our moving castle, part 5

made it in two pieces

Final Sunday, callooh callay! Following breakfast of noodles, we set off for Zhejiang University on bicycles. I had in mind a pleasantly-paced roll through a pedestrian-free park. Oi oi, it was not pleasant--it was fantastic! Helmet-less, we were! I received repeated visions of my head getting clunked. The key to biking in China is to keep up with the herd: ya lag, ya splat. Takes more than a bit of gumption to wedge oneself between two moving buses, or to weave diagonally across an intersection. But as we pedaled on, I felt the qualms fly past, and we merged into the commuting rhythms of the city. Three more heads in the infinite crowd.
The road leading up to the university is called Qiu Shi Lu, or "Search for Truth Street." Veritas indeed. Green cobbles outshone Hillhouse, and great peachy Tower of Power (Mao's statue) oversaw all. Toured S's mom's old dorm building (she was in 105, we poked into 108), met boy playing computer game. Slept four in white mosquito nets, with beer n' cigarettes. Basketball court outside, steps where boys squat and rate girls.
Hurrah! More biking! Right outside our final destination, I somehow fell off the bike without knocking it over. In fact, it stood proudly on the curb, kickstand out. Within seconds, it seems, S was at my side, and I howled like Timmy does for his milk bottle. Ochochoch. At least I didn't hit my head (Samuel hit it for me later).
At lunch, there were gold-leaf pork segments and candied ginseng and insect-root soup and marbled nuts, scrumptious as they were sumptuous. Poor Orio had a stomach bug and threw up thrice, once in a moving taxi. Had to roll down the window. At home, all slept. I finished my re-submission of Evelyn Waugh paper and did stretches, awaiting Last Supper. Samuel delivered Will Smith home to the Flowers and Fish Market by himself, and brought him home in papier-mâché.

Bunny come back to me -V. Hudgens

We all sat there, at the oval table (Ariel lay facedown on the couch). Lake critters: turtle, oyster, crayfish, eels, edged by plates of green and white veggies. No rice tonight, except for the Small One, who sat upon his High Chair. S toasted with his Watsons water bottle, one for each grandparent. Sometime in the conversation, when prodded, I made feeble Chinglish toasts of my own. Very inarticulate and weird, but meant as truth.
Doorbell, Shun Shun. He showed us his sketch and text books, wondrous things. Control of fine lines. I poured the remainder of my Costco chocolates on him and wished a Happy Easter (subtle attempt to proselytize). Hope he likes.
An almost-FaceTime with Nai Nai, and voila! The time came for our last date. Not so many words here--just know that it was the best date I've had (this one outdoes all other aforementioned "best dates" on our the moving castle... maybe), with the best one I've known. Have I a better word than best? No, because it is only with the best... that I choose to build my nest! Bliss, bliss, sublime as a kiss, pale pink and lotus-colored from beginning to end, 7:45 to 10. It cost quite a bit (...that Idahoan ice cream...), but for once we had pocket-change to burn, not pages to turn. I held my Samuel in the starlit trees and drank life to the lees. (Journal entry concludes with doodles of macarons, a sweet-almond teapot, and Samuel's ears.)
Last word: I always feel that the trip ends when we pack to leave--by then, our hearts are at home again. On this trip, I felt the warmth of a family: in the chilled gray skies of Qingdao, in the green of Hangzhou. This warmth doesn't end when our moving castle lands at SFO, though. It grows through tomorrow and all time. I studied the history of Samuel Liu, and fitted the frames of the puzzle.

Good night, China, from two January pigs.

  

intermission: bowls across poetry and prose

Remixing "The Poems of Our Climate," by Wallace Stevens (1977), and "Janus," by Ann Beattie (1986), because they both had white bowls.

I
The bowl was perfect.
The imperfect is our paradise.
It was once placed on a cherry table beneath a Bonnard still life, where it held its own
in the room more like a snowy air, reflecting snow.
It had been perfectly placed, that the sunlight struck the bluer part of it. 

II
The wonderful thing about the bowl... 
was that it was both subtle and noticeable--a paradox of a bowl.

