Don't miss out--please subscribe.

Moon Wefts. When one weaves on a warp-weighted loom, perhaps as the ancient Samnites did, there are vertical threads called warps, and horizontal threads called wefts. Words are the warps and wefts of language; language the tapestry stretching backwards into the mists of our collective cultural stories, and growing forwards into the future we are all constructing together. Language is a living organism. It hungers, it thirsts, it moves, it changes, and if neglected it dies. T

Once upon a time in Samnium. Like many other places in Italy, Molise has many bronze statues. The ancient Samnites left behind a vast number that have found their way into museums, and I take great pleasure in thinking about how many more may still be hidden: hiding up in the mountains in some undiscovered location; buried deep in a bosco ('forest'), having been tossed into the depths of a now-abandoned pozzo ('well') ages ago; or perhaps just below the surface, awaiting a fa

A woven story. When I was about 12 years old, the Gravity Games came to our local city. One of the events that I became obsessed with was the street luge. In this death-defying race, participants lie down on a skateboard-like contraption, and use gravity to hurtle themselves down a steep hill towards a finish line, lined with bales of hay to cushion their eventual impact. I had a skateboard. The neighborhood had a few steep hills. I strapped my helmet on. There were no bales

Windows, windows, windows. Before Artificial Intelligence, before Wikipedia, before search engines, and before the internet entered my childhood home, we had a computer with Windows '95 operating system. The bulbous square screen framed by its grey plastic shell seemed a window into another world. There was information, software, and even games on CD-ROMS and 3.5in floppy disks, of which we slowly amassed a modest library. One of my favorite discs was Encarta, an interactive

overtone. I offer a three piece EP of vocal and electronic music. The title is sovratono, which is a play-on-words translation of 'overtone' in Italian. It was recorded between September and October, 2022, and is a byproduct of learning how to overtone sing. [Caption: Album artwork for sovratono.] Simply defined, overtone singing is the practice of manipulating the vocal tract in such a way as to produce extra tones than the one you are singing. These 'extra' tones fall along

A musical offering. While the winter wanders ever-forward towards Springtime, and the daily-growing sun begins to melt recent heavy snowfall, I find myself nesting in the studio. As part of February's RPM Challenge, I spent the month building a proverbial nest out of various sonic bits and pieces found on old hard-drives and dusty cassette tapes. In short: rooting through my personal archives for unfinished and unreleased work. And to say it was a trove would be a small under

Constructing instruments, constructing music. When one arrives in Scapoli for the International Zampogna Festival, one must park ones car...

[Caption: " Once there was a little boy. And he went outside." --Harry Partch. ] The poetry of the mountains. Two short poems I wrote...

(and there are still snails) ...As I embark on my summer travels-- una vacanza di lavoro ('a working vacation') I explained to my friend...

Mountain music . As soon as we opened the car doors, we were engulfed by the smell of wild mint. We were setting out for a long trek in...

[Caption: Moonrise in Molise .] There are no clocks at the Museum . Time is not a valid currency here. Unlike the places most of us come...

After spending two weeks as an artist-in-residence at the Art Center Padula, I made my way to London, England for a brief interlude to...

I tiptoed gingerly around the garden, taking care to dodge the fallen figs from the tree outside the kitchen. Every couple of steps I...

A couple days of rain brought the temperature down a little to where it was comfortable to be out and about, moving around the town...

After departing from Battipaglia on the afternoon bus, and an hour or two driving through the Campanian countryside, in and out of...

Another adventure continues. [After eight months of neglecting this blog, I finally have the time and space--mentally, emotionally, and...

A short poem about waves or phantasms: ~~~ Dear Kind Reader, Today I turn thirty-four years old. In the English language the verb to turn...

Clay under feet. (And between toes). The site of Lago di Castel San Vincenzo (Lake of Castle Saint Vincent) is an enchanting one: the...

The sounds of the stones. In an effort to hear what the many hours of tracing and puzzling would glean, without the presence of actual...

More stones. More notes. While thinking about the time I spent at Pietrabbondante, staring at the stones found in the walls there, I...