is in the tiny blank spaces between black notes; in what lies behind the blobs and splashes of inks we named staccato, tenuto, marcato, phrasemarks and the likes.
is in the rubber band flexibility of this wondrous concept we call time - floating about in the air, waiting to be played with, shaped and moulded by us. to be injected with a shot of life.
is when black and white on stiff paper spring to life in all colours imaginable with every possible shade in between, layered with that play of light and shadow.
is when the beauty of it all grips you right at your beating heart and you have to gasp for air. when the emotions you forgot hit you with a force from within. it is after you have zoomed in all the way to the microscopic details, then strip them all away to reveal the soul in its barest form.
is when it is over and you just want to hold on to that moment, just sit there and be still, savouring all that is ringing on in the air, and in you.
all that is music. music is magic.