The musicians were, for
the most part, limited to facial expressions imposed upon them by their
instruments of varying bulk. But
the conductor…his every emotion was betrayed by his body movements, and when
visible, his face. First he stood
very still, and the orchestra was quiet, then his arms began to move gracefully
in purposeful arcs and the music followed. Suddenly the baton, an extension of his right hand began to
bounce and gyrate, pulling his body along with them, and the music kept pace
with every movement. Here
was an artist immersed in his work with such physical and emotional passion,
and I was envious.
I can be engrossed in
my work, sitting or standing; I may walk away momentarily and pace, which I do
quite often. But to be able to
experience the sound and the physicality of my work… that is something
else. The best I can do is to have
music blaring from a CD, Johnny Cash, Luciano Pavarotti, or maybe the
Beatles. OK…I have a confession
to make. On rare occasions when I
am especially moved, I will actually dance (I insist on calling it dance)
around the studio, but not until I have checked to see if Patience, or anyone
else could see me.
That is the difference
between a symphony conductor and a painter. The conductor can let it all hang out in front of his
audience. The painter must be
devious and sneaky. That is my
opinion and I’m sticking to it.
No comments:
Post a Comment