The imperfect is our paradise.

Its glaze was the color of cream and seemed to glow no matter what light it was placed in.

A bowl of white, cold, a cold porcelain, low and round.

In its way, it was... the world cut in half, deep and smoothly empty.

Clear water in a brilliant bowl, a world of white, a world of clear water, brilliant-edged.

III
Could it be that she had some deeper connection with the bowl...

She was sure that the bowl brought her luck.

In time, she dreamed of the bowl.

And made it fresh in a world of white.

It came into sharp focus and startled her for a moment.

IV
A bowl was a poor conductor of electricity: it would not be hit by lightning. 

Still one would want more, one would need more,

More than a world of white and snowy scents.

V

Say even that this complete simplicity

(they always faltered when they tried to say something)

Stripped one of all one’s torments,

Yet the idea of damage persisted.

She asked her husband to please not drop his house key in it.

our moving castle, part 4

Restaurant Shenma

Monday! Xixi Guojia Shidi, the greenest place on (the good) earth. Had mochis for breakfast; Mom called me “bai bai pang pang” over video call. Family packed up for a trip to the wetlands, just 30 minutes away. There was a place for “man sheng huo,” or slow living. We met Samuel’s mom’s cousin, who nestled us into an eclectic (no better word for the boggliness), white-washed (not figuratively), slightly dusty tavern called Restaurant Shenma (character for horse). Telescopes for decoration, broken vase mosaics. A long patio downstairs, squishy, patchwork quarters above. On the way into the park we acquired coconuts, chicken, and stinky tofu. 

 very -omantic outing

Samuel and I took a boat that led to another boat. And another, and another… Each stop yielded a new patch of bamboo island to explore, rife with jewel-bodied bugs and gnats, with tall grasses and dead fish that were very silver. We walked on the wide cobbles, one behind the other, until we tired. Shared a very luscious Shou Zhua Bing. The first boat was empty but for us; another Howl’s Moving Castle! We found a secluded bench, and I held Samuel’s head in my lap for the longest time, counting his eyelashes, looking for my reflection in his pupils. One of the happiest moments I’ve passed, stooped shoulders and all. Had a Haagen-Dazs at 3:30, another bing, and various pokings around the neighboring village, in search of the elusive caramel shop. Posed under the -Omantics sign (a clever hedge blocked the “R”). 

a good brother

Samuel messed with Timmy using a new remote-control red car, and we wandered to the nearby bridge (illustration) and hid in a stairwell, until Timmy and Wai Po spotted and fired twigs at us. 
Oho! Forgot the mention the oyster. Samuel bought a live oyster which the vendor promptly sliced open, revealing more than twenty pearls in white and purple. Gave one to a small girl, set two in earrings, which I aspire to wear often (I do)!
Then, an unctuous dinner at Wai Po Jia, the fanciest one I’ve seen: hair-covered banisters, walls papered in live ivy and moss, a rooftop garden of cacti. Samuel drank 2.5 tumblers of vodka, which I thought tasted like my mom’s fermented broad bean paste but even more lethal/potent. Many thanks to (illustration of JJ ayi) for delicious, 18-dish dinner. Went into hysterics over OTATOP, crammed into humid little can (positively dying from multiple afflictions). ’Twas yet another wondrous day—each one outdoes the yester. 

silver scene

To-day, Tuesday. Ran home early from breakfast at a corporate (Zhejiang Communications) cafeteria to shower; emptied Will Smith's litter box and bought milk at Tomato Store with S. Then, embarked on attempt to walk around West Lake with our new neighbor friend, who loves to speak. Shun Shun, said neighbor, raised 18 bunnies in his career, and gave great insight into the bunny-noisemaking process (shutting them in drawers... D:). Was the grayest day; the lake and sky met in milky nothingness, and all floated in a cloud. Met family for Hangzhouish lunch of vinegar-fish at Lou Wai Lou, one of the great marbled buildings on the lakeshore. 

