I love this tune. Each time I play it, humility greets me like an old friend and reminds me that I’m part of something much bigger than myself.
Fiddle is a very intimate instrument for me. I tend to only play it for myself and compose on it for my nearest and dearest on special occasions only. It really draws something from me that I cannot describe. I can’t play very fast but I don’t really want to. I savour each note and it could go on like that for hours.
There’s something about how the bow breathes a different kind of life and musicality. The rawness to capturing the essence of any kind of tone. The fact that a simple quiver can change the sound of a note so completely. That each movement, each long draw of the bow, is a signature of sorts. It’s fair to say that I’m in love with it.
Freckle, Fig & Ishka, Aidan.
Once upon a time, I was a writer for a magazine called Freckle. In fact, that’s how I became friends with the illustrator Lynn Finnegan. Lynn has a beautiful weekly Substack entitled Fig & Ishka. It’s wonderful - enjoy.
During my time with Freckle, I had the opportunity to listen to and spend time with Aidan Mulholland. A violin luthier in Belfast. It was an enchanting afternoon and one of the things he said has stuck with me ever since.
“You just cannot get away from being indebted to the tree. The tree gives you the wood. You use the sap out of the tree to varnish the wood. To play the violin, you need more of the sap for the rosin. As you go through each stage, you have to go back and borrow again from the tree. Every tree is sacred, every bow is different.”
Aidan, restringing a bow.
Pure Magic
At this time, 2016, I hadn’t quite had my love affair with trees yet. I walked through the world not seeing the beauty of ash coming to life with black buds, the crunch of hazel underfoot in the Autumn, but that sentence sparked something in me. Pure magic. And if I think about it, that’s what playing the fiddle is to me. It’s akin to the experience of writing a song that comes along of it’s own accord. In it’s entirety. Seemingly, out of nowhere. That stream of consciousness that we slip into as the lyrics unfold, each paving a pathway to the next, until a whole story, experience or emotion has revealed itself and hey presto - a song is born. The fiddle is kind of like that, but different. It asks something of me in a way that writing songs doesn’t.
Aidan in full flight
The Fiddle
The fiddle is the instrument I played as a child. My first instrument. The only instrument I ever had lessons in. Lessons that I struggled with. Being told what to do in any shape or form has always presented a particular kind of challenge for me. Perhaps that’s why I’m carving out this little corner of the Substack world all on my own. Writing songs, writing about writing songs, sharing songs, it all comes back to the song in a way. Perhaps, in the same way Aidan is indebted to the tree, I’m indebted to the song.
Bealtaine’s Fire
All of this is to say, hello. I’m having big thoughts about being an artist and how to show up in the world. This newsletter is one of the ways I can be myself and keep the fire of creativity and connection burning. Sometimes, it’s a smoulder. Others, it’s a blazing, in your face, all-encompassing roar of red and orange. Being an artist and making work doesn’t change but finding ways to connect with people certainly has. Speaking of creativity and connection, I took myself off to Emain Mhaca for Bealtaine, which looks something like this…
Except, I was there alone and there was no fire.
Striking A Chord
If any of this has struck a chord with you (pun most definitely intended), do reply and let me know your tree and violin thoughts. If any of this has struck a chord and you’re able to, become a paid subscriber. It’ll help keep that flame burning.
DLx
