I CANNOT PAINT PICTURES WITH MY TONGUE

William Hundley

Sharon Van Etten - “Much More Than That”

Sometimes I do not have the word. I thought about this for a long time. There are always two possible reasons, I realise: (1) that I am not a better writer; (2) that there is no word.

And so, later--

-- I find myself in a starry garden, my hand cupped to tiny flowers, breathing in. I have no word for these blooms. And I wonder. Is it that I am not a better writer? Or is it that there is no word?

Perhaps an encyclopedia tells me. There is a word. There are several. “Snow-in-summer,” “Cerastium tomentosum.” It is I who was lacking.

But suppose I go back to the garden, moonlit this time, and I cup my hand to the tiny flowers; and I breathe in the night-time; and what if then again I find I do not have the word? What if “snow-in-summer,” if “Cerastium tomentosum” is not sufficient? What if with my knees on the grass the word I need is something else, but again I do not have it?

Is it because I am not a better writer? Or is it because there is no word?

I have wondered this often. Watching the wind push down a plastic chair. Standing and holding my grandfather's hand. Seeing a girl turn away. I have wondered this as I stared at a padlock; as I stared at a key; as I stared at a swan; as I bit into an apple; as I woke, at 6:45am, to the bleep of an alarm. There are no words, I thought at these moments; and always I ask if it is the words that are lacking or I who lacks them; and like Sharon Van Etten I wonder if I can improve, if I can become better, if one day I will have words for everything. If I will be able to say I love you in a way that speaks its every leap and ridge; if I will be able to say I'm sorry with words that do not tremble or glow; if I will have another word for darling, a better word, hidden and small, and dawning.

[Stream the album here at MBV/website/buy this beautiful album]

Elsewhere: In Paris last week, I attended a screening of this 3 Days of Take-Away Shows - a short film of a road-trip by the Blogothèque team, together with Beirut, Slow Club and Mami Chan. The film is tender and charming, but it's also utterly hilarious - anchored in large part by the vif spirit of Mami Chan (and to a lesser extent cameraman Vincent Moon himself). It's one of those little movies that underlines why I so love the work of the Blogotheque's concerts à emporter - they are wonderful films, regardless (sometimes) of music; not just recordings of a performance but a story of the things it evoked. This one is definitely wonderful and you should go watch even (especially!) if you're unfamiliar with most of the artists.

- Sean Michaels