It wafts through the air, a thinck sound that sways the listener. It evokes laughter or tears. It flows, strong as a fall gale, sweet as a forest whisper. In its intonations one can hear cheerful birds, or a dancing river, or the bloody clash of battle, or the regal march of a king and his entourage.
And this sound, this mystical dance for the ears, is produced by the mind of him. He does not just hear the music: he feels it, he knows it. His soul is wrapped around it. It possesses his mind and must find an exit. His fingers itch to release the commanding song. It is a cruel master, the music. It demands his full attention and will allow him no other lover. The very thing he creates dominates him and if he disobeys its leading, the craft sends the master into the merciless grasp of insanity.
So he plays. He pounds at the keys of the piano endlessly, trying to release the music. But his skill is not restrained to the black-and-whites. He beats it on a drum, chants it with his voice, plucks it on a guitar, caresses the sound out of a violin.
Only when he finds that perfect medium for the melody can his mind, body, and soul be free.
He loves the music, as much as it owns him. Every cell in his body devotes itself wholly to the music. It is his bride and his master. Sleepless nights and hungry days pass as he tries to quiet the yearnig desire within the core of his being. He is an outcast in society when he is creating, but a welcome celebrity when he succeeds. His creation sways men and seduces women. He is the magician with the treble clef. He is the surgeon for the soul.
He is the musician.
2 comments:
love it!
it reminds me of what i wrote about van gogh, http://www.eclecticwaters.com/2006/06/08/vincent-van-gogh-art/,
- only it caputures part of what I left unsaid
oops. that didn't work. you can just go to my blog and search under "van gogh" to find it :) it's the 2nd entry that comes up :)
Post a Comment