Frustration and Beauty
You know how things can get lodged in some corner of your mind and you can't get them out? A tune that nags at you? Or a thought that won't let go?
I've been frustrated as hell, fighting with myself. One part of me is desperate to get back into the exchange I started with that antivaxxer guy from my distant past; another part of me tells me I need to recognize my own limitations: I'm not going to persuade this guy to change his views. I can't be sure whether I'm to blame for not finding the right words or to lay it on him for his inability to see how inadequate his skills are for engaging in a serious argument. I've made a commitment to not engage further because he appears to me to be the quintessence of obstinacy and all the alarm bells are telling me to quit before I say something unkind and unproductive. But the teacher in me nags away at the thought that giving up on somebody, effectively writing him off, is surrendering to my least worthy instincts. I should keep going, fight the frustration with more action, and not run to fight another day, in another way, with a more worthy opponent. The frustration is high.
I decided to pry the nagging thought loose with another nagging thought, this one a melody that won't let go and has been spinning in my head for weeks now. It's a melody by Schubert, his Fantasie in F minor, as played by the Jussen Brothers. I never tire of it and keep coming back to it for reasons I can't explain.
The sun has gone down, and I went up to my room, which has the last rays of the sun leaking through the drawn shades, and put the piece on and let myself get into a dark and wonderful meditative place. It has not dislodged the frustration, but it has coated it with something quite beautiful.
The beauty is not of my imagination. Credit goes to the producers of a concert the Jussen Brothers gave at Amsterdam's Concertgebouw, who obviously know their stuff.
The two brothers are sitting on a bare stage with just a luxurious black-lacquered Steinway, dressed in black brocade jackets and bathed in a deep blue hue mixed with a golden light on their youthful golden hair and handsome faces.
And they start in. Da-dum-da DAH da. Da-dum-da-da DAH da. Those opening notes repeat endlessly throughout the piece and are the very essence of a sound that won't let you go. Not a lyrical melody. Not bel canto. Very German, somehow. But oh, so elegant. Orderly. Constant. Reliable sounds.
It takes a while to realize there's an audience taking all this in. For the longest time all I could see was the blue light and the contrast provided by the golden yellow of the inside of the piano, the hair and faces and white hands of the two young men and the dimly lighted chandeliers around the hall. Virtually no color. No reds. No greens or purple*. Just black and gold. And that exquisite deep deep blue.
There's so much there to admire. The talent of these brilliant concert young pianists. The production person who came up with the blue lighting idea.
And the audience, which knows to delay their applause for the longest time when they finish. They let the mood run its course, withhold acclaim until they see the boys relax entirely. What a treat it must be to play before such a sophisticated audience.
I'm still frustrated.
But I'm feeling oh so much better.
*OK, so there's a touch of purple!
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