Cozy tea shop

An afternoon of Game of Thrones and a tummy ache (made better by S). Headed out at 4 for an afternoon coffee that would spill into a Zhang Yimou-directed light show on the lake. Lo and behold, there was a baby grand piano on the mostly empty second floor, ripe for the playing! Very snuggly and serene couple of hours spend drinking sugar tea and attempting duet with Ariel. S read Wild Swans contentedly; on the homestretch. Mr. Peter joined biked over from a meeting with professor and we had lovely (still unctuous) meal; befriended Jiang Xi waiter boy ("Keep the change!"). Puttered off, arm in arm, to the show ("Impressions of Wests Lake"--very impressive), a rendering of The Legend of White Snake. Euphony of lights, lake, and fluffy Truffula trees. Most impressed by fog mountain that rose out of the water, downy feathers, and the way performers walked on water ("Wet socks." -Samuel). S got up and sat back down into a nonexistent chair, wahaha! Striking music--jarring might be the word for it. Señor biked home, while we caught a friendly driver of a non-cab from Anhui whose ringtone rang A's bells. And now we are tucked back into Ding An Yuan, reading, writing, poring over old photos in the yellow evening light. Mistook-for-a-Uyghur count: 3. Xie xie Shang Di.

a boy and his book

Then came Wednesday. In the morn, popped in my purple pearl earrings, and huddled into beige Mercedes van with everyone. Off to Hongge Ayi's home house palace! Nestled among rosebuds and willow trees, and tightly walled in, her elegant abode stood in a row of closely-neighbored estates of similar dimensions. Three tasteful stories, two kitchens, one maid-helper; matched slipper sets for both indoors and outdoors. Hand-embroidered walls, chocolate-covered acai berries and pineapple on the patio, a home theatre with a trampoline (we watched Gravity, a movie of great gravity). We ogled the view from the Juliet balcony, with its sun-and-stars-tiled pool and koi-filled ponds. 'Twas a pleasant time in clear-aired paradise, thanks to S's mom's dear friend through high school, college, and the present.

with Skittle-colored bouquet

We had lunch at a light-filled hotel in the House District (Fangzi Qu)--notable scrambled eggs and four-season beans. Periodic stroll with Timmy to the garden to let him toss rocks into the fountain guarded by the sign that said "Parents Please Restrain Little Kids from Throwing Items into Water." First walked with Ariel, discovered caged parakeets and happily stumbled upon a wild Samuel playing Cut the Rope, trying to win extra levels. After lunch we took Timmy to see the peacocks past the pool, and as we hopped across the stream, S procured a bouquet (Skittle-colored and sized!) and launched into "There's this girl I know..." and my little coeur did a dance and I figured that playing Cut the Rope after beating it = writing new poem with words like "intertwination" in it. And as we walked the green loop with Sheep-sheep and spotted a boat in the algean water and commented on weighted peacocks I gave thanks for this one boy in a million and once again prayed for eternity. Then, in slight contrast, we ate a 1000-calorie pastry in the theatre.

stolid.

That night, we munched with parents' college classmates at InTime mall (third floor, very posh, mossy walls again) and relieved them of Timmy by taking him to Cold Stone, many escalators down. S ordered beloved strawberry with nuts (? :D) and Ariel and I shared a Cheesecake Fantasy. And what do ye know: before five bites, Timmy stood on a chair, shoved paw into waffle cup, and knocked Cheesecake Fantasy -SHFLAT- onto the ground. "Timmy, I actually hate you," wept/snorted Ariel, and we promptly assailed S's strawberry with nuts. Timmy's Wai Gong came up the escalator, arms open like a savior, and to take him home, a sight that somehow stuck. The night was well-spent, for I was physically spent.
(Thursday and Friday blended because of a brief bout of stomach sickness)
The next day, we were all supposed to go to Shaoxing (of wine fame), but S succeeded in staying at home for homework, I fell to fever, and Ariel latched onto the lazy boat too. So off they went, and left Wai Po, S, A, and me at the apartment. I swallowed various pills (chomped them down with wontons) and existed horizontally on parents' bed for several hours, occasionally woken the sounds of by Wai Po hanging laundry outside, preschool recess, and the call of the recycler (tone quality of Mosque caller), a true decrescendo, a gradualness to emulate. Slept with hands at sides, tried to do S's breathing trick, which soothed me to sleep. The day passé in a soft wind of porridge, The Good Earth, and flannel pajama bottoms.

