We live in an age of almost constant noise and motion, yet few stop to ask, ‘how do we measure the value of a pause?’

Poets and musicians have marked time - and space - in their compositions for many centuries. From the caesura’s in ancient texts, to more conventional marks such as the dashes and dots that demark space in the written word, an array of rests of various length, give shape and expression to musical notation.  And yet the value is not in the length of the pause, but in its relational quality, context, and the interpretation of reader and musician.

When learning a new piece of music, I’ll often begin with marking the score, shaping phrases, highlighting breaths - both for expression of words and intake of breath - giving shape and direction, and leaving space for the music to grow. The pencil would be there for as long as needed, impermanent markings that become embodied and changed over time. There is room for creativity and choice.

But how often do we choose to pause, and how are we relating to the spaciousness and quality of length and time?