Christopher W. McDonald

A little more than a decade ago, Chris started raising goats and aging cheese. A little more than a decade before that, he was making electronic music in his bedroom. A bit less than two decades after that, having recently taught himself to draw, he began to paint using egg tempera with the help of some generous chickens.

Around that time, she got married and became an oracle. Runes were drawn on the farmhouse, stars were watched, cards were read. He had already been director of sound for Ragnar Kjartansson for seven years or so and later perfected her ramen noodle recipe–homeground durum flour, very hot water, alkaline salts, and something else. There were two tricks: wrapping the cut noodles loosely in linen cloth to rest until firm and the something else.

It must have been at least three decades ago that he learned his first programming language. Superficially, yes, but still–he was just a kid. This February, he tapped the maple trees again. He also built machines in the city a long, long time ago and on a lunch break once suddenly realized he was listening to “Copacabana” on top of a glacier.