Japanese restaurant had green-tea dispenser

Eventually S woke up and we tried to go out, but I shriveled. S kindly fed Will Smith, brought me cups, and worked in the interstice between bed and cupboard atop Timmy's sheets. When he could work no longer, and I sleep no more, we watched the epic Dahk Knight Rises (DUN     DUN     DUN) until it was black outside and strolled to InTime in scrub outfits for Japanese food. No Cold Stone, but a nighttime Melona for Samuel at the Gerbil Trainer of Death and an early sleep for me.
Errhbit, another sick day. Finished Good Earth in the morning, played two notes on the violin, and felt well enough to eat Pizza Hut (huh huh) for lunch. Stupid Glob ate globs of cheese: three stuffed crusts, and felt after-effects soon enough. Tried to walk it off with Ariel by buying underwear at Uniqlo, but still felt like blob. Blob spent money and waddled home to rest.

cheered my sleeping self with scenes like these

Before long, trotted with female folk (A & A) to Longqiang market, a triple-decker cheap-stuff mecca just two subway stops away. Shopped a bit, then waited on as stool, contemplating cigarette smoke and wondering what people do when they absolutely nothing to do. They found me and we walked through drizzling Hangzhou, onto the two-yuan metro, and disembark. Was exhausted, but proceeded to family banquet. We fill two banquet rooms this time: every great-grandpa's son and second cousin was present. Demolished leaning pyramid of pickle corner by corner while Samuel passed the time by slow-motion recording his motorboat lips (flub web wee web) and taking Picasso-esque panoramas. Daughter of HongER Ayi, aged 26, studier in Australia, had same headband as me, Carrie Underwood ringtone, called Yuan Yuan--was nice! Took Ariel to stead restaurant later. Tried to stall departure by drinking tangyuan with Samuel, but soon enough we three left for McD and a photo album-sleep at home. I slept in S's nook, curtain drawn. I hummed the Moses lullaby and Samuel hummed it back. He knew it.

one thing remains: tying knots, ending eras

listen to Largo from Bach's Violin Sonata No. 3
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iARBh_DfP0w

Tonight was my last lesson with Mr. Lin. As I shed my shoes at the door, I heard a parent bawling with great passion (her little girl stood there smiling, shifting her weight from one purple-socked foot to another), lamenting the loss of a teacher that they'd known for years. The weekly question: "What's our mission for today?" Mr. Lin turned to a slow movement riddled with double-triple-quadruple stops and commanded me to play. That piece, he told me, was so dear to him that he asked a friend to perform it at his and Mrs. Lin's wedding. "A very philosophical piece," he said, "So simple. Here is the tumult; there, the resolution; and at last a peace. In his music, Bach always sides with  goodness. That's why it's good to have religion, because of the peace at the end of the piece." How to best learn this Bach, I wondered? One must process all the voices at once. Next, separate and liken them to a string quartet. Give each a corresponding color. Violin I floats in heaven, and the bass is the earth. The piece sunk deeply into the loam, before rising forth the roam. I handed him the print of a Picasso painting, "Child with a Dove," and bid my teacher a journey with the wind (yi lu shun feng). Less than a year ago, I sent him a link of me playing violin by the window. Mr. Lin found me.

our moving castle, part 3

Meet Will Smith!

