* This is the second part of our interview with David Sylvian. The first part can be found here.

NK: Can a poet tell a story that didn't happen to himself?

DS: If the story is a means of transmission. The important elements are the philosophical and emotional authenticity that underlie the work.

NK: Automatic writing must be much like dreaming - our own little theater where we are on stage and in the audience at the same time. Does the one who is watching the play always know the plot beforehand, or is a self revealed to self as the play goes on?

DS: The witness knows something but not all. Can be surprised by what is blatantly apparent to all but him/herself. Sometimes little is known at all, you learn as you go.

NK: Insulated as the world of your recent collaborators might've seemed, it accepted you and rewarded your effort. It was relatively new to you; were you an element of newness to it yourself? During the improv sessions, what kind of input did you offer? As I understand it, you set out to cajole a group of artists into producing material that'd resonate with what was, at that point, your inner state, a "ding an sich". A very, very daunting task. And risky, no?

DS: As I said, I wasn't certain the process itself could work until I put it into practice. I tried to reduce the element of risk as far as that was possible but a certain amount of risk was desirable. A fine balancing act in that respect. Yes, my presence changed the chemistry of the ensembles, some of whom were already very familiar with one another, in the same way that an attentive film director might bring out specifically atuned performances from the actors. They say that Bergman's face was right next to the camera lens as he directed his actors, that his focus was so nuanced and intense that the actors gave the best of themselves. He was the appreciative audience as well as director. There was an element of that at play in some of these sessions I suspect. I would like to think so.

NK: Were you seeking to express an existing meaning, or has meaning formed as you went? In other words, was "Manafon" largely an aftermath of an experience or the experience itself? "Why this and not something else?": how wide was the field of potential resonance?

DS: There's the experience that informs the work and then there's the work which is experience itself. There no division as such. I suspect the field of potential resonance was drawn in the finest of lines prior to the work getting underway but there was a conscious amount of unknowing, of room for what was pre-verbal but intuited. So we'll go with 'fairly narrow'. This might be evidenced by the amount of material that remains unused which far outweighs what was released. The impetus for a body of work is pre-verbal, is purely intuitive, so it's fairly difficult to relay that in concrete terms to a group of free improvisers or even an individual. It was acknowledged on trust that I knew what it was I was after and the musicians involved, in all generosity, allowed me the freedom to go in search of it. I'd done my homework so it was a matter of subtly adjusting the chemical balance to react as I'd anticipated.

NK: That required of you, it seems, to relinquish control - in favour of new, subtler forms of control. One of the aspects of working counterintuitively, perhaps...

DS: Yes, as I said above, what is intuitive and counterintuitive isn't exactly cut and dried. True counterintuitive actions tend to be taken at the behest of others. That's where things could either come undone or become more interesting still.

NK: ...and if the resonance was found, what is that sound you coaxed into being? As the environment in which the narrator moves, the music is the sound of a world that's being disassembled, functioning but just barely, a weak dissonance in place of a merry chorus, clicks and hisses where steady rhythm of machinery thumped before. It's fragile, unsafe, uncertain, it's tittering on a brink. Is this all an inner landscape, or does this reflect your feelings about the world that surrounds, contains and - to some extent - defines you?

DS: It was the lack of definition, the hint, allusion, the musical and non-musical elements on the brink of dissolution. It was shorthand for the initiated, the ghost of electricity, snatches of conversation and audio intervention. It was an orchestra of the everyday. Atomic particles, the building bricks of life. Each and every sound a yantra containing a universe unto itself. It was in fact an embarrassment of riches with which to support and amplify the narrative.

NK: For me, the sound evoked, and strongly, two moments of brokenness and uncertainty: when I woke up in a country without a name in 1991, and the day the towers fell in NYC. Neither of the two events affected me directly, yet they did dent my universe - and nearly everyone else's, it seems. How firmly are you rooted in the world that isn't your immediate environment? National consciousness, freedom, world peace, world suffering, wars, distant catastrophes we watch unfold on TV - what do they mean, if anything? And if they are but artificial constructs, then, perhaps, there is a better way to spend the effort invested in belonging to and fighting for?

