parc la fontaine, outer path, frozen pond

The walking, and skating, continues, ice worms and all. The latter a nostril feature of these arctic temperatures. The description is not mine, but it is an accurate sensation of those first few breaths without one’s mouth and nose covered. Ice crystals form on the lashes too, and on stray hairs that stiffen around ones neck and cheek. Still, to my surprise, I find the cold invigorating, refreshing.

Two hours of Bach last night at Place des Arts. The Mass in B Minor, which my companion suggested was actually a very good argument for believing in God, and order in the universe. To me it’s more of an argument for believing in the artistic process. Bach never heard the mass performed, he did not anticipate it being performed in its entirety–over two hours–but he imagined all of these pieces together, created them independently over his lifetime. Various ways of praising bundled together, voices, strings, horns. Art must on some level, be about that process, questioning and investigating, that much I do believe. Creating something so big one can’t, in one’s own lifetime, fill it out. Not that one doesn’t keep the audience in mind, but how and when? I suppose that’s what we negotiate.

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