I'm as happy as you are bored.

(As with most of these obtuse pieces, Five Implementations of ThreeLines is better viewed in the PDF format.)

For a few days, I'd intended to bring back a liter or two of water fromthe Aegean Sea. I was planning on pouring a centiliter or two of the wateronto a sheet of nice rag paper, letting it evaporate, and repeating theprocess until all that was left was the "essence" of the Aegean.The more I thought about it, the more I liked it, until I thought too muchand ended up with too many complexities.

Complexity No. 1: Most of the work of done I've done in the last fewyears can be digitally stored, transmitted, and reproduced ad infinitum.The watermarks (the working title I have for the project) would each beunique, incapable of being digitally stored, transmitted, or reproduced.The idea of having to take care of precious pieces of paper seems to besomewhat incompatible with my pseudonomadic life.

Complexity No. 2: Maybe water's not the way to go. Would a trip to Scotlandbe better represented by the essence of a few drams of Islay whiskey? Bythe essence of a few drams of Islay whiskey after they'd passed throughme?

Complexity No. 3: I worry that the watermarks may be one of those cleverideas that I've subconsciously taken from someone else. I have no problemswith using someone else's ideas, but only if it's deliberate.

I think I may be too analytical. As Howard Dietz said, "Composersshouldn't think too much--it interferes with their plagiarism."

It sounded like a good idea; I'll have to try it one of these days.

It must be true.

I enjoyed reading the piece; Kelly's tale seems like one of those rarethe-cream-rises-to-the-top art world stories. ("The scum rises to thetop" is a much more common theme.) The sketch ended on a disconcertingnote, when Kelly said he would have liked to have been an explorer or anaturalist.

"I wanted to do all these things," he said, "and now Ithink they've passed me by. But I've always had this crusade to do whatI do. I don't feel I could do anything else."

That remark sounded uncomfortably close to something I might write inthree decades. I've still got time not to less other pursuits pass me by.

I think I'll stop writing and go for a walk.

That might not be true, but it feels true. That's why I find it unnervingwhen someone like Woody Allen hits the ceiling.

"I still try and practice [the clarinet] at least an hour aday, and have for forty years. I know there's a lid on my playing, thatI'm never going to get beyond that lid, that I'm going to sound prettymuch the same forever. But playing this old primitive [jazz] music is anessential part of my life."