DS: I am, of course, rooted in the world, in time and place. I've made frequent references in recent work to world events even if in a slightly unorthodox manner. Events, such as the ones you mention, burn themselves deeply into the personal and public (un)consciousness, are powerful elements of destabilisation increasing the level of uncertainty in all things. Social constructs are easily upended. The line between civility and chaos has all the substance of surface tension in a pool of water. Universal suffering is an extension of individual suffering. Universal conflict an extension of internal conflict. One cannot be resolved without the other. I believe in a society that looks after its people, a people that support one another, that lends dignity to the lives of all by seeing to basic human rights and needs, is inclusive, liberal and unafraid of difference. The greed of american capitalism was/is unsustainable. Before the value of the currency must come compassion and a shared sense of human values devoid of dogma and religious overtones.

Acts of terrorism nurtures the climate of fear, building walls between cultures, beliefs and individuals. It breeds mistrust. By contrast natural catastrophes bring out our empathetic nature, emphasises our common humanity. You could say that, in a sense, the future depends on whether empathy or fear gains the upper hand in each of us.

NK: But this precedence of internal over external is a discouraged notion these days, it seems, a Cinderella. As the culture urges to consume goods, it also urges to consume societal benefits - liberties, rights, etc., or things marketed as such. Many feel, I suspect, that those are manufactured somewhere outside of themselves, just like plastic goods at a factory in China, and can be, like any commodity, distributed by bodies of power. "None are more hopelessly enslaved than those who falsely believe they are free." (Goethe) One has to wonder how, if at all, can attention - especially in children - be directed inward as a place where meaning is formed...

DS: Children do have an interior life. In this information age they might lose sight of it a little too quickly but others withdraw into it, looking for something that might be described as self-nurturing, part of the road to independence.

Whatever is absorbed from the world around us is digested internally. There is no such thing as complete objectivity. We create our own reality, are complicit in building, embracing and shouldering its responsibilities but, for all the tribal beating of drums, we're essentially alone. Don't we know this as children? I'm certain we do. A realization that's often accompanied by sadness or fear.

There's a wall between interior and exterior, illusionary perhaps, but substantial in its psychological ramifications. Via work on our interior lives the substantiality of that wall begins to evaporate hence the greater the properties of empathy and compassion in such an individual. Another's suffering becomes one's own. It takes the slightest of shifts in conscious awareness to see through the illusion and therefore to avoid buying into it. What we might grasp intuitively can find its way to the forefront of our awareness.

Not to recognize your perception of reality reflected in the culture is a cause for concern that can be acted upon. Disenfranchisement, to be forced outside, can also enable a better perspective on the infrastructure of the society of all that's exclusionary about it. It's no coincidence that minority groups/outsiders appear to produce the most significant cultural contributions.

NK: "Random Acts of Senseless Violence" is an especially caustic commentary on the state of "us", the society. There are (are there?) events; then (only then?) there is news. Where their meaning is formed, by whom, and to what ends, is now so obscure that it borders on arbitrary. The mechanism is called, reassuringly, "democracy". Have we spun out of control? Is the circus doomed, or is there something that each of us can do apart from registering the absurdity?

DS: It would appear we're increasingly losing faith in elected officials to work with our real benefit in mind. When a nation becomes apathetic towards the governing body, when it feels its liberties being incrementally stripped away, there can only be one response beginning with protest and leading eventually to acts of disruptive violence in an attempt to be heard. Yes, the media too can't be trusted. Reporting post 9/11 more or less revealed to me there's no such thing as a free press in the US. Most reporting is framed by bias and where there's no bias there's simply a rather bland description of what is, a weak willed attempt at balanced reporting. Failing to call out and out lies as they see them but rather reporting them as another perspective on a given issue. There's a shortage of unbiased but informed opinion.

What can be done? I'm unconvinced that much can and will be done in the short term. We seem to have lost the appetite for revolution for now (although current events are changing the landscape as I write) and in a sense a revolution is needed. It would not surprise me if, increasingly, in many parts of the world, people found themselves at odds with governing bodies and their armed enforcements.

NK: Is that really likely? For many, it seems, the concept of revolution, indeed the concept of any large-scale change, is a romantic one - especially without a history of violence in their own geographic realm. "Revolution" doesn't connect with the idea of ultimate upset that an actual revolution is sure to bring. "Fear of disorder" that you mention, it appears, is a safety catch, an insurance for complacency, and at its worst a complete paralysis of will: just how great the sense of danger should be to trump it?

