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She was standing in the Dead Room. That tiny room surrounded by a warm ambience, with the velveteen floor, walls and ceiling, and an interior window capable of permitting any living entity who enters the Piano Room, to picture who is working in the Dead Room, framing them in an ebony rectangle and making them…
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By Joan Lenine Language ought to be functional, worthwhile. That is, after all, its primary connotation: to elucidate thoughts neatly, to communicate, to interact, to express individuality, to convey reality. Nevertheless, art is not always quite interested in that way of expression. There comes a common point, for anyone who spends enough time creating, when…
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By Joan Lenine Q. Well, er, hi JoanA. Hello, Jenny. Q. It’s been a long time since we last spoke… A. Has it been that long? Q. Probably, anyways, what have you been doing?A. Oh, the usual. You see, music, art… Q. Have you been working on new music?A. Yeah I have. In fact, I’m…
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I’m twenty-one years old, and I’ve been creating art for as long as I can remember. Which is to say, long before I knew what to call it, or how to explain it to people who favour clarification over experience; the sort who like their mysteries pre-labelled and their answers wearing ties. Art, after all,…
Joan Lenine 