June 2007
June 21, 2007 09:27
In silence, I raise the violin to my shoulder. I feel it settle comfortably under my chin as my right hand grasps the bow with a firm lightness that I haven’t felt in a long time. I place the bow gently onto the strings, and my whole body tightens in anticipation of that first unborn note. I hesitate under the weight of the moment: once I begin, there is no turning back.
My violin lets out a soft sigh as I draw my bow across its strings. Where horsehair meets tensioned steel, there comes a soft rain of finely powdered rosin that envelops me in a smell like holy incense.
Instinctively, the fingers of my left hand descend upon the strings to dance across the fingerboard. My palm slides gently down the violin’s neck and the instrument trembles in my hands, surrendering itself to my touch.
The dance is far from perfect, though. Halfway through a particularly difficult sequence of notes, my fingers falter, fallen flat in mid-passage. Yet, my violin is tolerant of my mistakes and continues to lend itself to the music. I keep myself from stumbling again, just barely catching up with the notes that continue to tumble out of my head.
The music unfolds almost uncontrollably. The notes well up from within me and I try to stay faithful to them, capturing them as best as I can with the limited skills at my disposal.
My efforts build to a crescendo. At last, the final note rises triumphantly into the air before slowly fading to silence once more. The soft rain of rosin comes to an end. Unconsciously, my hand twists the bow up in an arc, feigning a salute. The dance is over, and all is quiet once more.
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