I am here. On my island. In my father’s house. I live for one instance. The one in which inspiration comes and is immediately turned into music, before the eye sees colors, before the ear sets a tonal height. The heart steels music from time passing by the neighborhood, and sends it back as a command to the fingers. Simple and relaxed. Calm, still passionate. There is a love load here on my balcony that hopes to be expressed, meeting point of my past and future. And here I am, present and active receiver. Transformer and companion at the same time, without a second thought, without an eraser. Without visible listeners but only those who dictate that music to me. Scenery, sea and air become one with my love and dreams, my wounds and my delights. They are all facing me, as an axiom, as a gift made of light, as a foundation for my inner dreaming. My music. I am here. On my island, reaching out to the whole world. With my guitar, that never leaves this place, a gift from William, an aged sailor who brought it from Spain to Skiathos when I was a kid. Thank you. Once again.
An unsolicited tone base occurs every time I hold my guitar, inside the house, the balcony or the old, white marble staircase at the front door. It is dictated by the sound of the sea, the church bells and the birds. Or these swallows, full of hope. It is also this hawk, supervising every time I play music, here it comes and flies over me. I see his eyes when he stays still, a few meters away from the balcony. In this neighborhood, there was always a vibration that led to the heart. Music, place, time and myself form an integral whole. Love. Recording on my mobile phone, infused with island sounds, some in spring, some in summer. I don’t need anything else, only the truth. I am here, at Plakes, above the old harbor, where the mythical Pelasgians built. Next to the terrace - a remnant of the ancient walls that King Philip demolished. Where the wives and mothers of seafarers for centuries have gathered in the afternoons, talking and gazing at the sea, awaiting to see their beloved ones returning on the horizon. Just where the epitaph passes in the dawn, and all the people of the island stand and chant. Over the passing point. The one that inspired Papadiamantis and Moraitidis, was lived by Zisis Economou and Georgios Rigas, walked by Elytis, Sarantaris, Seferis and so many others. The one ran by barefoot children, crossed by pirates and barbarian conquerors. Couples fell in love, countless generations were born, lived and died.
There is a permanent light here and there is always a breeze. Others detect serenity while others agitation. Here, when I feel that I accept the blessing of inspiration I do not waste time to think of a form nor a harmonic sequence. I just welcome it. Perhaps after a while I will return to this intrinsic and good-hearted material and bring into life new songs, guitar ensembles or orchestral pieces. Share this raw, organic music that was born in me as unconditional love and do feel Skiathos as the land of your dreams.