DS: It depends on what you mean by danger. A wasted life in search of the illusionary is a revelation, a dangerous revelation if reached en masse.

NK: Perhaps the very bottom of the hierarchy of needs must be infringed upon for change to be able to ferment. What would your own breaking point - a transition from contempt to protest - be?

DS: Possibly brazen injustice carried out or endorsed by multinational corporations or offices of governance. A corruption of the governing body to the point of arrogance, a changing of the fundamental laws which secure freedom and liberty, a watering down of democratic values. All of the above seemed within the grasp of the last US administration.

NK: Truly a world citizen, you chose America as a place to stay... and thus, to act on you. Happenstance or inner affinity of a self and a place?

DS: I claim happenstance but who's to decide these things?

NK: Are there physical places on the planet that are of ultimate internal resonance for you?

DS: There are a number of places around the globe that resonate for me but I couldn't claim that one has ultimate internal resonance. Nowhere is 'home' for me... or potentially everywhere.

"When you never leave you own country, you reason within your country; you become the center of the universe. When you leave, you discover there are other ways of thinking. " (Charlotte Perriand)

Or better still:

"The man who finds his country sweet is only a raw beginner; the man for who each country is as his own is already strong; but only the man for whom the whole world is like a foreign country is perfect." (Hugh of St. Victor 12th century)

NK: "Manafon", more so than "Blemish", is a sustained narrative of disruption, entropy, alchemical nigredo, processes ongoing but misread or unsuspected. While the two records share a mood and a method, "Manafon" strives out of the insulate narrative of self and into the world at large. The world appears to to be, essentially, in the same state as the self. Is the food bitter because your tongue it bitter? Was your outlook different in happier times?

DS: "Blemish" and "Manafon" don't reflect my world view. They reflect aspects of the human condition. They were born out of a time and place, a particular stimulus, a rattled state of being, yes. But that was just the starting point. I pushed deeper into those negative emotions than I would've felt comfortable doing in life. I wanted to see where they'd lead me, how dark does it gets down there and what kind of language I could use on my return to embody it? The impetus for the emotional themes on "Blemish" may've been brought on by the breakdown of a marriage but I pushed far beyond the feelings I harboured in my personal life at that time. It was an opportunity to occupy a corner of my psyche I'd not previously explored. I was working with what was to hand. I was in the midst of an experience I couldn't fully digest, a lot of psychic pain, but I thought I'd face it head on without any hope of resolution. Just be with it... latch onto something powerful inside of me and hear what it had to say, how it expressed itself.

We could quite easily ask this same question of filmmakers, writers etc. Bergman, Beckett, Kafka.. but the works resonate because they encapsulate something of what it means to be human. A facet of our common humanity.

NK: Speaking of the relationship between work and life... I may hold your music close to heart, but as I watch from afar, the David I see is only a conjecture that says more about me than about David. And that's a function of art, really, to prompt - perhaps subliminally - self-observation that often manifests itself as observation of the artist. Let's reverse the mirror: how would you describe yourself among others, what is your place in the lives of people around you?

DS: In one, very real sense, as discussed, the place is peripheral, in another the role is central, pivotal. Such are the contradictions of a single life.

As for the latter part of the question it's best left for others to answer.

NK: How do you balance making yourself available, needing others and being needed?

DS: Generally speaking, I don't manage the balance all that well. Given the choice between too much company or none at all, I'll go with the latter.

NK: I can't help but notice, with certain surprise, the transactional nature of "Small Metal Gods"' predicament. "My childish things." But you're throwing them away just as childishly: they didn't serve the purpose, you've been defrauded out of your money in the marketplace of faith, where peace and well-being are given in return for worship... I suspect that this obvious reading is wrong.

