The Witch’s Broom / The Flying Flute / The Enchanted Drum
Often, when I change the sheets of the bed, I listen to the sound of the fabric as it flaps and rises into the air, as I brush the creases out with my hands and tuck it under the mattress. Then, the drumming and plumping of the pillows, the wrestling and shaking of the duvet into its cover. It is an old dance, this one. We’ve all done it. The smell of soap and softener. The agitated air. Dust particles in the light. I change my daughters bed sheets, too, moving her soft toys out of the way then lining them up again, her favourite ones by the pillow, the rest at the foot of the bed. I hand wash the hand-dyed clothes I wear from Kiraku, turning the cold water deep blue, wringing them out and hanging them to drip dry. Then there’s the dustpan and brush, because the hoover doesn’t really work anymore. I enjoy the simplicity of it all, and try to be with all of these actions, and nowhere else, which isn’t always easy. I do the same when playing the flute.
These rituals of the home place my hands into those of my mother, grandmother and beyond. I remember watching it happen around me when I was small and unable to participate, like with the stove in the kitchen. I always played ‘home’ and took it seriously, preparing bowls of dry pasta for my family to pretend to eat. Later, I had my own kettle with bags of smokey Lapsang Souchong and sweetened Ginseng tea in my teenage bedroom, where I read books and performed my own naive tea ceremonies alone in rural England. We are bound by these transformative acts, gestures that echo through generations of home makers, across time, space, culture and language.
I can understand why the broom would be the witch’s choice for flying instrument. I think of flying because I am flying as I write this to Luxembourg to perform as Zashiki Warashi with Akinori Fujimoto. We met at dawn today like ancestral brothers at the airport. We share a suitcase filled with costume that we have ironed and folded at our respective homes, leaving for our journey while our families sleep. It is my flute and Aki’s drums that fly us into new places, real and imagined. As we play, we transport ourselves and audiences together.
And, as with changing the sheets, we leave the air shaken, some dusty clouds dissipated. We are doing the housework, home-making, and taking care of what is important to us, as people always have, and always will. Using what we have to hand, we cast our spells and ride our witch’s broom into the vast skies, continuing to shake the sheets, preparing for a new day, no matter how turbulent the times.
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This was written by Mikey Kirkpatrick on Wednesday 20th November 2024 en-route to Luxembourg to perform at the Rainy Days Festival.