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On Solitude

 

Since childhood, I’ve had a tendency towards solitude. I loved being alone with myself, when no one would disturb my thoughts. This trait, on the one hand, distanced me from people — but on the other, it brought me closer to myself. And this, in turn, allows me to better understand the world around me. That’s the paradox.

 

As a rule, I create music in solitude — but that’s only at first glance. In a certain sense, it’s a dialogue with the Universe. I say something to it, and it responds. This gives birth to music, to art.

 

On the other hand, I haven’t found myself in typical collective creativity — at least not in the realm of music‑making. That doesn’t mean, however, that I work completely alone on SFU. For example, I might invite a sound engineer for mixing and mastering, or an artist to create visuals. But even in those cases, I try to convey my own ideas as fully as possible to those I collaborate with, so as to communicate the original vision.

 

Perhaps one could say that Ships Fly Up is music for introverts — though not entirely. Let me share another paradox: if you stop being afraid of solitude, you no longer feel alone — even when there’s no one around. And you can only experience this when you halt your frantic daily race and the imposed socialising with those who drain your energy.

 

In this world, overflowing with the madness of frenzied people, it’s hard to do this and to hear eternity — but at least, one should try.

“I have always been a horse in a one‑horse team; I am not made for tandem or teamwork… for I know well: to achieve a certain goal, it is crucial that one person both thinks and commands.”
— Albert Einstein