Friday, continued. Flew smoothly to Hangzhou, immersed in nice-ness, clean-ness, bright colors. Rode with S in town car to the real 外婆家 (grandmother's house), a glossy little apartment all familiar amenities and more, such as Teacher Katherine's luxury toilet with the massage function. First lunch: things are sweeter, darker, and smaller here, sort of like the people. S and I (after getting wi-fi) walked to McDonald's for a soft-serve, and then to the flower-and-fish market, a two-story bazaar that puts Yamagami's and their dinky cacti to shame. And... WE BOUGHT A BUNNY!
For one week only, of course. He was grayer than the rest, so we named him Will Smith (clarification: I named him Fresh Prince, but S insisted on the former). Despite the pee and poo, I loved our little friend who lived in the blue kitchen corner.

lakeside plum blossoms

Family walked cheerfully to West Lake. Brief spat over subway-side berries, but general glows all around at blossoming lakeside. So many people during that holiday weekend, and 75% of them came in couples, I wager. Magical ride in open-air car with S around the lake, with spring breeze, people-watching (story-formulating is the best fun there is), and memory digging. Then we went on a date, solo (I was reluctant, silly me), one of the best yet. How could it have been anything but the best, at this lake in the (relative) west? We settled by a window in the pretty teahouse for an omelette, noodle soup, and a red-bean-anointed ice mountain, accompanied by a pink sunset over lake. But nothing out-glowed the words. Afterward, we walked arm-in-arm along (and on!) the lake, as natural lights faded and orange ones came on, coloring the lake my favorite tones: warmth against gloom (of dark water of indefinite depths). Failed to hail taxi, headed home (followed random helpful 哥哥), then got a haircut!! Right outside the apartment complex! Hurrah, cute male hairdressers. S looks like A-GAN (Chinese for Forrest Gump), according to his mother. Much zzz. The evening's vesper bells: Dusty Blue, again, and Danzon No. 2.

Will Smith is a cage-free chicken!

Saturday began in the bunk-bed, and with and Hangzhou-style breakfast! Lots of flour and oil mmm. Set off for countryside tea farm: an outdoor pavilion nestled between mountains. Tables, round and ready for sippers, bearing pumpkin seeds and glasses. A circle of young adults, perhaps on retreat, studied the Bible at adjacent table. Tea-pickers, like straw dots, roaming the green corduroy hills. Scene set for reunion; soundtrack: a bit of shy violin (the first time I'd played in weeks). Al fresco lunch of pond creatures! Happy Will Smith hopped freely in the grass, and made many young pals, including Timmy's foot. Ate flowers and pink oreos incessantly.
But the tippy-toppest part of the day--perhaps of the trip--was a 2000+ step hike (I counted) (all the hiking trails I've been to in China are steep stone stairways). Number of hikers inversely proportionate to altitude. Eventually, it was just S and me, two walls of bamboo, gnatty pools, crisp air. Light green, stone gray. Climbed on and on.

one foot over the other

There is something heavenly about climbing a mountain together: your feet and lungs in sync, the occasional helping hand, the patience, the persistence. At the almost-peak, we danced to Howl's Moving Castle. Wind whirled the movie into a better reality. Exhausted but entirely lucid, entirely content. (Peed during descent--need to know). Thank you, God, for walking with us.
Dinner in a violently velvet banquet hall. Noteworthy nosh: 酒釀湯圓 (sweet rice wine and egg drop soup), durian pastries, logs of sesame rolls. Conversation fueled by vodka; A-GAN was prime tease target (baldness, Lasic eyes, HAR HAR). Ariel demonstrated Hangzhou dialect--I conclude that car sounds like hammer. Nice new friend: distant cousin, 15, scholar of soccer, beautiful penmanship, watched Forrest Gump before. A hand-shake goodbye. And at last, the cherry: a foot massage nearby, er, salon. Boy oh boy, I could not stop giggling: my lower limbs never been so limber-ized. S got a back massage that worsened his condition, hoho jolly jolly. Long (hour-long) story short*, our feet became baby butts. I collapsed like a jelly on the bunk-bed. To top off the day: a toothbrush dance with Samuel! *Foot potions: essential oil, milk, and ginger flowers. Scalding. Drinks: chamomile tea. TV: game shows, pseudoscientific infomercials. Masseuses: ripped.

