Mind if I sit here

I literally have no idea what I’m doing here, but my fascination with chairs has always been equal to (if not greater than) the one I feel for pencils and umbrellas. They’re things that have always been there for us and have rarely let us down. Sure, they break and they evolve, but their essence, usefulness and beauty remain the same. This world isn’t short on sublime things, many created by us humans, and many not. But the fact that they’re still there, and that we barely notice them, stirs in me a certain curiosity and compassion, the same one I should have toward myself in many ways.

Music has been my chair: one I’ve played with and enjoyed, and through which I’ve been learning about myself and the world around me for years. A chair, a vehicle, a hat, a mask, but never a raincoat. A chair you don’t rest in, but one where you settle your head just enough so you can keep going. Without it, I couldn’t have created anything I’ve created. But I feel that chair cracking with time, whether from age or the weight of reality. I could easily turn it into an armchair, but comfort is addictive and replacing those cushions can be a hell of a task... I don’t mean to sound austere, and I hate to give advice, but I think the world needs more chairs and fewer armchairs. So I’ve decided to slowly restore my chair, for the sake of my mental health and the creativity I’ve been developing all these years.

My chair is your chair, and my surname is Mesa.