Workforce

Work from insomnia by the light of a gas lamp, even if there is another and another light, or even sleep. Vigil light, nightstand next to the instrument of creation, of expression, its tool of action. He tires his hand on ivory and black enamel amid great tobacco smoke, which is for him to open a path in known and unknown land. 

While studying for discipline or pleasure a prelude, a nocturne, even when reviewing as if playing a Cuban dance from the 19th century, he creates, raises mysteries in spaces that seemed clear, discovered in their terminal sense. It superimposes, alludes and —why not— ornaments, for something embellishment it was the original expression of the notion of improvisation in early jazz. 

He walks through delicate mists without dissipating them, barely brushing them with his still youthful shoulder, caressing them. And that's how he usually finds himself, that is, that's how he raises his own delicate mists. In this way he exercises a kind of trade that for now people call "compose", although it would be necessary to name it in a more exact way: a verb that balances between pure creation and the birth of a first seed shoot that dialogues with the dew of a morning that has always existed. His songs —let's call them that, or compositions, or texts, works or conversations— belong to a first germinative state, at the moment of opening his eyes before a cathedral and beginning to describe it without his eyes having recovered from the dazzle. 

He has created music for the virtuoso performer that he is and also to unleash laughing improvisation, paraphrase; to the mature intertext. And he has created, above all, to venture into the territory where he feels best, a space that mediates between known land and unknown land. 

Jazz is capable of doing things like this, at least as Ernán López-Nussa understands it and explains it to us with his hands and his works.