(no subject)
WEEK 8 - DAILY PAGE 2
Music is such an amazing thing; out of all the intangible beauties I know, it's the one that can best infuse life into people. Bruce Tammen, the director of CMAC (the a cappella choir I'm in), was talking about music during a rehearsal--it was so invigorating, so exciting to see an old man so transformed by the intangible. We were going through Schubert's Winterreise, which were a cycle of poems told from the perspective of a spurned lover about lost love; it's terribly tragic, and such good music. After explaining with such gusto the meaning and feeling of each lied, he suddenly came to the topic of Europe, and mentioned the cathedral at Chartres. When no one reacted if he asked if anyone had gone to Chartres, he let out his signature, exasperated/passionate sigh, and sang praises about how it was impossible to believe that it was made by man instead of God, how how the you could see "the centuries-old molecules of sound, drifting through the recesses".
It's such a sublime life, to be captivated by such absolute beauty and live and work and strive for it. How is this possible? I wish I had enough passion and talent to chase it; at the same time, I suppose I'm grateful to at least be able to recognize and revel in it. Shouldn't enjoyment be enough?
Music is such an amazing thing; out of all the intangible beauties I know, it's the one that can best infuse life into people. Bruce Tammen, the director of CMAC (the a cappella choir I'm in), was talking about music during a rehearsal--it was so invigorating, so exciting to see an old man so transformed by the intangible. We were going through Schubert's Winterreise, which were a cycle of poems told from the perspective of a spurned lover about lost love; it's terribly tragic, and such good music. After explaining with such gusto the meaning and feeling of each lied, he suddenly came to the topic of Europe, and mentioned the cathedral at Chartres. When no one reacted if he asked if anyone had gone to Chartres, he let out his signature, exasperated/passionate sigh, and sang praises about how it was impossible to believe that it was made by man instead of God, how how the you could see "the centuries-old molecules of sound, drifting through the recesses".
It's such a sublime life, to be captivated by such absolute beauty and live and work and strive for it. How is this possible? I wish I had enough passion and talent to chase it; at the same time, I suppose I'm grateful to at least be able to recognize and revel in it. Shouldn't enjoyment be enough?