
January 6, 2006 at 7:51 AM
The cycle of moons rolls January around once again, the heart of the lull of winter. Temperatures zap the humidity from the air, making the strings lifeless; the bow hair feels brittle and dry. I wish for lotion to rub into my notes, to liven them up and make them less scratchy. Having no solution, and unable to soothe my irritated mind, I break for mental regrouping.Nearly two years have lapsed since this all started. When I first began my repossession of the violin, I thought if I could only get the sounds inside my head to come out of my instrument exactly as I heard them, then I would be content. And thus it began.
Maria asked me why I do this, practice like I do, with such obsession. Will I leave? Do I plan to audition for a conservatory, join the symphony, abandon the state? No, I answered, this is simply for music’s sake.
At one point, I had some notion in the back of my mind that this musical gorging would eventually have to find a point of saturation. My appetite would be satisfied, and I’d sit back one day with a sigh and a belch, and say to myself what a wonderful journey this was, and now I am here with all the notes at my disposal, and can play anything I could possibly imagine with grace and ease. And then I would mellow in my maturity, like an old retired person on the front porch in the rocker.
Two years, and I discover that the goal lies exactly as far away as when I began. It is not as though I haven’t made ground. On the contrary, I know that I am so much better than I was. It’s not fair, though: as we travel, the ear becomes wise, and begins to hear things further ahead, more sounds to achieve, more gains to be made. Two hours a day become three, then four, yet the object of my desire lies perpetually on the horizon, right where it was two years ago. No. In fact, the endless horizon itself is the goal, with the the same expanse always between us. I’m not fooled. It never ends.
This makes me happy.
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