Archived using an out of date second hand iphone on a screen that wears a few hundred cracks in the coltan, this device captured all the sounds and some sights of the daily retrieval into the camera obscura. 90 consecutive days and a few nights, I set out with no expectation other than to push myself to perform publicly and hone the technique into some form of capability. Pressing record was an afterthought that became a habit whenever I felt moved. What began as a whim of an idea turned into a profound chapter in my life. Everything I do and live for is encoded in these moments. They contain strengths, pure convictions of joy and bliss contrasted by agonizing doubts and absolute vulnerability, sometimes all within a single phrase or in a few measures. Some days were spent in grief; for old pets, friends, family and my father, all passed on. As I explored the depths and heights of experience, creativity and the process, the guitar kept me afloat when I was sinking and anchored me if I was flying out of control. The birds (as you will hear) became much more than an influence but an interactive accompaniment, musically and spiritually. Even if there was no human audience they reminded me I was never entirely alone. All I had to do was show up. I never regretted one second. This music was whittled down from over 20 hours of voice memos to the 65 minutes that I present here as Concert Obscura 2019. As it turned out, I opted for more improvised takes versus the more thought-out and pre-organized pieces on the basis of feel alone. I left the sour notes and didn't doctor a thing. The birds sang in real time, distant traffic passed by at random, winds picked up off the Bay and from the woods thunder rang. I used the same old set of strings for the entire time on the same guitar. As I concluded in the blog I maintained, no matter how many variables I controlled and standardized routines were kept, every single moment is utterly unique and I am a beginner every time.