I begin broadcasting across the space of the network: connecting my studio to the world out there, directly, instantaneously, immediate. The time between creation and reception is collapsed to zero. This only occurs when the transmission is live. Recorded media is removed: a frozen set of numbers, baked into a disc or the cloud, or someplace where data lives (and dies). Live is something else altogether. It is music, a continuous flow that immediately evaporates into the ether. It is like a flower that blooms and decays. It is the resonance of NOW, in the moment, the ever-present-present: neither future nor past, only what takes place here & NOW & then it is gone.
The ephemeral nature of the live transmission is a wondrous thing: delicate and fleeting, like life itself. It is a stream of magic: moving, ebbing, flowing, and then it is no more. The live can’t really be captured, because once you do it is a recording, it’s become something else, no longer (a)live, hard information that is fixed in time and space. When we allow the live to exist, we are alive, because the live transmission is a force like life itself.
The live broadcast is an extension of the nervous system, an experience in changing synapses, thoughts circulating with the transmission. I have no idea where this is all going, but its thrilling to realize that every movement, every tap on the keyboard, every reach across the desk is all part of something greater than myself, well beyond the studio, a living sculpture that is always-in-progress, never-ending, no boundaries: just concentration and compression in the NOW.