Thursday, August 28, 2008
Hug A Musician...They Never Get to Dance
After the Curtain
Oil on Canvas 20" X 16"
...So reads a bumper sticker I have stuck to my studio wall. If you have been following these musings, you already know the fondness I have for music. Then I must have fondness for those who make it. In fact, I'm in awe of them.
Think about it. A musician practices, mostly in solitude, for an instant of perfection that disappears as soon as it sounds. Music is temporal in the extreme. As soon as the sound is produced, it evaporates into the air. It is the most abstract of all the arts. You can read a beautiful poem over and over. You can watch a great film whenever you want. You can look at a Monet for years, and think about it whenever it pleases you. But live music only lives in the memory. True--a recording preserves a piece of music played at one time, but when you go to a concert or a performance of an opera, symphony, musical, recital, jazz band, rock concert, the only thing you take home with you is an impression of what you heard only moment by moment. That's what the musician/performer lives for--to create those moments to perfection.
So it's a difficult task and a tough way to live--unless you are entirely devoted to it and work at it endlessly.
Here's a picture inspired by an image I came across in "New Yorker" magazine. I left some things out and changed others as I wanted to communicate the aura of the musician. The curtain has fallen for the last time. She has packed up her 'cello and goes out alone into the night. There's a spotlight for her if she goes to it, a home across the way, otherwise looming darkness. But she'll be back another time-the muse is relentless.