The Piano

[storytimewithjoe]

As the perfect cap to a very nice weekend, last night we attended a concert at Paul’s church.  The concert, presented by students from the Orange County High School of the Arts (OCHSA), celebrated their twenty years of promoting fine arts and culture here in Orange County.  These events manage to combine talent, youth, energy, with a lot of good old-fashioned fun.  This particular presentation blended song, dance, and instrumental performance.  From Broadway to Classical, these kids skip effortlessly through a variety of entertainment like children on a playground hopscotch.  Yet, as entertaining as the overall concert was, nothing compared to one particular performance by a young artist.

 

Early in the concert, the M.C. introduced a 10^th grader who would be performing a classical piece on the grand piano.  I don’t speak music.  I don’t understand musical lingo whatsoever.  I heard the long name of a composer, some other technical jargon, and the term “Opus” (which I am certain did not refer to a penguin, but instead to a reference of work).  After being introduced, a young Asian woman walked out from the side of the stage.  Dressed in a simple black dress, the woman (who really was still more of a girl than a woman) made no eye contact with the audience, but simply with her piano.  She never smiled.  She never engaged the audience in any way.  It was as if we simply were not there, or as if we were somehow intruding.  As she sat down, she positioned herself and closed her eyes.  Then came…the pregnant pause.  Was something wrong?  Typically, it isn’t unusual at all for there to be a brief respite prior to a performance.  But this seemed somehow, unusual.  She was taking too long.  Waaaaay too long.  There was something wrong, I was sure.  There was something… different.  But then, she moved… and magic happened.

 

As her hands came down on the keys, the piece came to life.  As the complexity of the notes filled the room, resonating from the ancient wood of the surrounding rafters, she lifted us beyond the simple enjoyment of the piece.  Somehow, it was as if we were all a part of the performance.  As complex as the piece obviously was, this young girl traversed the notes effortlessly, with a grace like I have never seen.  From the vantage point of the front pew, I was able to see this young lady’s face as she performed.  Framed in a carved archway, the stained glass saints cast an illuminated glow down upon her, as if the saints themselves sent their blessing.  Beneath the windows, votive candles flickered and shimmered, adding a surreal glow around this unearthly performance.  As she played, she danced.  Her body moved about the keys as if she herself resonated with the tones – lifted by them.  Most people, like myself, simply cannot fathom the complexity of musical performance.  A small handful are able to grasp musical accomplishment to play with some degree of competence.  Yet, fewer still become one with it.  The rhythmic marriage between musician and music danced on as the notes grew in complexity and passion.  The expressions on her face revealed a joy and a rapture that traveled beyond simply playing for an audience.  We were not there to this young lady.  Perhaps the saints were there.  Perhaps the church was there.  Yet, for all she knew, she could be alone on the top of a mountain with her piano, and nothing would be different.  She would still be playing, and dancing in a rapture of artistic bliss.  Even more astonishing, for most of the performance, her eyes were closed.  She and the piano were one, dancing a lover’s dance.  And we, the audience, were simply the voyeurs to this melodic experience of the senses.

 

At the close of an exceptionally complex and utterly perfect performance, the final note resonated fading into silence.  The audience, completely mesmerized, simply could not break the blissful final note with applause.  It would be wrong.  It would be disrespectful.  Only when the last trace of the final note faded did the applause begin.  As if waking from a blissful slumber, the audience sprung to life.  The noise of applause and “bravos!” filled the church.  Yet, the young lady did not stay to hear.  As soon as she was done, she quickly stood and briskly walked away, her face suddenly shifting back to the same distressed look that she had displayed earlier.  She could not get away from the applause or the audience fast enough.  Perhaps the applause was simply not what this young artists yearned for.  Based on her performance, her yearning stems from the passion of the music.  For her, the piano itself was the reward – not the audience.  Not the earthly baseness of the applause.  Not the approval of non-musical goobers like myself.  For her, the reward was the music… the piano… the resonance… the rafters…the saints. 

 

I do not know what the future holds for this gifted artist.  But I wish her as much success as she deserves.  May the saints who cast their approval on her performance watch over her in her career, and may her music create as much joy for others as it clearly does for her.

Comments

[stormecho.livejournal.com]

Very nicely written! Oh, and Happy Monday!

[joeguppy.livejournal.com]

Thanks! Hugs

[joeguppy.livejournal.com]

Blush

[sasha-khan.livejournal.com]

In Arabic classical music, there is a concept called tarab, a state of ecstasy in the listener, inspired by a masterful performance.

Sounds like you had a nice dose of it.

[joeguppy.livejournal.com]

Table four - one order of Tarab with a side of lavash. :-)

[morrisman.livejournal.com]

As I always say, Joe... I love your writing style. And I think I would have loved the performance. I've often tried to attend the Gibbs High Performing Arts events down here in St. Pete.

The Piano

[(Anonymous)]

Thank you for this wonderful article. The church, by the way, is the Episcopal Church of the Messiah, at 614 N. Bush St., Santa Ana. We have lots of community outreach in our inner-city neighborhood. Interested in helping, drop me an email.

Biff Baker (biff@aleks.com)