Becoming Duchess Goldblatt

by Duchess Goldblatt

“Let me ask you this, Lyle,” I said. “How do you see ideas taking shape in your mind? Do you see a piece of paper with the story written on it?” He made a face. “What do you mean, how do I see ideas? I don’t know. They’re just ideas.” “I see a piece of paper in my mind, all the time, with words on it,” I said. I asked the Genius the same question. “I don’t see words, but I know what you mean. I see geometry everywhere,” he said. “I see dimensions. Patterns. Lines, angles, distance between objects in the room. The intersections of lines. When I hear music, I can see it as geometrical patterns.” “I think I read once that’s how Beethoven’s mind worked,” I said. “He could visualize music.” Lyle glanced back and forth between the two of us. “What?” I said. “No. Nothing,” he said. Later that night, when he was onstage in the acoustic show, he turned to John Hiatt. They always keep a friendly patter going between songs in their concerts. Lyle paused at one point, tuned his guitar for a long moment, and then deadpanned, “John, let me ask you. How do you see ideas forming in your mind? Do you see a piece of paper with a story written on it”—he held up his hands and waved them around—“or do you visualize music in equations and dimensions?” The audience laughed along at the oddity of it, and Hiatt gave it a little thought and went on to answer. But I don’t know what John Hiatt said because the Genius and I were laughing too hard to hear it.