The Whole Canvas

It’s never a thought-out process.

I’ve never sat down and said, “Today I’ll write something and it will be great,” and come away with anything other than firmly substandard work.

It always starts from a place of intrigue, curiosity and wonder. And a need to tell. A fever to tell, you could even say.

It’s like standing right up against a huge canvas, unable to see the whole picture, but becoming completely absorbed by a single brushstroke, or the way one drop of paint has quietly overlapped another and created something altogether beautiful. Almost by accident. Almost, because none of this is truly accidental.

It’s a hunger that pulls on your shirt and doesn’t let go until it’s fed.

A longing to resolve, if only by accepting that, in itself, this is a path to travel rather than a destination to arrive at.

My record Folk Kitchen presented itself over a remarkably short period of time. I didn’t ask too many questions when the songs showed up. I simply got to work as best I could as a songwriter.

Now that the record is finished, now that it exists for anyone to listen to, and I no longer spend time thinking about every musical decision I made while recording it, I find myself standing at the other end of the gallery.

Only now can I see the whole canvas.

And that’s where the conversation really begins. An internal one, anyway.

Trying to make heads or tails of the experience.

With that in mind I made a little film—dare I call it that?—simply to try and understand some of these thoughts for myself.

If you’d like to watch it, you’ll find it below.

Thanks for listening.

https://www.franccinelli.com