There is a wonderful passage in Miles Davis’ Sketches from Spain in which the orchestra depicts a marching band in the fiesta of a small Spanish town.* They begin at some distance, move closer, and then the trumpet takes the part of the solo singer who addresses a hymn to the statue carried in the procession. I like not only the sense of movement towards a climax but also the way in which the crudity of the rural musicians is suddenly transformed into a few moments of profound emotion.
I’m not sure why this image came into my head suddenly today, but it seems to be a wonderful metaphor for my present mental state. It is some time since I was able to paint, but I have been aware over the past couple of days of the distant advance of ideas. At the moment they are incompletely formed, and in one case rather generalised. Even so: I have that sense of being approached, and can’t wait for the hoped-for moment of realisation and lyrical expression.
The band is marching at its normal pace, and there will be no song until it arrives in the square. Things will move in their appointed order. I have to take a lesson, in that respect, from Miles.
*I think it is entitled Saeta.