Alrighty. Having never written a blog before, please forgive my learning curve. As a Canadian born, Southern raised, North Eastern transplant, I feel obligated to say that my association with place is confusing enough - to make another home, now on the internet, is beyond my wildest imagination.

This is my first blog post in what will hopefully be a long surviving account. I've been writing music for several years now and have finally gathered my focus and confidence to share it in a more accessible way. This has begun an epic amount of conversations, emails and meetings. Sally Cade and I met last week at the Marlton - 'twas quite fancy, good coffee, perfect place for business meetings. I must say I felt very productive sitting amongst the business women and men. While I sometimes envy the air of security and financial stability in those environments, I secretly wonder if the 9-5ers ever long for the enthusiastic conversations Sally Cade and I were having. 

I began seriously writing music in 2011. As part of the 3rd year curriculum at the Yale School of Drama, we had a class with the wild and wonderful professor, Joan Macintosh, called Actor Generated Work. This class essentially urged the students to self-generate, to write, to devise, to dream on one's own accord, without needing permission, or a phone call from someone higher up the figurative ladder. It could easily have been entitled: The Artistic Drought: Survival 101. My first year in New York City was just that, and indeed, what I thought was time wasted and dry, yielded so very much. So very much. 

While plenty of trial and error still left me feeling a continuous beginner, music continued to bring me just as much, if not more, joy. So. Onwards. I begin the process of producing and recording at last. I simultaneously look forward to and cringe at the clunk that will inevitably be a part of this endeavor. Luckily, I'm good at surrounding myself with people that are much smarter than I, and that teach me to love art and the cloudy mystery of it all again and again. Here's to the unknown. I suppose having a place is overrated. The playwright Dipika Guha says it so well:

'My paintings - they're not

like roses. Never 

understood still life. No 

life is still.'