Some things just aren’t meant to be understood.
I have this theory that there’s a void between ‘understanding’ and experience. But it’s a nice place to be. I’d say it’s one of the best places to go to, if you can allow yourself to switch off that part of you that wants to ‘know’. There are different ways of knowing, too; I know that. But I mean all of those ways, too.
Anyway, from this void, this uncomfortable void, we gave birth to the critic.
But you don’t need a critic. Or a programme note. Or any explanation.
Because the void is better.
Within the void lies un-ending experience that the critic will kill if you let it.
Chips, chips and cress, Myrtle…