Writing DNA
To rediscover the heart, to rediscover the essence that makes us alive. Always alive. Enough to unearth the smile hidden deep within our luminous being.
There's nothing exceptional about writing a song or playing guitar chords, and yet, it's thanks to these things that I've been healing my wounds since my twenties. It's thanks to what I call my Musical Kintsugi™ that I sprinkle gold dust on my scars and find it beautiful and powerful.
By entrusting my lyrics to my kind and attentive guitar, I was able to sing my tragedies, bringing them to a close in my own way, in the best possible way, well. When the world tortures us, tortures itself endlessly, our cells ache and wrinkle from feeling so powerless. Then, we hurt, for ourselves, for him, for her, and we desire only one thing: relief.
Miraculously, this pen within reach, this guitar of wood and metal, mend me. The decision to mend the world is not mine, but those around me, who listen to my songs adorned with "happy endings," fleetingly perceive a hope that the pain will lessen.
I ask for nothing, I plan even less, but I write, I play and I sing my Kintsugi.
Tribute to Ryuichi Sakamoto
One morning, I woke up to this melody, the theme from "Merry Christmas Mister Lawrence" from the soundtrack of the film Furio. A revelation struck me, as brilliant as a sunrise after a storm: I would learn the piano and play this piece.
A few years later, I was ready to record it and added a haiku and English lyrics about the tears of the sky, our connection to the earth, without knowing at the time how much it meant to the composer, who was very involved in respecting nature and our impact on the environment.
On the day of the recording, I didn't yet know that on the other side of the world, Ryuichi was joining the stars; I only learned of it a few days later. I was deeply saddened, as if I had lost a loved one, a member of my family. I then sent the piece into the universe, hoping that my words would reach him and that he might smile upon hearing its delicate melody played on an island in the Atlantic where the first white butterflies of spring were beginning to appear.