Turnstyles

Fragments of history, a cut-glass kaleidoscope, altered, recombined, remembered, redistributed, lost, recollected. Stored across time and space these pieces make up the memories we call our own, and the places we call home. These sounds are a face, hauntingly familiar. These smells are, like waves, both strange and comforting, reminding me of a time that I cannot place, and a place forever at the tip of my tongue. I could almost tell you. And this piano calls a tune from a long-distant childhood, the words I never really new, so I could never tell you. These voices and words are whispers of a million conversations, most now forgotten. They are dark as the night, but they look forward to morning. 7:24 AM. In my dreams someone was playing the piano.

How do you define what you call home? This is the question Zirafa hopes you ponder as you wander through the musical maze that is Turnstyles. His work approaches the eclectic in a familiar way, combining bits of noise and sound into something you could call home.