DS: The lyric is slightly bitter, quite petulant, disillusioned, angry. It's not in the least bit rational. There's a tit for tat aspect to it on one level but it's also about superstition, false gods, the adopted traditions of others. It's a 'let's see what's real' moment. Let's sweep these trinkets away (physical objects yes, but all that they represent as emotional and spiritual investment) and see what's left standing. A cleaning house. It happens every so often. I don't find it unhealthy. It's a search for truth by removing the excess baggage that's begun to cling to it like lint to a black overcoat. But the anger shouldn't be underestimated. I heard from a number of people that have followed one path or another, that they felt a sense of release/relief hearing that lyric. As if permission had be granted to call all into question. It had to have that degree of the irrational, the petulance, to get across the degree of personal investment, anger and disillusionment. Not dissimilar to the kind of conversations you hear between divorcing couples.

NK: In relation to the practices of faith that you maintain, who are they, the castaway gods? Is it an intentional "sacrilege", questioning elements of the path while still remaining on the path? Jettisoning the paraphernalia that had served its purpose, but now might prove a hindrance?

DS: Even when you reject the path, refuse to believe in the path, you're on the path.

NK: One way or another, "Small Metal Gods" seems to rid you of the last outward vestiges of the very path you adhere to. Where is this going?

DS: Where is this going? where it was always going. it's referred to as a path but it's anything but linear. Sometimes to take action, any action, is better than none at all.

NK: Imagery of devotion is often found in your writings - from various sources, as if you were sampling, trying on this faith and that. You say much - any? - of it doesn't hold any significance. When you chose your current path, what revealed it to you as yours? Was is a gradual immersion, or was there a moment of "marriage"?

DS: Difficult to answer this one as it's too personal. I would say that to experience states of bliss is to acknowledge the existence of alternate states of mind, of being. If an individual brought you to that state there's a fair chance, but by no means a certainty, that they'll make a good scout leading you into uncharted territory.

NK: I'll play a devil's advocate a little - without implying your case, but with interest in your take on the following. One ends up subscribing to a set of exercises, to a certain philosophy, to a picture of the world - even if that picture is one of freedom to change it at will. But the practices of any spiritual tradition, before having been assigned "sacredness", were designed for specific time, place, and people, and with specific outcomes in mind; hence outside its "native" circumstance its techniques might be useless, if not downright harmful. These traditions are still perfectly capable of instilling a sense of emotional wellbeing in their followers, but no real growth transpires. This doesn't mean the practices are inherently empty; there is, let's say, a great chance for them to be misapplied.

Perhaps a teacher, a presence which can observe and reflect your condition objectively, can be a remedy, a true beacon for your travels. At any given time, how do you judge your position on the way? Is there someone to help you with this?

DS: I wouldn't agree that all spiritual practices derived from profound insight and wisdom were designed for a time and place. What was once a fundamental or universal truth about human nature likely remains so but it's not my place to take a defensive position on this. If interested, we should work this through for ourselves.

Judging where one is on any given path is difficult. I'm not at all certain that that's an appropriate question to pose oneself. It's stating that you believe you're at point Q on the map on the road to Z. Linear thinking. The way it works is to let go of such mental concepts whilst recognizing a deepening of certain qualities within, and the greater awareness that accompanies these developments. You therefore recognize the benefit of cultivating this particular conscious awareness. That's where you are, just there.

NK: What does following a path mean to you? Obviously, many teachings are being relentlessly appropriated by western mind and market for their own purposes. Most often they end up functioning as pacifiers, numbing hearts to the very notion of path as work. Placated, the "adepts" tend to neglect and isolate exactly the parts of themselves that require change, control and attention. The product sells and is, infuriatingly, called "spirituality". But the stories of spiritual development that so many choose to ignore speak of anything but comfort. Choosing a path, wedding yourself to it might be the greatest joy you ever knew; what about following it? Were there obstacles, and was music ever one, in any way?

DS: I don't feel comfortable saying I'm wedded to a particular path. I say that with a certain regret as I believe one travels more rapidly when adhering to a singular path. As for teachings being appropriated, sure. If you want to divest yoga of its spiritual 'baggage' you're free to do that. If you choose to meditate just to relax, that's ok too. I don't think it's productive to worry about what others are doing or how they're using, diluting, or abusing the teachings. What is of concern is how they're applied, if at all, in one's own life, how sharply attuned is one's own sense of discernment? After all, one man could sit at the feet of the wisest of individuals and learn nothing, another at the feet of a faker and take away valuable lessons.

