2011 was my first of four years in artistic reclusion, where I spent time addressing my mental health and surgical-grade cynicism. Taking an inventory of one’s lack of well-being is a frustrating and protracted trial for the person and the family. Progression is glacially slow and omni-directional, but provides a breathtaking view of the monochrome landscape that consumes the light one is starving to see.
Practicing yin yoga led to my imagination creating this bleak place of concrete corridors and obsidian fauna. The purpose was not to find bliss, but to accept that I was there, and to see this negative space as a haven devoid of inner dialogue and self-damnation. Yes, the landscape was unpleasant to behold, but it was absent of my perceived reality.
The Saved Corridor is a meditation within that monochromatic absence. The constant “pulse” one hears through this void is the breath, a Virgil that guides you through the absurdity of a binary paradise.
The tempo of that pulse is the median time I calculated to inhale or exhale a breath in a state of calm. The median time of 6.25 seconds was determined by recording me and those around me breathing. I wanted to find a tempo or a guide that anyone could use as a means to maintain a steady breath through a yoga practice.
For those who love melodic themes, you may notice a familiar melody throughout the recording. That repeating melody is often found in The Blond Aether, which was written right after The Saved Corridor. I originally intended to release both as a single work, but that didn’t sit right with me the more I thought about it.
After several years not listening this recording, I forgot that I arranged the The Saved Corridor (and The Blond Aether) with an ensemble in mind. The idea of being on stage hitting instruments with sticks does make the 4 year old in me giddy.
I guess that’s something for me to think about…
Next up: The album cover. It’s awesome.