It’s the sound of a voice, the soft beat of a drum, an accidental touch of a stray key, a voice calling someone, or something that was heard, with the eyes, seen with sound.

It’s just music but also a lot more than that. Sometimes it tastes a bit salty. But other times it tastes yellow with a dash of green. Some music can be prickly and  other music can be as smooth as the petal of the tulip resting on the table of my neighbour’s house.

When I close my eyes this piece of music is orange with a sprinkle of cinnamon.

But it doesn’t stay orange. It turns into purple and it’s a little rough when my hands have just been washed. It’s exciting, like fire. The heat can be felt inside. The flames dance, softly, almost disappearing at points, leaving only the blueish purple hue of a low stove fire. Then it turns into something more solid, more sour, like blackberry jam.

This other one is pure yellow, and every once in a while steps into fluorescent beige – a color that doesn’t really exist except at the moment when the voice sings into the instrument as if waking something up inside. The beige trembles softly when that happens. It shifts its shape and then softly returns to its original form, breathing deeply for a few seconds before the voice quiets it down.

And then, when the key hits, little sparks of blue fly up. But they disappear almost instantly,  just a flash of a memory lingering while other sounds come out. They taste like honey and jasmine, each taking their turn to disperse their essence in the tongue of my mind.

Then you look at the screen, and what’s in front of you blends with what your brain has concocted. It’s like opening up a package, a gift from someone else, wrapped in their external perception of it. But the way you perceive what they have given you is yours and yours alone.

Thank you, Vincent Moon for these gorgeous glimpses of life.