NK: Duly noted... an accusatory diatribe indeed most often reflects one's own stumbling blocks - and, in this particular case, locks one out of a potentially beneficial experience.

You say there isn't a singular path; this, perhaps, is not a cause for regret, since there is no real way to assess its comparative effectiveness. You're on the best path possible - for you, - winding as it might be. What is your current set of practices - or, at least, a system (systems?) of reference? How rigorously do you follow it?

DS: This I choose to remain private.

NK: Earlier, the terminology of certain teachings was figuring prominently in your songs - "The Golden Way", "Cover Me with Flowers", etc. With time, it was gone almost completely. How would you describe the process that reflected in this change?

DS: From the romance of the engagement (which is real and healthy) to the reality of the contract (the vow), to a disentanglement from all that binds.

NK: Is there a destination? What would you want to become, ideally - or at least approach? Is being compassionate, responsible, loving the purpose or a satellite effect of a larger change?

DS: When following a path surely the only real concern is with your personal growth and what furthers that (as this tends to result in a more compassionate, responsible, and loving individual we all benefit)? Yes, there are always obstacles, each one greater than the last but there are rewards for scaling these otherwise there wouldn't be the will to go on as suffering is pretty much a given. As with any undertaking there should be discernible results. Knowing the scope for self deception is vast you tread carefully but purposefully.

Being long-term goal orientated doesn't seem quite the point. Maybe this contradicts the notion that there should be discernable results but how can you comprehend a destination for this approach to life at the outset? Goals should therefore be manageable, humble, not overly ambitious. Sitting on a cushion for 15mins morning and evening without giving in to the desire to reach for the iPhone?

In essence you're already where it is you want you be. Think of it as a dream you're having, part joyful, part nightmare, in which you're trying to get back to the safety, the familiarity of your bedroom. You wake up where you were all along.

"you misunderstood the place where you stand"

Long term, so as not to cop out of giving some indication; call it an attunement to where the division between life and death falls away. Not an end in itself.

Yes, making music has been part of the process for me.

NK: Could you expand on this?

DS: The process of creating music is fraught with dilemmas that highlight shortcomings, entrenched thought processes, self-imposed limitations etc. It has the potential to identify and therefore remove obstacles to growth. It's what is known as sadhana: Sadhana Sanskrit term : literally "a means of accomplishing something"

NK: Lyrics and poetry. To you, what is the difference? "Manafon"'s words stand on their own, it seems, much more ably than those of your other records. They are certainly not orphaned without music; there is no obvious dependency. But in the way they came into being, how strong was the connection?

DS: The lyrical content was generally born out of my response to the musical content although there were themes I knew I'd be addressing in some instances before putting pen to paper. They're also, in my mind, tied to the melodic lines that define them as they're more or less created simultaneously.

NK: This works both ways, doesn't it? The language in action, a word being uttered, is in itself music, and much music is - often unconsciously - modeled on the inflections of speech and other expressive sounds. The two meanings - verbal and tonal - converge or collide, often to a striking effect. You've been using this method, knowingly or not, with great success throughout your career...

DS: It's part and parcel of the songwriting experience, yes.

I've said before that the difference between a lyric and a poem is that between the lines of a lyric there's silence which is where the music plays its significant role. The writing is designed for this purpose. Between the lines of a poem, a universe. Any addition is embellishment.

NK: Your singing has also undergone a transformation. What is your relationship with your voice? How did it change over the years?

DS: I find it impossible to discuss my voice. Possibly detrimental, certainly undesirable.

NK: "Manafon" is cutting; it's the words of a man who is either done for and is about to flip a switch, or has purposely dismantled his reality. Were you trying to sing yourself out of that mindset, is the audible pain a productive suffering, a black and bitter but fertile soil? Or is "not leaving a trace" an earnest goal?

DS: I thought it was an album best released posthumously.

NK: Your writing is exceptionally erudite; quotes and references abound - from Picasso to Sartre, from Bible to R.S.Thomas and - heartbreakingly - Emily Dickinson... Are they simply magnets to you, something that resonated with you at the moment of writing, or do the nods signal an allegiance, a very special connection? Are there figures, teachings, works of art that are beyond reproach, or is everything malleable?

