I remembered tonight what it felt like, that ringing of final major
chord vibrating something deep within me, which sounds cliche' and is
because there's no other way to describe it except to experience the
elation of music. Even as a simple piece, my first Sonatina. I remember
Mrs. Hubbard making me go through a piece measure by measure, note by
note, first mastering the right hand, then the left hand, than taking
it to tempo, then focusing on the nuance, the sparkle in the stone,
almost as if she were teaching me sculpture. I'm starting to remember
that now. That discipline. That how to learn. That how to practice when
no one is around to hear those notes played over and over and over
again.
I practiced hard tonight, my Hanon making my forearms sore, my brain
telling my fingers that the next piece wouldn't require you, three and
four, creating just enough tension and interdigital positioning that I
would be into the first few measures before the whole five would unite
against the hand.
I'm also remembering the keys again, both touched and heard.
Hearing children walking outside made me think of a cool potential
finding bobby fischer/billy elliot flick - one where a poor
neighborhood scamp listens outside the window of a neighborhood piano
teacher, who agrees to give him/her lessons for free. I still haven't
figured out the conflict, the heart of the drama, and the heartwarming
ending, maybe Juilliard, maybe playing something beautiful at a sad
moment in his/her family's life.
Last night, I cooked dinner for myself for the first time in so long I
can't even remember. Just a spinach and potato frittata. I didn't even
remember, until now, that I forgot to harvest my herbs. It will last me
all week, I think, with my diminished ability to consume massive
quantities of food at one sitting.
I was thinking later about prophecy, about how the very act of bringing
children into the world intentionally, with hope, is itself an act of
prophecy and provocation, the belief that life can only get better.
12:39:36 AM
|
|