A part of me dreams of singing for you and thousands. I close my eyes and my fingers brush along the keyboard and I hear my voice float out my mouth, my throat vibrating, and the microphone picks it up and wow…into the air the magic is cutting silence. Is this the moment I’m living for? The time in between these moments can be painful, unbearable even, until I adapt. I just forget about it and get used to the normal everyday human life…the life everyone else is living, the life off stage. Getting on that stage is exhausting though. I often think of quitting; too many cables, too much equipment to haul around. The musician’s life, compare it to a donkey. I’m sick of lugging luggage. I run quickly to my camera to go on lightweight photo shoots. It’s easier. A part of me is willing to do this heavy lifting for a moment of glorious sparkling music for the masses who listen. It’s a mild form of electrocution; a closed circuit between the creator, the creation and the consumer. A part of me hates it though; she just wanted to be left alone, paid more to show up, able to disappear into the wilderness in a fast convertible with a camera in the passenger seat. I won’t even use the camera unless someone pays me to turn it on. It’s my business. A part of me loves this. I’ve built a money machine on my art. Fucking fantastic freedom I’m tasting now. A part of me curses it a little, remembering the days when I took photos for fun. It’s still fun. More fun maybe now that the money adds purpose and pressure. I’m serving people with the camera. They need and I deliver. It’s more tangible than the music. A part of me forgets the powerful impact of music. She feels invisible, drowning in the ocean. Another part of me, she knows the value of the music because she’s the one in the crowd worshiping and sparked alive again.

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