Winterworld
I grew up in the snow-swept landscape of Central Minnesota in a hundred year old farmhouse two miles from the nearest neighborhood. In Minnesota, winter usually begins in October and extends until April or May. There, in that farmhouse, I sat at the old bar room upright piano, which my parents had bought me, and I made up music. The tops of the keys would sometimes slide off because the previous owner had had them replaced; he was a strict vegetarian. As I looked out the window covered in plastic with three sets of hay bales covering the bottom of the house to keep it warm, I would drift off into world of my own. The snow outside would become the world I created. Later, as an adult, I would escape the cold and snow and winter for California, the Mayan Riviera of Mexico and other places around the world. But winter never left me. The falling snow, the sounds of near silence, the wind, the long stretches of fields covered in snow drifts; I tried to capture that feeling with this piece.
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