station by Paul Beaudoin

station

a record of aftermaths and in-betweens.
liminal state(s).

each piece a residue —
overheard, misremembered, or imagined too late.
these are not stories, exactly, but the dust of stories.
of someone whose name you’ve forgotten.
of music still playing long after you've left the room.
of what you noticed only once it was already gone.

these tracks do not arrive.
they wait.
they circle.
they hold open the door.
they ask you to listen for what isn't there.

the move in a liminal space isn't meant to be unfocused.
it is precise in its drift.
intentional in its fading.
nothing here resolves — because resolution is not the point.

Artist Statement

I know these pieces belong together.
They speak across each other.
Like parallel transmissions that never quite align, but hum in sympathy.

What matters isn’t what’s said, but how long it lingers.

This isn’t music about answers.
It’s music about what resists memory.
About the shapes memory takes when no one is watching.

station moves sideways.
It stops in places you didn’t mean to visit.
And sometimes, that’s where you learn the most.

—Paul Beaudoin

Paul Beaudoin is an interdisciplinary artist trained in music theory and composition. He dabbles in digital alchemy and conjuring.

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