DS: I think my approach in this regard has changed over the years. When younger the isolated man wanted a creative community with which to interact. I formed allegiances with artists both living and dead whose vision I grasped, in which I saw reflected something of my own feeble attempts though expressed far more eloquently. A shared philosophical viewpoint, aesthetic etc etc. I phased out much of the openly quoted from my work during the late 80's, early 90's. Now if someone is quoted it's because the quote clearly serves a purpose, other than simple reference, in the body of the lyric.

NK: Do you have "fathers"? Would you say that musically, intellectually, and emotionally you had influences that made you what you are? Did any of those hinder your movement once you've gone past the stage of absorption? Was reverence ever a stumbling block?

DS: When younger reverence might've been a slight stumbling block, I can't be certain. In that I couldn't always bring myself to say no to invitations by those I respected. I believe there's always something to be learned through experience of any kind so nothing in a sense is lost but time.

I do believe there were periods where I should've remained silent. It would be a blessing if an artist could erase his failures or under achievers and leave only that which served a purpose on his/her departure. It might drive biographers and archivists up the wall but the world would be a better place for the absence of such works. This isn't said from a position of vanity merely the recognition that there's too much to avail yourself of in a single lifetime. Best not waste time searching in the wrong quarter for what lies elsewhere.

NK: You work alone. Once you're done with the contributions, the process becomes invisible. Is this a comfort or a necessity?

DS: Both.

NK: You once said, "Periphery, in every aspect of life, is my rightful place." It's easy to read withdrawal into it, a policy of not taking part, but you, I suspect, meant something different.

DS: I feel I am taking part in some cultural exchange however humble my contribution. The periphery is where I find myself. I fought the inevitable for a fairly long time and then... I didn't. I embraced it. Many lessons in life are resolved by embracing what is.

NK: For what transpires with and within yourself, are you an onlooker? A chronicler rather than a sword-wielding knight? If so, do you feel that the writing process you now employ is, perhaps, a better fit for this position - and thus a logical development?

DS: I think, ideally, one is witness and participant.

NK: Speaking of taking part... having children is obviously as drastic a case of involvement as can be. An immense joy, but also an ocean of thin ice to cross. What is the journey like for you? How did it change you?

DS: Oh dear, that's an entirely independent subject of conversation. To state the obvious, it changes one's priorities. A disarmingly short sentence that denotes major shifts in one's outlook on life. It introduces you to unconditional love and, on the path of non-attachment, presents you with all you'll ever need to work with.

NK: For those of us for whom it's still ahead... what proved to be the most (and perhaps unexpectedly?) rewarding in being a father?

DS: Beckett could've written his oft quoted line; 'Fail again, fail better' for parents because our shortcomings are underlined every single day of our lives. But the beauty is that the love remains constant. Forgiveness is another of those words bandied about a great deal but to feel it in you heart towards another, or to feel it directed towards oneself (by a child?) [is] quite powerful stuff. If we practiced forgiveness and gratitude every day of our lives we'd be transformed.

NK: Some say birth is a clean slate, but where the real beginning is, we can't know. When you first knew yourself from everything else, what did you see? What kind of world did you inhabit as a child?

DS: I don't believe birth to be a clean slate. From what I've experienced we come into the world (most of us/all of us?) with quite a bit of baggage or unfinished business.

It's difficult to recall a time when I wasn't alienated from my surroundings. There was an awareness of the sense of separation, myself and the other, and the desire to be part of the world I could see around me but they appeared to be mutually exclusive. I'm uncertain how reliable such recollections are but I think this was a sensation I struggled with when young. I wanted to be absorbed into the body of the mother, the family, not excluded (the exclusion was only in the form of the awareness of my independence).

I inhabited the world of my imagination for the most part. Steve and I were always very close. Distinctly different from one another in so many respects, but close. Like most kids, we invented games and scenarios and acted them out. My parents were never financially secure so we weren't inundated with gifts, toys, even the pleasure of their company was rationed as they always seemed to have so much on their plates, so we were left to our own devices.

NK: You grew up and spun away, far away from your nest - so far that to an outside observer it might seem like you never belonged there at all. Did you ever go back, with a new understanding? Are you in touch with your parents?

DS: No, I never returned. It's fair to say I didn't feel as though I belonged. Yes, I'm in touch, and have a beautiful relationship with my parents.

