The Piano
The grand piano stood out prominently. Against the background noise of pouring rain, it is silent. Like how silence can be deafening, being still can convey much.
The piano can be compared to an old man, who has grown old gracefully, retaining the knowledge of the experienced, exuding charisma of seniority, of the one who knows the way of the world.
A piano, nonetheless, is a tool not a person. A piano, like any instrument, is a mirror to the soul. It absorbs emotions and thoughts from the fingertips, transcribing it into hammering of the strings, which translates it to a language we call music.
Music is a language. From rhythm, from tempo, from arrangement of melody, from discordant and harmonious chords -- that's the whole phonology, morphology, syntax, semantics, pragmatism -- a language.
Countless people have played it. It shared their joys and griefs, and every emotion in between and beyond. In the story of Narcissus, the Lake cries because it can no longer see its beauty reflected in Narcissus' eyes. The piano is the same: it feeds on the language it was transmitting to hear its own beautiful sounds.
Now here come its Narcissus, sitting by the window, watching the deluge forlornly, but now was making his way towards it, fingertips ready to dance, a Creation is about to begin. Let there be light. It is said that when Haydn's oratorio Die Schöpfung (The Creation) is performed, when Chaos ends and the first movement is about to begin, when the orchestra burst into fortissimo on 'Licht', so great it was that the audience can see light flashing. Something like that, creating something out of nothing.
As soon as its Narcissus started to play, a lightning bolt struck. It has begun.
The piano can be compared to an old man, who has grown old gracefully, retaining the knowledge of the experienced, exuding charisma of seniority, of the one who knows the way of the world.
A piano, nonetheless, is a tool not a person. A piano, like any instrument, is a mirror to the soul. It absorbs emotions and thoughts from the fingertips, transcribing it into hammering of the strings, which translates it to a language we call music.
Music is a language. From rhythm, from tempo, from arrangement of melody, from discordant and harmonious chords -- that's the whole phonology, morphology, syntax, semantics, pragmatism -- a language.
Countless people have played it. It shared their joys and griefs, and every emotion in between and beyond. In the story of Narcissus, the Lake cries because it can no longer see its beauty reflected in Narcissus' eyes. The piano is the same: it feeds on the language it was transmitting to hear its own beautiful sounds.
Now here come its Narcissus, sitting by the window, watching the deluge forlornly, but now was making his way towards it, fingertips ready to dance, a Creation is about to begin. Let there be light. It is said that when Haydn's oratorio Die Schöpfung (The Creation) is performed, when Chaos ends and the first movement is about to begin, when the orchestra burst into fortissimo on 'Licht', so great it was that the audience can see light flashing. Something like that, creating something out of nothing.
As soon as its Narcissus started to play, a lightning bolt struck. It has begun.
2 comments:
Notes:
-- The Story of Narcissus here
-- 'Licht', as you may have suspected, is German for 'Light'
--rexy--
hmmm part6 came out earlier than expected=p well done!
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