judgment, interpretation or observation. Henry George Liddell, Robert Scott, A Greek-English Lexicon, κρι^τ-ι^κός.

Just as we perform, we critique. It’s a constant loop.

But here’s the critical difference: Music is time-dependent, while writing is time-independent.

Still, it helps to think rhythmically when you write.

The best prose is poetry in disguise.

That fragrance hit me again. Then I remembered! It was Thursday! There was a hula show and food trucks at the Gardens across the street!

I tossed my pack in the car and headed up the little hill, the smell of Thai and Barbecue calling me.

I ended up with a delicious piece of Lilikoi pie from Aunty Chelas Pies! (Lilikoi are passion fruit.)

OMG!~

Heaven! I plopped down on the lawn and watched the hula show. Bliss!

There is beauty in the raw power of nature, but also in the way that we include the beauty of nature into our lives. The hula incorporates the grace and beauty of the islands in the rhythm, song and dance.

The ancient Hawaiians also adopted the beauty of nature into the art of their clothing. They harvested the feathers from certain birds and used them to make cloaks and helmets for the ruling class.

Only members of the ali’i, the ruling class, could wear the precious feather cloaks and helmets. These yellows and reds were important colors to the Hawaiians. The above painting is on display at the Kauai Museum.

This painting by Evelyn Ritter is also at the Kauai Museum in Lihue. Nature’s beauty is the inspiration.

Meanwhile, Kīlauea has been spouting off as well. An amazing lava fountain can be seen on this USGS webcam clip:

Hawaii can seem so primal.

There is beauty in the raw power of nature, but also in the way that we include the beauty of nature into our lives, just as the cave people of Lascaux.

Aloha mi Amigos!❤️

We’re on the plane home, time to start thinking about the Great Lakes, sailing, graduations and the great greening that has already begun at home!

Thanks for traveling along.

Aloha.