Ascension: How the Music Move Me

1013 Words Jan 27th, 2018 4 Pages
And yet I take a kind of pleasure in indulging them."

Movement one: Maestoso

I still recall the day I first saw him perform the concerto. A soulful, melancholy Chopin in F minor drifted through silence with wailing violins, the conductor guiding the orchestra gently as though they were under his spell.

As a child, I sat with young, fascinated eyes, engaged with the amputee pianist upon center stage. With mellow lighting, the Stienway and Sons reflected the most beautiful hues of gold upon the inner lid, soft and fluid in form. Dressed in a fanciful tailcoat, the one-handed musician remained motionless and reflective at his instrument as though it were whispering angelic secrets to him. Enchanted by his image, the rumble of cellos felt deep within my chest may have very well been the cries from my own mouth. Bittersweet emotion evolved as the soloist hung in the timelessness of sonorous strings, waiting to come forth with his own voice.

And so it began- a dissonant descention of pitches sparked by a single hand, forceful yet delighted. For the duration of my lifetime, I have been utterly convinced that, with such supernatural and inhuman movement, this man could accomplish more with a single hand than I, as a virtuosic performer, could ever accomplish with both. To this day, I have recognised that such a disadvantage to one’s humanity in fact defined this…

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