NK: What sustains you these days? It's very easy to focus on the melancholy in your work: you have, after all, expressed it so powerfully; we seek comfort in sharing these emotions, and they're part of a compelling human drama. But you are still pressing on, and that is where things get even more interesting. As the world loses all colour and distinction, how do you keep on keeping on?

DS: We're able to survive on very little it seems to me. Simple human kindness perhaps? Melancholy is a word I've never liked, never use. It doesn't burn deeply enough. 'there's comfort in melancholy' joni mitchell once sang. I've been where that comfort doesn't exist.

NK: But melancholy, as opposed to acute pain, is a part of a natural disposition of a witness, no? And itself a kind of a force...

DS: We see things differently I guess. Melancholy appears somewhat impotent to me. A safety blanket for the soul. We frequently reach for it perhaps but maybe we should learn to live without it?

NK: I feel this disagreement lies in the realm of words, not thoughts. Maybe we should learn to live without behaving like a textbook (passive?) "melancholic", and instead face the sadness of the world with love, acceptance and resolve, like brave tin soldiers.

DS: When my daughter comes to me in tears and says she feels sad for no reason, after questing her to make sure nothing is untoward, I tend to tell her this is part of what it is to be human and to enjoy the easy, freefalling tears, experience how good it feels to express herself (she breaks into laughter when I say this as it's never what she expects to hear). God knows in later life sadness isn't expressed so purely and beautifully.

...has the world lost all its colour? Some, perhaps. But the cover of "Manafon" depicts a visual metaphor for the dwelling place of the imagination. it's abundant.

NK: Can the realms of imagination and everyday life be one?

DS: Well, what is imagination and what is everyday life? Who/what imagines that everydayness?

NK: Do you expect the colours to return someday, the damage to be repaired - or at least lose some of its importance?

DS: I do, and then some.

NK: There is no undoing it, obviously, no erasing the scars, but there is light ahead, isn't there?

DS: There's light everywhere. Even when the soul is in darkness the witness knows this to be true. It's a source of strength, enables endurance.

Is death and its shadow presence or absence?

Everywhere you turn there's beauty and sorrow. It's overwhelming.

[My work] does represent me but somehow I shouldn't be entirely confused with what it is I produce.

NK: You are not. Shadow of death is definitely a quickening presence, though no bugbear... What is death to you?

DS: Transition.

NK: In this culture that, heartbreakingly, deems aging a catastrophe and sells afterlife for good behaviour, how does it feel to have reached a late middle age?

DS: Because of my mental make-up I've always welcomed aging. With the sheen of youthful beauty and the radiance of innocence gone something other takes its place. Age has a beauty all its own that is suitably timely. There's a liberation of sorts from the superfluous, the surface of things:

"you looked into mirrors/where death was at work/of that you were certain/but it was all surface/and surface is numb"

It's time to work.

NK: Tell us about the rabbits. Hunted in "Brilliant Trees", killed and skinned in "Manafon". Are you casting yourself on both sides of the hunt?

DS: The hunting metaphor in relation to the act of creation has a long lineage. Also in relation to the persecution of artists disapproved of by the state. The scapegoat.

NK: "And if everything still matters, what then?" - "There is no maker, just inexhaustible indifference." And here, to an outside ear, you sound quietly exhilarated. Do you consider the question answered?

DS: I fail to differentiate between the emptiness and the fullness. Whatever the outcome 'I' as artifact, false construct, illusion, will not go on. Yes, there's comfort in that.

NK: Everyone has a horizon, that line we can't see past - not in ourselves, and not in others. The hope of reaching it dies hard, it seems, so we keep running. Are you still running?

DS: I've never considered this horizon. I can't seem to locate it. I've experienced boundlessness, infinite love and peace. I've also known the distress and claustrophobia of being absented from that. If running, it's usually away from self, away from, or towards death. There are many kinds of death in life. If you're not ready for the one you have to face there will be struggle, yes, running. If I'm running I took the precaution of taking my vows to the pursuit of 'truth' so I can't get far. Witness and participant.

Thank you: Mr Richard Chadwick, for making this exchange possible; also Cathy, for that one extra question.

By Natalia Kutsepova.
June 25, 2010