“THE TOAST”
I have a favorite toast.
I’ll fill your glass quarter-ways from the brim and ask you to raise it. I’ll ask you to close your eyes; then, I’ll touch my glass to yours. Just when the resounding ring fades away, I’ll touch it again, yet again, and again. I’ll ask if you see a little stone village called “Saint Paul de Vince” hugging the hillside, and whether you hear distant church bells peal as evening birds flutter away into lavender skies.
Chances are, you will.
Then we’ll open our eyes and sip a blend of Grenache, Carignan and Cinsault, and swallow the breathtaking Manhattan citiscape, as our ears fill with the sounds of “Out of Nowhere” by Art Tatum. Touched with hints of honky-tonk, the keys on the piano will cascade like drops of water, each note chasing the other in a complex and coordinated dance of footwork.
We'll take another sip, and start a conversation about this:
How does sound define your space, create it, conjure it up, leave it?
How many pockets of sound does your space encounter on a given day?
And how do you deal with them?
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