Nobody realised the sun was lazy, but some of us, like Jonty, assumed if he felt lazy, everything around him was lazy, too. Including the music he put on the open-air loudspeaker. A gentle rhythm of near silence, that suited to sitting under the blue sky. It was always a blue sky. It was as if Jonty lived in a painting with a permanent sun that could not be bothered to cross the sky. And a blue sky that resisted the clouds busying themselves to scud across it. Resisted the clouds as they sat at the edge of the painting as a fluffy frame. If you put an ear to the canvas you could enjoy Jonty’s composing of Patio Blues. Or so you imagined.
It turned out to be the next opted music craze, if only you could bottle it as an option at all. The sound of a painting painted in blue and a smudge of orange above the neat grey patio slabs with not a weed between them. Then you wondered — where was Jonty? The work of art was so minimal, the shape of Jonty had been subsumed. The perfect music would be music that nobody needed to hear. Just an empty patio, patio being a word that had lost its meaning, yet still there.
If there at all, now. An empty painting and no painter to claim its ever being painted.
Listen, can you hear it? It’s there around us, assuming we are there at all. Forgotten the earlier part of what had been written for us, or told to us, and why. Where was the man sitting, what was his name and what is the title that was given to what we are being told and to the piece of music itself? In a world with a frozen sun, any climate foregone. Blue sky event horizon thinking not even an option.
Very relaxing music indeed.