Silence
Tonight at UUReading we had our monthly Wednesday night service. Tonight's theme was silence. Tim (the minister) was inspired to do this service because once in a worship arts committee meeting we were discussing sacred silence and how important it is in the service. I said "I dont remember which band director told me this, but he said 'any one of us can make noise, thats easy. It takes all of us here to make silence" and apparently Tim was inspired enough by this to make a service out of it.
We started out with an opening poem, the chalice lighting and then I improvised on my Native American flute. I stood inbetween the first two pews and played for the 15 or so people that showed up tonight. It was very intimate. I felt like a conjuror casting tales into their minds, touching the air with the sound.
Tim and I staggered our readings, adding a bit more silence inbetween each set of poems. Mineko Ogata, an awesome jazz pianist, who doesnt speak much english, played 2 pieces inbetween the readings and silences. She plays with such detail to voice, passing melodies between her hands seamlessly; allowing the twinkly tinkering notes to float away unhinged.
For the last peice, after the final words were spoken, I played Lou Harrison's Air in G Minor. I had asked Mineko just before the service to play the drone part. I was expecting just an open 5th to be chimed aryhthmically between octaves. I was worried that I hadnt fully communicated what I wanted, and with the language barrier, I had reason to think that this might be a disaster. I looked at her and she nodded at me to start. To my delight she turned it into a true duet. She picked up on the form and meter right away, anticipating my phrasing and following me with such precision it felt like she knew more about what I was going to do next than I did. There were moments where I thought "No No! this is too much! The part that comes up next is piannissimo!" and then like a shadow she stayed with me. Since she and I diddnt rehearse, and she diddnt know the piece, I had no idea what to expect from moment to moment. I was both scared and relieved the whole way through. Even at the final cadence, even up until my last quivering breath ceased to make sound I was worried and surprised. She left me alone for my last few notes. "No, really, this is how it ends" I tried to convey. But like a whisp of smoke after a candle goes out, she gently takes the final word, reinforcing my statement "No. This is how it ends."
Playing with her was a gift, a privilege. I had forgotten what it was like to collaborate and perform with a professional, an artist. I had forgotten about that subtle conversation musicians have without words or concrete things. I had forgotten what lust I have for this intangible moment.
We started out with an opening poem, the chalice lighting and then I improvised on my Native American flute. I stood inbetween the first two pews and played for the 15 or so people that showed up tonight. It was very intimate. I felt like a conjuror casting tales into their minds, touching the air with the sound.
Tim and I staggered our readings, adding a bit more silence inbetween each set of poems. Mineko Ogata, an awesome jazz pianist, who doesnt speak much english, played 2 pieces inbetween the readings and silences. She plays with such detail to voice, passing melodies between her hands seamlessly; allowing the twinkly tinkering notes to float away unhinged.
For the last peice, after the final words were spoken, I played Lou Harrison's Air in G Minor. I had asked Mineko just before the service to play the drone part. I was expecting just an open 5th to be chimed aryhthmically between octaves. I was worried that I hadnt fully communicated what I wanted, and with the language barrier, I had reason to think that this might be a disaster. I looked at her and she nodded at me to start. To my delight she turned it into a true duet. She picked up on the form and meter right away, anticipating my phrasing and following me with such precision it felt like she knew more about what I was going to do next than I did. There were moments where I thought "No No! this is too much! The part that comes up next is piannissimo!" and then like a shadow she stayed with me. Since she and I diddnt rehearse, and she diddnt know the piece, I had no idea what to expect from moment to moment. I was both scared and relieved the whole way through. Even at the final cadence, even up until my last quivering breath ceased to make sound I was worried and surprised. She left me alone for my last few notes. "No, really, this is how it ends" I tried to convey. But like a whisp of smoke after a candle goes out, she gently takes the final word, reinforcing my statement "No. This is how it ends."
Playing with her was a gift, a privilege. I had forgotten what it was like to collaborate and perform with a professional, an artist. I had forgotten about that subtle conversation musicians have without words or concrete things. I had forgotten what lust I have for this intangible moment.