Art is not truth, but rather the story we tell that reflects what we perceive to be the truth. Even what we see with our own eyes is not what is actually there; a crow that we would describe as black appears blue to another crow. So what are we left with, if what we see is not truth? We are left with art — our closest approximation of truth — and all art is a story. 

 

Ever since I was a little kid, I’ve tried to tell stories in whatever medium I could: writing, drawing, playing music, acting, etc. As I grew up I refined those skills, and came to be aware of that part of myself: the storyteller. That is why much of what I write is instrumental: music without words tends to speak more clearly. Art and music are languages unto themselves that don’t need words to survive. 

 

I feel that sound is crucial. I often spend a lot of time (sometimes weeks) perfecting a sound, particularly when it comes to synthesizers. I like the sonic landscapes I create to sound organic, even when they’re not. I strive to capture the feelings of my home — Palmer, Alaska — which is surrounded by birch, spruce, and mountain ash trees, and towering mountains to the north and south. I mostly do this by choosing vintage, analog-sounding synthesizers, warm guitars, grand pianos, and traditional orchestra instruments, because the sound they produce is more grounded and earthy.

 

What I’m working on now is something that I’ve wanted to do for a long time: to create a full length, instrumental dance music album. Part of this process is weeding out what works and what doesn’t; what speaks, and what is silent. In other words, I am looking for truth, as far as I can tell.

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     —Cooper Rae Blankenship