Two street musicians playing on the north end of Insadong. Violins fiddled for indifferent pedestrians. Across the way a father and daughter sit on a concrete post and listen. A handfull of people pause for a brief minute, listen, chat, and continue on their way. The notes float to the sky. They won’t last. There will be no recording. No encore tonight. But the fiddlers smile and play to their hearts content.
We do not create to have our work last forever. We create to set spark to our brief existence and set fire to our world so we all live a little warmer, a little more enlightened and yes, a little more dangerous as well.