picture poem

 

 

 

 

a sweet girl

born 1953

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I grew up in a nice house with a very nice garden. Surrounded by family, siblings and friends. Yet alone. A lonely child. Surviving solely by the fact, that it was allowed to be a creative child in my home. And also. We had a piano. A beautiful old piano. The very sight of it. I loved it. Having been taught notes since I was seven. Playing different kinds of recorders; soprano, alto, tenor, it was easy for me to find my way into the black and white world of the keys. And then. In the late sixties. A most ‘handsome’ western guitar arrived. Lost in the songs of Joan Baez Bob Dylan Joni Mitchell – I started to sing.

 

 

 

 

 

to be continued …

 

 

 

 

 

 

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