how to boil water with a cello

Feelings.

We all have them (I think), but which of us can fully express them or even create them with an object.

That is perhaps the epitome of a true artist - someone able to elicit feelings from another being through an object such as a pen, a camera, or a cello.

It's a good sign, really, that Irina and I are exploring the emotions of a musical piece; that suggests I've made enough progress to advance beyond the basic techniques of cello playing. But, as a Valley Girl would tell you - it's like, so, hard.

I was questioning whether I possessed any feelings as Irina and I plodded through a sonata this afternoon. The tempo of the second movement was adagio, and Irina's words were - oh, how shall I put this... yes - "When you play the long notes, Alex, I feel like dead." Hey, no kidding, I felt that way too. Then she demonstrated how long notes should be played, and of course they sounded amazingly alive.

It's like a pot of boiling water, she told me. Honestly, she has an endless supply of analogies that I should put in a book. When I play, it's like a low simmer - not much is moving: all the water is safely contained in the pot. When she plays, it's a pot of vigorously boiling water - everything moves and there is tremendous energy: drops of water are craving to jump right out of the pot. Same temperature, yet very different results and feelings.

I completely understand the concept. But finding a way to unleash this energy will be a journey. A difficult one, as I will need to think in ways I haven't wanted to in the past.

Expanding on this concept of expressing feelings through music, Irina recalls attending a concert where Gil Shaham played a violin concerto by Mozart. She is a fan of Mozart, but until the concert, she simply enjoyed Mozart's work as great pieces of musical literature. On that day when Gil Shaham stood on stage playing Mozart, she felt as if Mozart were present and infusing her with his music.

I haven't experienced such an epiphanous musical moment myself, unfortunately. The closest I have gotten is getting goosebumps and chills down my spine when I listen to Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 2. But again, I can understand that moment - it's a moment when you feel as if some great, divine truth is pouring into you and you understand everything that revolves around this world, be the moment music, poetic, verbal, or cinematic.

To be honest, I have had a very brief with the moment, but I cannot recall when, where, or how. Perhaps it was in a dream. I don't know. I just remember for those few seconds, everything was clear - I saw and heard and understood all. I think writing about this moment and telling stories about it will help me to find it again.

It's a cold day in San Francisco. I'm going to boil some water for tea.