West Lake at dusk

Sunday, church day. First, we hobbled to breakfast at shop known for its mantou, which were sold out by our 8:15 arrival. Delicious mi fen, wonton soup, and bao zi, speedily shipped and supped upon. Speed. Went neighbor's home for house church (more amens and sliding intonation. Fruit platters, communion). Sang Hallelujah! Hallelujah! for only a few minutes before being shuttled to glossyx100000 mall with ice skating and an IMAX theatre. Ariel and I floated into H&M, deliberated socks, and ate at Pizza (Jabbathe)Hut before digging into a positively squishy mango shaved ice at Apple Street, a donut shop. More fanciful browsing before shuttling home. Read The Good Earth for the afternoon with ill-ish Samuel and his dad in the living room, played Egyptian War (speed, speed). Samuel slaps like a maniac--very much in the zone. We "played" everyone else out of the room.
Nighttime! Ariel and I puttered to "InTime" shopping mall's food court for dinner. 'Twas a eater's heaven, with foodstuffs galore! First a stop into Watson's, the lovely turquoise pharmacy; marveled at imitation Baby Lips. Tonkatsu for Ariel, tomato eggs for me. Jealous of neighbor's fish and pickle clay pot. Cold Stone mud pie, which I demolished when Ariel was using the restroom (so, so sorry... Nothing, not even the bond of Tong Xue, survives my stomach's stirrings). At home, S was speaking to a new friend (same age, gap year; his father had passed away) that looked like Po, and entered high school for drawing. Accompanied S to "InTime" again, this time for his dinner. Japanese restaurant had never-ending tea on tap. Smoky arcade: spend 6 coins on Speed Racer. S is deft driver of fake cars.

Like loons, we walked to West Lake at 10 pm. 'Twas sprinkling (and the slithy toves...), but we were not deterred. Confidently, we headed "straight," and eventually found the lake, as deep and intimidating as the sea, black as obsidian, interrupted by only a few garish lights (most were out. Lakeside residents sleep at a decent hour). Strolled along, arm in familiar arm, assailed by a flower peddler (see melodramatic account on GDocs), lured by music to a wicker cafe for lakeside tea and pumpkin seeds. Lo and behold, we lost our money, and couldn't pay for the snack. Many sheepish stutters later, we left, having paid only half the yuan requested by the menu, all the money that we had. The night was deeply set, and we struggled to find a taxi. When we did, we were careful to disguise our moneylessness. The nervousness was palpable. Had taxi driver park inside complex; Samuel ran for money, and we sunk into homey sofas.      
  

the case for colored dresses

Molto confusioso... Poco a poco de-obfusco... Lumos!

Ought art to be explained? Does a creator's clarification cheapen a work? This bugs me.
A lot.
A tater tot.
A turkey trot.
This post's begun to rot...
It's hard to move when it's so hot.

Anyway... There's an appropriate segue into the program* notes I wrote for my graduation recital, in case anyone cares for a foreign set of impressions.

From Julius Caesar: "But men may construe things after their fashion/clean from the purposes of the things themselves."

Toccata from Partita no. 6 / J. S. Bach
In his first few years as music director in Leipzig, Bach was tasked with writing four four-hour-long worship services’ worth of music, a program for every church. Six partitas (“entertainment pieces,” as Bach called them) resulted. Partita No. 6 is somewhat of a black sheep among the others, in my tentative opinion. Darker in color, introspective, and venerable, it rolls along with graceful viscosity (like maple syrup). The Toccata, an unusual opening to a partita, consists of a fugue bookended by two cadenza-like “frames.” In the arpeggiated chords, listen for the strumming of a flamenco guitar, and later on, the delicate pouring of oil. The fugue travels a desperate spectrum, sometimes peaking hopefully but temporarily before tumbling back into frustration. The final cadence, though, declares victory.

Sonata in Eb Major / Haydn
Papa Haydn is quite the jester. This particular sonata exemplifies cheeriness: the first section is lively, the second is sedated, and the third is as cute and coquettish as can be. Brief bouts of Beethoven-like mystery punctate every movement. Truthfully, I spent most of this past year in mellowish humor, and it was difficult for me to muster my usual giddiness for this piece. Yet a little bit of joy always manages to bubble to the surface.

