Living on a Porcelain Cup
Date: January 30th, 2011
A few years ago, I had a particularly memorable piano lesson. It started out like any other: I came in after school, having just wolfed down a tuna sandwich, and, with the same kind of delicacy, hammered out my Beethoven Sonata for my teacher. Here I don’t use the word “hammered” lightly. When I played the last chord and felt the piano steady itself beneath my fingers, I looked up proudly at my teacher. But she only shook her head.
“When you played that sonata, what did you imagine?” she asked.
I told her the truth: “nothing”.
“Me, I imagined a hippopotamus at its first tap-dancing lesson,” she said.
When I left the music studio for the week, I had a new assignment for my sonata. My teacher told me to paint a picture in my head, and hold on to it while playing the piece. I was to imagine the countryside, or, more precisely, the countryside as artists used to paint it on porcelain china cups (what can be more delicate than that?). Playing the sonata would be like turning the semi-translucent cup in my hands — carefully, because one foul move would crack the porcelain. I was to start by looking at the green hills, or rather, by playing the green hills. They would melodies, rising and falling and gently blending into each other. There were no jagged cliffs on this particular cup, dear reader, none at all. Then I was to imagine white sheep dotting these hills. I was to play the trills in the sonata like artists painted every little curl on the sheep — no detail would be smeared.
So I went home, keeping this image in my head, as if I’d lose it forever if I stopped thinking about it. I played it on my piano, again and again, until the hippopotamus lost its force, grew faint, gave me one last grudging look and disappeared from the room.
* * *
Yesterday, I went for a bike-ride around The Village. I’d had a long week of work and had to air out my head. I climbed up some stone ruins and looked at the view below. The sun was high up in the sky and cast white rays that made everything seem translucent. Translucent, yet bright. I had the odd feeling that I had seen it all before, a long time ago. There were the green hills. There were the sheep (white moving specs from afar). There were the villages riding the hills like ships do waves, sporting their turrets against the warm winds. There was a sort of deliberate beauty in everything, as if it were… planned? Sketched and then painted?
Suddenly I started to giggle, and looked down at my hands and feet. I had flown from Vancouver, to what I thought was a lost and faraway place, only to discover that it was never really that far away.
And with that, dear reader, I’ll say goodbye for the week. But if you look closely, you might be able to find me on that porcelain cup, standing beside the rosy-cheeked shepherd and his hut.
Yours truly,
The Curious Cockroach
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Awww, beautiful ending
Ya- I remember: when you start playing piano, after the first recitel, I told you a story. Before driving a car I sit for 10-15 sec and meditate – imagining a path I am going to drive. Then I turned on ignition and drive. So same thing happened if play piano. Then you will paint music like an artist.
After that you never played for me???
Adolescent years, adolescent years! Now that I’m out of that cloud of self-consciousness I’ll surely play some piano for you.
That’s a very dreamy description you’ve got there. Although I’ve found a typo (“they would melodies” – now where’s my prize?), I really enjoyed this piece. In particular, its novel connection between the two points in time – I’m a sucker for disjointed chronology – helped the entry stand out. Oh yeah, and piece’s overall brevity, that was also a plus.
I’ll admit it, I smiled in amusement by the end of the first paragraph. Who wouldn’t find mallet fingers and tap dancing hippos funny?
Also, if it’s possible, I have a request. Please produce pieces like the one on the markets in Brussels. I liked that blog entry very much. It was as though I were cheating a guided tour by not paying. What a thrill.
Keep it up.
Ah! Thanks for pointing out that typo. Makes my job easier! I’m glad you liked the piece, I certainly had a fun time writing it. As for your request, I’ll do my best! There aren’t many markets around here but I’ll find something else touristy-ish about which I can write a travel-guide sort of piece. Thank you for the comment, I really appreciate the feedback.
Oh wait…that isn’t actually a typo. “They” is referring to the green hills. As in, “the green hills would be melodies”. It probably sounds awkward though.
Dear Curious Cockroach!
And here it is: a chinese cup with green hills, sheep and maybe some tiny birds. Thank you! Beautiful story!
By coincidence (was it really coincidence?) I landed on this story and this is what I was trying to find the whole day: a picture that helps me to play my rameau pieces
Hehe, yeah, it really is fitting for the Rameau pieces. I guess you’d need some hens in there too, right? (Or I might be mixing up composers here…)