I started a newsletter on substack. Here’s an excerpt from the sixth post. Read in full (and subscribe for free) here.
The night descended softly at first, then rose all at once like a tower.
Branches sear the rocks with damp shadows
dirt cools in the crepuscular light
My brush poisons the water with ink
blooming in the stratum of a feral dream
Last weekend, I posed for photos with Erin Degroote, a friend who I’ve collaborated with before. They took the magnificently dark images that I use for my Reliquary V site, which were created in the dilapidated warehouse that’s home to my studio. Erin’s images are imbued with the dim and eerie atmosphere that I strive to bring forth in my music.
This time, I wanted to shoot outdoors, and I spent an afternoon searching for shadows under the trees in the nearby park, with its steep, paved hill (which I’ve heard is actually an extinct volcano), manicured wildlife habitats and quarry gardens where tourists pose for photos. I looked for places that were dark even in daylight. I’ve been learning to balance the resourcefulness of creating from your immediate environment (my friend and mentor Kembra Pfahler calls it “availabism” – art made using the materials that are closest at hand) with a more considered and ritualized approach. Drawing upon existing forces and directing, rather than being buffeted by them.
I found shady, covered spots, which I later showed Erin and their partner who was assisting on the shoot, when we parked along the road at sundown on the eve of the dark moon, the night before the new moon when the sky is the darkest. After roaming for a bit looking for an appropriately brooding spot, we wandered into an opening in the brush at the edge of a meadow.
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