Dec 2013
He was sitting still in front of his majestic grand piano, looking for an inspiration in the most desert part of his heart. He couldn’t create something wonderful if it hasn’t touched him, it must have been part his, part universal, connected and combined in the purest art of all.
Silence.
The memory of sweet homeland and childhood.
In his mind he could see a little boy, lost in the water while the storm was getting closer and closer. The fear of unknown was getting from the fingertips till the top of his head, this image was haunting him. Nobody could save him, it was getting darker and colder, he was losing his breath, his will was taken, he was left alone in despair.
But then his fingers touched the keys and the charm was thrown. His pain revealed in the enchanted melody of nostalgia which he could never express with his words. Everything around seemed to follow the captivating tune, with his music he bewitched the world. It was his way of screaming for help, revealing the pain, but this would never be understood, the others only followed the sweet melody which was too wonderful to make it stop. The water kept floating.
Frederick kept playing, reaching further sheets and layers of his mind, his body in convulsions, sweat falling on the keys. Was he crying? I missed it so many times, just like everyone else, I just wanted to listen to his melody. He would never be understood by us, just a rare paradise bird singing his song using his fingers. Maybe he loved his piano because it was the only thing which let him be, let him reveal all the secrets of his soul that only music could understand. Behind the instrument he knew exactly what to do, he drew unforgettable images, wrote words of love, lasting, romance and pain, mostly pain.
The music was his fortune, the music was his torture, letting him see more suffering inside him, feeding him with uncertainties about himself and life… but keeping him aware, that it is in deed the only reason for him to be alive. Even though the rest never understood the sharp notes and the essence of sad melodies, he was still reaching their souls, the parts of the souls which would always answer to the pure beauty. There was that part of art which would never be understood, even by the author, but you would still feel the shivers.
Apart from his music he was lost, out of space, lonely in affairs of life. The feelings were connecting and breaking at the same time, love and hate, joy and sadness, he must have kept playing faster and faster, running away and getting closer. He was the lonely boy losing his breath under the water, he needed support and logic in this crazy world. Things were breaking into pieces with every note, nothing in life was just black and white, at least in music he could see the beauty of mathematical perfection, every sentence put in the right tempo gave him comfort and peace. Sharp notes which exposed his anxiety made him sure of the concrete stability in music, the only thing he had under control, the only thing he could really understand, the only thing in which he didn’t need to pretend, he was himself, with his goods and bads, and mostly the bads.
His fingers were reaching to the final chords. He touched the keyboard once again, giving it gentle goodbye, his confession was over. He had to rest now, the little boy for safe for a moment, the music has rescued him.
Silence.
The memory of sweet homeland and childhood.
In his mind he could see a little boy, lost in the water while the storm was getting closer and closer. The fear of unknown was getting from the fingertips till the top of his head, this image was haunting him. Nobody could save him, it was getting darker and colder, he was losing his breath, his will was taken, he was left alone in despair.
But then his fingers touched the keys and the charm was thrown. His pain revealed in the enchanted melody of nostalgia which he could never express with his words. Everything around seemed to follow the captivating tune, with his music he bewitched the world. It was his way of screaming for help, revealing the pain, but this would never be understood, the others only followed the sweet melody which was too wonderful to make it stop. The water kept floating.
Frederick kept playing, reaching further sheets and layers of his mind, his body in convulsions, sweat falling on the keys. Was he crying? I missed it so many times, just like everyone else, I just wanted to listen to his melody. He would never be understood by us, just a rare paradise bird singing his song using his fingers. Maybe he loved his piano because it was the only thing which let him be, let him reveal all the secrets of his soul that only music could understand. Behind the instrument he knew exactly what to do, he drew unforgettable images, wrote words of love, lasting, romance and pain, mostly pain.
The music was his fortune, the music was his torture, letting him see more suffering inside him, feeding him with uncertainties about himself and life… but keeping him aware, that it is in deed the only reason for him to be alive. Even though the rest never understood the sharp notes and the essence of sad melodies, he was still reaching their souls, the parts of the souls which would always answer to the pure beauty. There was that part of art which would never be understood, even by the author, but you would still feel the shivers.
Apart from his music he was lost, out of space, lonely in affairs of life. The feelings were connecting and breaking at the same time, love and hate, joy and sadness, he must have kept playing faster and faster, running away and getting closer. He was the lonely boy losing his breath under the water, he needed support and logic in this crazy world. Things were breaking into pieces with every note, nothing in life was just black and white, at least in music he could see the beauty of mathematical perfection, every sentence put in the right tempo gave him comfort and peace. Sharp notes which exposed his anxiety made him sure of the concrete stability in music, the only thing he had under control, the only thing he could really understand, the only thing in which he didn’t need to pretend, he was himself, with his goods and bads, and mostly the bads.
His fingers were reaching to the final chords. He touched the keyboard once again, giving it gentle goodbye, his confession was over. He had to rest now, the little boy for safe for a moment, the music has rescued him.
