Hands and Wood.Posted: August 21, 2013
Blood. We can’t do without it. My hands are living proof of the fact. My fingers are studded with scabs and healing cuts: my body is trying to keep my blood inside. Seems like it is vital. My skin shows signs of oil and paint too. My hands don’t look very much like what you would imagine a guitarist’s hands look like. My nails are structurally dirty. I need Laurence. Furthermore my skull feels like it has been bombarded with tiny meteors, crater country. Seems like I bumped my head a few times a day, lately. I did. No wonder, really. I have been carpenting for the past few weeks. Building a kitchen. Working with my hands and with wood – bamboo in this case – is something I enjoy, bar the injuries. But tonight all that should be over and done with, so I can return to something I enjoy even more: working with my hands and with wood.
Guitars. I can’t do without them. My hands are living proof of the fact. My left hand’s finger tips are covered with nice round callouses: my body is trying to keep my skin intact. Works better when playing the guitar than when doing carpentry.
The next months will bring some fine concerts. First Jimmy Robinson will join me for a short tour of double bills and later on I’ll be on my own again. That’s ok. I can handle that.
And then there is the making of the new CD. Experience from the first one in the bag, loads of new songs written, nice New Orleans’ studio recordings on the hard drive, video ideas aplenty, graphic plans in development and, most importantly, loads of time slots designated to work on it. Bring it on.
If you want to keep up with how it is: going check this space.