Footnote 83: WEARY SOLDIER

Condition: Last night, a crisis. Today, a fresher start and some optimism. A chance incounter online; an abstract sound piece played on a Fujara. I decide to commit to treat both this sound piece and myself with some respect. I move some furniture, stand loosely, take off my glasses and close my eyes and listen to the piece with proper volume.


The soundscape is exceptional, surprising yet somehow known. I perhaps vibrate. As I begin to move I realise I don’t dance much anymore - I’ve grown too old, or society maybe says I can’t. I move as I feel; a sort of poor man’s yoga meets gentle off-balance bouncing. I think that this is only possible with eyes shut. For no reason at all I begin to auto-ideate. This wasn’t the intention. The images come, followed perhaps by some emotion. Random things randomly come and go but then something fuller begins to form;


I see a soldier, young, in a red coat, perhaps escaping or running from a battle that still rages in the distance. It is the past, another century. He is on a narrow wooden river boat facing me - or me as a camera as I am not in the ‘scene’. He is calm yet clearly drained. Summer trees dip into the calm river water. Insects abound. Brown river water, an old sunken river, muddy banks. It is hot, the air still. Smoke wafts behind. There is no sense of success or failure, merely 'after'. The boat gently navigates itself with no force apparent. I never see the front of the boat, rather I am at it’s bow. He walks home to his loved one. A small humble cottage is felt, not ‘seen’. I feel that there is blood on his hands but maybe I constructed this after in recollection. He is weary. He is met by a woman, perhaps she is Anna. They want to embrace but don’t. She seems hesitant. They are inside in the cottage’s shadows. I stop imagining.


The imagining has been quite clear, very photographic, more so than a dream. Very punchy, rich natural colours. A sort of vintage 50mm or 85mm transparency vibe. There was no sound other than the music I listened to. Or smells or touch or taste.


In rationalising this, I think I’ve subconsciously combined;


  • My 'crisis' and it's temporary resolution last night.
  • Very murky memories of paintings I have seen and ‘felt’ recently.
  • Meeting Anna Largaard yesterday, who I worked with previously. 
  • Water. Maybe looking at the classic wooden boats recently at Langholmen, or walking alongside the Söder water path, especially when the late afternoon sun breaks the September rain clouds and creates a hyper-real scene of the water’s edge.
  • Rivers. Hampshire rivers or the small river at Öradekaren that I wished I’d walked up.
  • Thoughts I have been having about my ancestors; should I honor their being, the roots of my blood, or discard for new?
  • Perhaps my memory of a C19th cottage at Agusa, but I may be trying, wanting or willing to fit reality into this report.



"... The fujara's origin lays in the middle of Slovakia, and it is assumed that it´s roots would lay with the 3-holed flutes played by the tambourines in the 12th and 13th century in Europe. The fujara was played by the shepherds on their long journeys away from home. It is said when played for the sheep it would calm them down and ease the herd"



Another, spontaneous, example of flute music creating the space for cinematic imagination to flow;

A warm, sun soaked April Sunday morning. Somewhat hung-over; just the right number of dodgy coktails at Jakob's to numb the thinking mind. Cerys plays a jazz flute piece and I'm staring into space listening. I'm wearing only my old combat trousers. Sofie's quiet. We are in a good place. I happen to be staring at a pile of books, Yasuzo Nojima being one, which has been playing on my mind more recently - how to create through un-thought copying? This all combines, and I go into that rare free-style imaginative flow.

A very very long, yet narrow, constant soft light, with very soft edges yet falls into dark shadows with ease. Say a 15˙ elevation pre-sunset through a large silk but contained in a very large, long C18th horse stables with all other windows closed. A camera tracks a woman, naked, crawling toward the light. She is animal-like. We see the texture of the floor and the wall behind. Sepia. The shot lasts minutes and minutes. She gets, and starts from no where. It's just crawling.

Track; The Stan Tracey Quartet "Stairless and Bible Black"