raindrops and riso
and whiskers on kittens...
music things!
here’s a demo of a new song:
it’s about fossilised raindrops. and it’s one of the first songs i wrote for this geology album project.
way way way back, like, a billion or so years ago, there was basically no life on the planet apart from a carpet of microbial slime at the bottom of the ocean. there were no trees, no little animals or insects. and rain fell down from the sky.
when the rain fell, the raindrops made imprints on the ground. but then nothing happened. no animals scurried over the raindrops. no plants twisted their way under the earth’s surface. the raindrop fell to the ground, left a tiny dent in the mud, and that dent just… stayed there. unperturbed. so much so, that it became fossilised, and we can look at rocks today and say, “hey, that’s from a raindrop, a billion years ago!”
cool, man.
in other news i learned the basics of riso printing the other day! diy space for london had a print collective, which has managed to survive the closure of the space during the pandemic. they’re partially based in croydon now, in an artist & community space called turf. i have been badgering myself for a couple weeks now to go, so last saturday i booked myself a slot and went to make some prints!
i’ve been keeping a sketchbook to go along with my geology music research. i found that when i made the hurricane ep, having a bunch of images to choose from for the artwork and other parts of the campaign were so handy, so i am making sure that i have lotsssss of material for this one.
“mountains are born and they grow” was something a lecturer said when i did my geology 101 course during the pandemic. i say “did my geology 101 course,” what that really means is “watch all of the geology 101 lessons live-streamed from this random university in the pacific northwest”. anyway. the teacher said this line and i wrote it down, because we all think of mountains as something so static and eternal. but they have life cycles, just like us. they are born, whether by volcanic means or just two colliding continental plates. and they grow! they can be folded and spread out and reach up and fall down. mountains are fluid.
i still have about 15 of these prints to send out to people, so if you want one just reply to this email with your address (uk pals only!).
things i liked
✶ 🎶 i miss my granddaddy! 🎵
✶ someone posted this song on Instagram the other day and i can’t help just watching it over and over. there is something so addictive about the way it sounds— especially that little slap bass. also, I’ve been trying to figure out what the story is here. i’m imagining that the little kid has witnessed a murder and the other two guys are the murderers. OR the little kid is the murderer.
✶ i love this list of playlist prompts
✶ i want to live inside this photo:
✶ this excerpt from lisa olivera’s newsletter:
Give me ordinary. Give me cups of tea in the backyard and an afternoon so slow I can hear the hummingbirds. Give me time to look at the moon and midday trips to the bookshop. Give me satisfaction with Enough. Give me the same dinner rotation every week, because simple saves energy I’d rather spend elsewhere. Give me a tiny following of devoted & connected humans over a massive following of strangers. Give me cozy over fancy, sustainable over the latest new trend, slow progress over time over speedy growth. Give me satisfaction with the mundane. Give me creating mediocre art over not even trying to make art. Give me goals because they’re aligned, not because they’re markers of becoming more important. Give me time in nature and laughing with my child. Give me a sink full of dishes after a good meal. Give me dew on flowers and writing that isn’t the best but feels good to write and a messy top of the dresser because life is full. Give me ordinary. Give me the knowing of ordinary being enough.
have a lovely tuesday & be ordinary,
olivia