Months ago, perhaps years ago, I would have thought everything revolved around the implements. The wood. The leather. The sound. The difference between one and the next.
Not anymore.
What occupies my mind now is the moment before.
The decision.
The transition.
The way one implement leaves his hand so another can take its place.
I do not understand why that detail has become so important.
But it has.
It appears while I am working.
While I am walking somewhere ordinary.
While I am trying to think about anything else.
And it always ends the same way.
Not imagining the impact.
But imagining him observing.
Evaluating.
Adjusting.
Refining.
As if every element belongs to a mechanism far larger than I am.
Perhaps that is what I cannot stop thinking about.
The feeling that there is a design.
A design that continues to exist even when I am not there to witness it.
I never would have imagined myself waiting for something like this.
I cannot even explain when it started to matter.
Because I do not feel a particular fascination with the implement itself.
Not even with the outcome.
What returns again and again is the image of someone constructing a process with absolute patience.
And somehow, finding a place for me inside it.
The paddle.
The strap.
The transition between them.
In my imagination they no longer appear as objects.
They appear as decisions.
As chapters in a sequence that exists because someone has thought it through beforehand.
And there is something deeply calming about that.
Not because it removes uncertainty.
But because it replaces uncertainty with direction.
Entire days pass with me replaying tiny scenes.
The way an implement is placed on a table.
The pause before another is chosen.
The sound of footsteps approaching.
The silence that fills a room when there is nothing left to discuss.
Insignificant details.
And yet those are the details that remain.
I still do not know exactly what I enjoy about it.
I genuinely do not.
But I am beginning to suspect that it is not about intensity.
Or endurance.
Or even surrender.
It is something much simpler.
The strange peace that comes from knowing someone has already thought of everything.
That every adjustment has been made.
That every decision has already been taken.
That the process continues moving forward even while I remain still.
And then the stillness arrives.
That feeling that settles inside my chest and refuses to leave.
There are still days left.
Nothing is happening yet.
And yet part of me already feels present there.
Waiting.
Watching.
Feeling that every element occupies exactly the place it was meant to occupy.
And that my only responsibility is to arrive at that moment.
And remain.
I have to move the neck I am not moving it the neck has locked I should…
