Art matters most when it's an act of renewal: When we give it to others, and their soul comes alive. When it opens their eyes, and helps them realize they've been asleep.
Renewal means seeing the world with new hope, and being forever changed. Discovering part of ourselves that had been long forgotten, or moving towards the person we've been longing to become.
No writing, but practice. It was rough: Our timing was off and it will take weeks for it to return, for muscle memory to kick in. I'm hoping it will come back sooner than later, but making predictions can be difficult.
Going through our songs felt awkward. Good, but awkward. I felt like a beginner, like I didn't know what I was doing. It was a comfortable-uncomfortable. Though I've been there before, it was if my body forgot, and had been slowly removing that person from my being, from my current character. Then, with the first song of practice, we showed up and swung open the door, and suddenly a part of me that was slowly fading away became bright again. I started asking questions: Who was that person? Will that person return? Can we make that person better? Are we making progress?
The stakes aren't high enough. That's the only thing I'm sure of. We need to put ourselves in situations where we can fail, and fail miserably. It's important that the stage isn't too big, but big enough to get a few bruises. That's the only way we will get better.
Here's the thought process: Higher stakes means more tension. More tension means more energy. More energy means more writing. More writing means more art. More art means finishing our double album. And that's all that matters.