Passacaglia / Handel-Halvorsen
Spanish: pasar = walk, calle = street. Short variations dancing on a solid ground bass. Johan Halvorsen, a Norwegian composer, took a harmonic seed from Handel’s Keyboard Suite No. 7 in G minor. More than a century later, Passacaglia for violin and viola bloomed.
For as long as I have known of this piece, I have longed to play it. Never did I imagine that my dad would one day play it with me, acting as a steady ground bass in music as he has been in my life.

Etude in f minor / Chopin
This little etude has been nicknamed by non-Chopins as “the ribbon.” Very fitting, as the right hand plays a continuous stream of sextuplets, while the left hand waves a ribbon of triplets. Like a pearl necklace, each note has its place (when I was little, though, my piano teacher told me that every piece I played was like a smile with several teeth knocked out--always imperfect. Hope that this performance presents a neater set of pearly whites).

Two Nocturnes
Chopin used to compose his nocturnes in sets of three, but Op. 27 marks his transition to contrasting pairs. These two nocturnes, in tense c# and dreamy Db, are enharmonic. From the same pitches, Chopin spins entirely contrasting stories. Both are sandwiches of sorts: the first is sad-happy-sad-serene, and the second is happy-sad-happy-serene (sad and happy corresponding to minor and major, respectively, not the exact atmosphere).
What I love most: when, with the change of a single pitch, minor turns to major, or major to minor, or some sound to another. Nocturne Op. 27 No. 1 brims with these turns, but makes us wait for them. In a desert of c# minor, E major refreshes the ear for a few brief measures.This nocturne is marked by musical gravity; whenever the melody ascends, the notes face resistance; when it descends, they fall simply, like feathers in a vacuum. Just like climbing.
Misha Galant linked his performance of Nocturne Op. 48 No. 1 to Hans Christian Andersen’s short story “The Little Match-Seller.” The image stuck with me, and I found that it fit this nocturne as well: a little girl lights her own wares to keep warm on winter’s night. Visions of her grandmother -- the only one who ever loved her -- and Christmas trees illumine the night. To sustain them, the little match-seller strikes every match, and they swell into a great golden conflagration. She freezes to death when the matches run out. Her soul is carried to heaven by her grandmother, away from ice and an empty belly. Grandmother pours light for the little match-seller, and the windows await her arrival.
Nocturne Op. 27 no. 2 is in Db Major, a key that in my head corresponds to the murky blue of the sky. The melody floats along without settling cadence-wise until the last page of the piece. The crabs in this picture scuttled over from Alfred J. Prufrock’s love song, but Nocturne belongs to another poem. We studied Shakespeare’s Sonnet CXVI at school, and I found that its tone, color, and meaning fit the Nocturne precisely. In the sonnet, love is called “the star to every wand’ring bark,” steadily bright even with the passage of time. In Nocturne, the left-hand accompaniment is the deep water, and the right-hand melody is the boat, which stretches toward a star every few measures. The illustration seeks to unite two poems -- one musical, the other literary -- into a constellation. Here’s the full sonnet for your enjoyment:

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O no! It is an ever-fixèd mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come:

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Waltz No. 3

My dear friend Vivian Wang premiered Robert Livingston Aldridge’s Three Waltzes just two years ago. That summer, she did all her practicing at my house, and I would bop about upstairs to the infectious rhythms of Waltz No. 3. Aldridge very innovatively employs constant hemiola, but in doing so makes this waltz utterly undanceable, unless you dance like Julianne Wey and me (like two ducks bouncing buoyantly on webbed feet). My image for this piece eventually evolved from two ducks to--very highbrowly--The Little Mermaid. First, Sebastian sets the tone on bongo-like seashells, while other fish swim in frenzied circles. There is a trance-like section in the middle, during which I assume Ariel undergoes her transformation from mermaid to land-dweller. At the recapitulation of the main theme, Ariel takes a few measures to regain her footing, then proceeds to party as she did in the sea.