Something that’s Nothing until I Write It.

This evening while driving I heard a guy on NPR talk about his process for improvising on the piano. He explained that there was no preparation before performing at a concert. He tries not to, in fact, become attached to a particular subject matter or idea because “it locks [him] in a room.” But it’s impossible to have an event where one knows a performance is expected and to not already have some ideas in the cooker. So, when he sits down at the piano for a public event he’s really playing the middle of a piece, rather than the beginning. What might be a slow beginning has already occurred in his head but rather than try to capture all of what he has imagined and then move forward — he just lets the music happen has he touches the keyboard. Often the pianist noted, things are born out of explosions, which is what audiences likely hear in his improvisations, pieces already in progress.

The radio announcer then asked him if he’d play a piece on the air. Initially he started trying to explain what he might play, then stopped himself and simply said: “I’ll play something that’s nothing until I play it.”

A striking comment on the creative process and how to let writing flow without the interruption of starts and stops.