A Body of Work, Shared

We’ve never been especially interested in safe work.

Most of what we’ve learned about creativity came from saying yes before we knew how something would hold—entering unfamiliar rooms, working across difference, and staying long enough for uncertainty to stop being threatening and start becoming useful. Risk has never been the opposite of care in this work. It’s often been the price of doing something honest.

That posture has shaped everything behind Voice of Maasai.

Years of collaboration, return, and shared authorship—across music, language, place, and time—have trained this work far more than any single project ever could. The writing we’re sharing now exists because of that long practice.

Today, we’re making space for it.

A small body of essays is now live, published together as part of a larger creative ecosystem. These pieces examine creative practice from the inside: where efficiency breaks down, where improvisation carries responsibility, and where meaning accumulates through time rather than momentum. They weren’t written to perform quickly or resolve cleanly. They were written to stay with the work.

Launching them together matters. They’re meant to be read in conversation, out of sequence, or returned to later. This isn’t a feed. It’s a place to linger.

It took time to understand where some of this writing belonged. Years of journal notes, travel observations, and unfinished reflections didn’t want to resolve cleanly into a book—but they didn’t want to disappear either. Letting these essays live as lived perspectives—work shaped by experience rather than conclusion—felt like the most honest choice.

Alongside the essays, there’s now room for other forms of work—poems, visual projects, and field notes. Some arrive as fragments, some as reflection, some as image or sound. All of them come from the same questions that have shaped the music: how trust is built, how collaboration lasts, and how creativity circulates when it’s treated with care.

This writing is moving toward my memoir but the book isn’t the point yet. It’s one form this thinking will take. For now, the work is still unfolding.

This is slow publication. Not because the work is precious, but because it’s alive. We share when there’s something worth staying with—when the question keeps returning, or the risk still feels unresolved.

If you’ve followed the music, supported the work, collaborated alongside it, or simply stayed curious over time—thank you. This writing is part of that same continuity.

You’re welcome to read, linger, and return.

→ Stay awhile

This writing grows out of the same long-term collaborations that shape our music.