After over a month of quite solitary life I could write about time endlessly. About how it becomes like that early summer honey: transparent, thick, unruly. About how it is being rather than flowing. About learning to live within it, rather than trying to manage it.

I could also write loads about my companions in this time – two cats and an army of sprouts-becoming-a-garden: potatoes, squash, green peas, tomatoes, lettuce, kale, worm-infested-bell-pepper.

When I moved into my present apartment in one of those grey and sad-looking areas of this city, lines upon lines of Soviet block-houses, knit tightly into some sort of a maze-for-sleepwalkers, the saddest thing, to me, were not even those grey buildings, but the bars on the window of my balcony. It’s the first floor, a composer had had his entire sound-system stolen here, my landlord explained.

There is this huge grey bush in front of the window, its branches resonating with the bars on the window. One month back, when the quarantine started, it was as grey as everything in this part of town. Day by day, I’ve been watching the bush swelling with buds, the buds opening and becoming leaves, waiting for it to go in bloom. My cats stand on their back paws up on a chair, leaning against the window with the front ones, and watch out of the window some two dozen sparrows flying, chirping, charging, feeding themselves around this bush. Would I have taken time to observe this transition if I were living as I did before all this? I’d probably have contented myself with furtive glances, short-lived discoveries and missed on all of this – things happening within time.

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Most of what I planned to start doing has been postponed, to a later time or to an indefinite time. Which is fine. However, a sound installation I had had scheduled for December 2020 has been rescheduled to August, which I am happily worried about.

I am working on sounds (as if I’ve ever not worked on sounds), so if all goes well, or if I’m well, to be more precise, by the end of 2020, even me with my extremely slow turnout, I’ll have something out. “Something” as in “an album”. Digital probably, unless I have a change of heart.

Matters, a project I curate since 2018, which has been proven a bumpy road indeed, is halted for the moment, as funding is unknown and I am not having any answers.

Budynės, a project that had been planned for June in Samogitia, North-West of Lithuania, will take place over summer, hopefully, and will be presented sometime in the start of Autumn.

For now I am just writing a lot, reading even more, listening to music, making some and watching life unfold.