Hang on! Casey’s first read was a bleary eyed one
.
Thats the first thing he said. Everything that follows in his post is subject to that qualification UNTIL he reads it again when NOT bleary eyed.
True. I have reformed my hunch about it.
“As the condensation which forms on the inside of a flute after playing could be considered the distilled essence of the flute player…”
Or then again it might be just dribble, like this “essay”.
Cheers
Graeme
Are you aware how many goals are set up by dribbling?
Perhaps some of you have never played soccer.
Instead, it seems you’re trying your luck with an inane game
called sockher.
Dribble is in the eye of the beholder!
I would think that it would help if the
beholder was short…
and too close 
If I may offer this:
To me Elizabeth Petcu’s essay is about much more than just Martin Doyle and the wonderful craft of flute making; or Desi Wilkinson and the wonderful art of flute playing; or about the flutes themselves and the limitless conversation we call music - it is about the spiritual or inner connection that we all have. We are all connected by the subtle yet powerful reality of a common source. Quantum scientists call this reality ‘The Quantum Field’, a spiritual Master might call the same thing God or, as in India, Paramatman - the Supreme Reality. Some say The Universe or Nature, some might say music - some might even say eating out at McDonalds! This common source is known by as many names and images as there are beings on this wonderful planet. An example: in the late 60s, my father was very involved in the Scouting movement and my mother once told me that (just before he succumbed to cancer in 1971) he had commented to a close friend that if there was a God, he had found it in the scouting movement. He enjoyed the camaraderie and oneness that existed in the particular group that he was involved with to the extent that it was heaven for him.
I guess everyone will take something different from Elizabeth’s work. I have personally enjoyed the individual posts - enjoyed the multifarious viewpoints and the craic.
On a slightly different tangent regarding the wooden flute and wooden flute makers, I sometimes find myself imaging the sheer joy of the first people who blew through a pieces of wood or bone and realised that they could make a sound that was perhaps a little more special than the language they used for everyday communication - a sound etherial and beautiful from a simple instrument that connected them to something vaster than their own reality. Perhaps they also imagined or could foresee the tremendous potential and variety of such an instrument - who knows?!
And imagine the esteem that the ancients would have had for someone who had figured out how to make holes in a bear femur or a piece of wood that enabled one to play a simple melody! Would it not have been mighty? Today we are spoilt for choice in terms of flute makers. They come in so many shapes, coulors and sizes - and surely this variety exists for the sake of the players.
I know a fellow in New York who is completely enamoured by the work of Casey Burns - every time I see him he always talks about his Casey Burns flute and how wonderful it is and how he loves to play it. I do not think that they have not met, but my friend thinks the world of Casey Burns and I am always so happy for him because I know what it means to be happy and on good terms with the maker whose flutes I play! I know another fellow here in New Zealand who will not look past Michael Grinter. A woman I recently communicated with in Canberra told me that Terry Magee was the bee’s knees in flute making because he kindly made her a flute to accommodate her tiny fingers. And, as some may know, I am good friends with Martin Doyle and am very content with his flutes. Others have their contemporary and historic favourites. Who is the best flute maker? That’s a discussion that has unknown beginnings and an endless end - but personally I like to admire them all as each in his own way is pushing or being pushed by the ceaseless march of evolution. They, like the musicians that play their instruments, serve the universal language we call music. Like flowers in a garden, each has it’s own colour and fragrance, and the variety offers joy to the nature and needs of the observer.
So perhaps this is what we flute players all live for - ‘a flute to suit’ as Desi Wilkinson states - and a tune that reminds us of our Eternal Home or some place where we feel comfortable…
“After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.” - Aldous Huxley.
Thanks for your patience - Shardul.
Excellent post Shardul, and very well said. Thank you for your insightful thoughts and eloquence in your writing-it was a pleasure to read!
Be well, Barry
Very kind of you Barry - your encouraging comment is gratefully appreciated.
My best,
Shardul.