I just got back from charlotte’s violin recital. She invited me along, as she did all her friends. I must admit I am quite lost for words. It was beautiful. For the duration, charlotte was no longer c or Charlie but miss Jones, a woman with sublime musical ability. It far surpassed my expectations; I daresay in the past I have paid good money to see something of half the quality of that recital.
It’s beauty was not that of a beautiful woman – a vulgar beauty – nor was it possessed of the beauty of a good meal. It’s beauty was far deeper, like the nights sky over Uluru, or that morning in Yosemite. It was a profound beauty: her violin made a haunting sound, textured and subtle. I say this not as her friend, but as one who appreciates good things; as a writer, and as an ‘intellectual’ (although I use that term loosely). I found her choice of music ever so slightly questionable – they weren’t all the pieces I would have chosen – but the inclusion of the theme from schindler’s list at the finale was inspired. It’s just such a spellbinding, heartbreaking piece.
What can I say? It was simply awesome. During the performance I felt myself drift away, letting the music carry me off. I found myself with the profound urge to write again. And read. And watch, and listen and talk. Performances like that fill one with joie de vivre; it made me think of travelling and reading and everything good. It was as if it reminded me, through it’s beauty and majesty, that there is still beauty and majesty to be found in the world. It was just inspirational.