This week we have the privilege of Beethoven's company. How many times have I helped bring the silent score of the Seventh Symphony to life? And each time is different, each time getting to know this man more intimately and in a new light, accentuated by the people around me with whom I share the privilege. Like reading a poem in the morning, and then before bed, and then 20 years later. Always the same words, but the author changes with the reader's passing time. Is an author only one person? Do their words "mean" only one thing? And the reader becomes aware of their own change through the change in something so steadfast. How permanent is pen to paper? How many angles can a person have? How often do we have the chance to explore them in such a way? An anonymous dance of self-emergence through the act of creation and reception.
There are so many ways to listen. A difference in the color of a wind solo, the way my stand partner plays a rhythm, the unpredictability of a soloist's timing, the conductor's insistance on special dynamics. And all these things somehow conspire to breathe new life into someone no longer living except through us and our human quirks. Music is a pretty cool thing.
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