I love walks. Long endless walks into the unknown, to timelessness, when the watches melt and the seasons mix with the parts of the day. When the darkness comes without an announcement. When you simply find yourself there. At one moment the sun is on your face, and in the next you are surrounded by darkness.
Day and night walks. The morning ones as well that make your thoughts clear. They are a therapy against the unbearableness. They are sacred walks. From the asphalt to the dusty road with soil that remains in your shoes. In return the spoil takes the darkness from you. Despair sticks to the air, and the music in your ears is the only tranquiliser that works. The favourite book under your arm or in your pocket. In your hand maybe.
Stuart A. Staples and Susanne Osborne published the book ‘Singing Skies’. It contains seventy five lyrics of Tindersticks. It is poetry that functions for itself without mistakes. The poems are types on a typewriter and the skies as oil on canvas were painted by Suzanne every day for a whole year. ‘Singing Skies’ should be carried as an artefact always for the walks one does not know where they will take him. It could become a rule.