Day 646: Monsters and Open Strings

The Ministry of Stories

I enjoyed that rich-voiced cello today. It sang the best it could, on the end of my arms and hands. It did its thing. I've just been to a cello concert at the Royal Academy of Music (for which I'm grateful too). Now THERE's a way to play. It was really quite something. Maybe I'll never sit up on that stage and take the room by storm, but I'll play something in a way that makes me smile. I already did that today, with all its failings. I'm already trying to listen to every warm, fat, full note and let my body notice what it did, what I was thinking, feeling, where my focus was to make that sound. 

makes these

I saw two types up on that stage - those who process music with their mouths and those who don't. In the nuance, some with mouths and some with faces too; some with just the face, but not the mouth. Some (most) with bodies, though one or two cellists seemed implacable. I like the chewers best. One held the low notes like a ping-pong ball or plum, or a whole Kinder egg. The soloist - the main woman - used every bit of herself to sense it and to play. She was fascinating. At times, I worried for her, but her expressions were a joy to be in front of (and we were at the very front, right in the middle). 

I am lucky to be the receiver of clear information, and still the ditherer with it. It's my sticky prerogative, and at some point the crows will caw again and the game will be up. I'm almost there. I think becoming the giver of it might help with that. Mirror, mirror, mirror, if nothing else, you're consistent.

Thanks, Grundel. You know why. Thanks for my lost phone found and for a sweet American Monster lady.