The sounds and silences of depths

I should be heading to the DC (dining commons) right now. It's only open for another 45 minutes. But I feel like writing. I need to stop ushering the urges to the back of my mind. I'm just going to write, and trust that being faithful to my love of writing will give back to me some sort of rest in my head before I live the rest of my day.

Last night was Julia Markotay's Senior Recital. She was my accompanist last year, and the choir accompanist. I've never known a more talented pianist. She is a musician in every form of the way. I know my fingers could never work the way hers do. She is utterly devastatingly beautiful head to toe, and her music speaks for her the sounds of her own unspeakable depths. I've always called "depth" that which is inside of you. The things you can't say. The things that can only exist.

I've always wondered if there were a world behind the eyes, a place that shows the emotion that moves you. Maybe it's a place that looks like a beautiful meadow. Maybe it's a river. Don't mock me for this people, it's been in my head for years. I've always imagined what my "depth" would look like. I've written so many poems and lyrics about it. My depth. What does it look like?

And then, from a musician's standpoint, what does it sound like?

I've always pondered this. When I'm about to write a song, I always try to tune myself into what I'm really feeling. Music makes you feel something. But there are times that "something" makes you feel music. And so the times that "somethings" cause me to feel something, I try to wait patiently to when I'll know exactly the music it makes me feel. The music that I can sense.

It's the music I believe would be playing in the air above the specific scene in my depth at that moment. When I'm heartbroken, the gems that line the floor of the rivers flowing there lose a little bit of the blue green color that matches my eyes. Everything is reflective of what I am. My hair is crazy, and so are the branches of the trees, and the spiraling of the leaves that fall.

And so, returning to last night, I felt like Julia played from the innermost parts of her depth. She felt each note, each chord, each rest. Even the silences were unmistakably musical. And perfectly beautiful.

When I have my own house, it will be full of sweet and lovely smelling candles, and full of music.

I am a CCM major mind you. But, I have become a victim of falling in love with something I never thought possible. Classical music moves me so powerfully now, I can't help but immerse myself in it. I LOVE singing in German, French and Italian especially of course. I love the random notes that after studying them, are anything but random. They're entirely purposeful, and incredible with such scores of meaning. I love being able to tell you the story I'm singing with my eyes and the emotion in my (less than perfect) classical voice. Singing classical music makes me feel like I'm breathing. Sometimes flying. It's times like these that I get sad that I'll be done rather soon. I want to keep mastering the ways to use my voice. I want to keep learning how to play the piano. I want to be the best composer I could possibly be. I want it all. I don't want it to end.

Julia's recital put me in my place for my own Senior Recital coming in February. I've been planning and practicing what feels like nonstop this semester. In fact I have a practice today for the four songs I'll be doing with a strings section. Tomorrow I'll be practicing with one of the Quartets for a hymn in the first half of the recital. Wednesday I'll be practicing one of the duets. Ahhhh, what am I going to do when it's over? All this time... your entire four years as a music major are dedicated to this one recital. And just like that, in a matter of minutes upon minutes, it's over.

So part of me feels relieved to have just written all of this. I'm going to end it now. I'm hungry.