I've always felt that classical music's magic in moving people without words is sublime.
Sometimes the unique ensemble of words achieves the same effect. This is especially true with the language of Molière.
Andrés, my good friend from Valencia who is fluent in French, sent me a card with the French photographer Edouard Boubat's famous "Plutôt la VIE" photo. First impressions of this phrase probably include a political statement and the importance of life (vie). However, on a literary level, I find the word plutôt much more intriguing.
Plutôt means rather, instead. It signifies a choice. And if life is one choice, what is the other? Death, war, imprisonment, or something else? Additionally, it suggests a difficult choice. Under what sort of a difficult circumstance must one make the difficult choice of life? The answer must be different for each person.
"Des yeux qui font baisser les miens, un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche." These gentle words come from Edith Piaf's "La Vie en Rose." When I read French, I don't attempt to translate it into English or Mandarin - for me it's too difficult. Each languages possesses its own rhythm and life that simply cannot be mimicked by another. Rather, I simply fills these words with images.
I think of "des yeux qui font baisser les miens" as "eyes that make lower my own." Whose eyes have the power to make me lower my own eyes? I don't close them, I don't turn away, and I don't look back - I lower my eyes. Elegant, isn't it? But why? Am I shy, embarrassed, ashamed, or do I have something to hide? It conveys so much meaning that no translation (at least not mine) can do it justice. Word for word, the second phrase is "a laugh that loses itself on his/her mouth." My heart melts every time I read these words. Whose mouth is it? What does a laugh on a mouth look like? Why does it laugh? How does it get lost on the mouth? In what manner - mischievously, lovingly, coyly, playfully?
I don't have answers; so much more fun to imagine.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
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.
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.
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