Piano Sings from Silent Decades of Neglect (Part II)

After meeting with the synthesist who was also now a piano technician, I was alone with the piano in the apartment. It was the first time I had really acknowledged its presence as a piano in years. I wasn't sure if it still had a voice. I also wasn't sure of my feelings... I knew my skills had disappeared and I had some need for spiritual and physical repair.

But there were all kinds of materials on top of the piano, a sculpture called the "Trio" that my mother had given me when I first moved into the apartment, some books, some piles of unopened mail, a pitch pipe, some posters of Dinu Ghezzo, and a candle. I realized I needed to make preparations, so I found a permanent new home for the sculpture and removed all the other paraphernalia.

And I waited...

The tuner came at the agreed time. He put his coat on the couch and looked at the piano, acknowledging his perception of an important instrument that commanded respect. He went to the piano and lifted the keyboard cover and played some notes... hopelessly out of tune. He winced. He tried to lift the piano lid to get at the strings, but it was a missing a pin for the hinge, so we had to use a nail to hold the lid in position.

The tuner used his tuning fork and started to work from the bottom register. I left the room. I knew the tuner needed some space, and I knew that the sounds coming from the piano were painful stretchings... raw and occasional tonal groans that seemed to come from a crippled deformity of sound...

I was gone for some time... and when I came into the room, he looked at me and smiled... "last note." He sat down and started to play a few excerpts... the piano responded, and at times began to ring...

"The tuning is already slipping a little." he said.

I asked about the action.

"Yes, it is a little stiff. But some of that will work out as you play it."

This statement stunned me a bit. It never occurred to me I would have to play the piano. I just had envisioned he would restore the piano and it would be there then for guests and visitors to play. I didn't think that I would be involved.

"I will be back to do another tuning., " he assured me. Next time I will take the action out and explore what we need to do to." He then left.

I was alone with the piano.  The piano stood there, lid raised, waiting...

(to be continued)  See Part I in earlier posting

Piano Sings from Silent Decades of Neglect (Part I)

For now, suspend your disbelief. Suspend your judgment. Suspend your insistence to understand the reason for excessive neglect of such a sensitive persona that had been a life-long companion in several incarnations and was discarded twenty years in response to a different necessity and condition for existence. Two decades ago in a fit of despair, this brilliant instrument of imagination that had served without fail for generations, seeing me through from boyhood to maturity was abused by rejection and neglect---not as a deliberate callous act, but due to circumstances that could have no other outcome.
I was caught in a vortex of contradictions, and as conditions changed when this instrument could be embraced and nurtured, I was was too battered and traumatized to make any gesture of reconciliation.

You wonder how these things begin. How does breaking away from relationships reach such an impasse that there is no way back, no way to repair the damage? Time passes and you forget. You forget all of the tiny pleasures that created such a bond with another...moments creating memories, and memories becoming the substance of who we are and who we are becoming.

And yet I can see vividly how this perfect storm of events that led to conditions of reconcialiation literally exploded in my life on a Saturday afternoon. It was monumental. I arranged to meet a dear friend I had not seen for six months who was under siege in all aspects of health and spirit ... She came into Zuni, radiant, like light filling the dark corners of despair that grew out of the abrupt schism of my life.... And we had such a great inquiry into what could be possible trajectories for future work... And then we connected through a suddenness of need with another friend from whom she had been estranged ...  A few hours later, fresh from this reconciliation, I saw one of the greatest films of my life... Le Grande Bellezza... As though it had been created to reconcile me to life at this precise moment as I recover from a damaged perception... A lost soul wandering empty... alienated from those who had once sustained and nourished me.

I was transformed, renewed and reborn.... And then I stopped at the Mercer Street Bookstore and was drawn directly to a book of poems by Lucas Hunt,  Light on the Concrete, an edition that was signed by the poet... With poems that spoke directly to me ... I might have written them...the first poem was about reconciliation:

          Together at Last
We see the world with shadows all around
and rage to be more alive in the light
of love, thus our hearts, as nimble as  deer,
Pause before leaping the highest fence.

The next morning I had brunch with a former student who is a craftsman and whose passion is making music with analog synthesizers.... I had not seen him for six years, but he came tumbling into my life almost unexpectedly and I could feel the magnetism that aligned us at this particular time.

He was a person that worked with meticulous precision with his synthesizers, at one time having an enormous collection of electronic instruments. Recently he had turned his artistic craftsman skills to piano tuning with an aim not only to tune but to restore.... and as we talked I suddenly knew that I had found someone I could trust to reconcile me with a past that had bruised my sensibility and awareness and cut me off from my expressive companion.

He described how years of tuning oscillators had sharpened his ear so that tuning the piano strings fell into place. As we finished brunch, I told him that I had a piano sitting in my apartment that had not been touched for 20 years. I tried to explain why the piano had been so neglected... but the story is so personal and painful, I could only explain that circumstances in my life and situation conspired in such a way that the piano was blocked from my consciousness. The piano had been my constant connection to the exploration of sound and ideas.  My obsession on the keyboard was to improvise for hours at a time... and the sonority of this piano gave so much feedback to me that original ideas erupted abundantly expressive, powerful, a spontaneous communion as a musical interrogation, uncovering such exquisite constellations of musical ideas.

"I have no idea what you will find," I said, "if you were to take on the project of nursing this instrument back to performance... I am sure it may take four or five tunings, if the pin board will hold. The action will need detailed attention. It is an instrument that was once so proud and now through this neglect is a mere shadow of itself."

I paused.

"Is this something you would be interested in?  Would you like to come and at least take a look and assess the challenge?" I sensed in him a compassion and commitment to quality, the kind of quality manifest in Zen in the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. In fact I discerned in him the kind of artist mechanic that would be needed for an adventure like this. If he was focused and sincere, he could begin the process of reconciliation that I so desperately needed.

These events led to my increasing awareness of the healing energy that was forming the essence of this new experience, of renewal of friendships, of renewal of commitments, of a creative renaissance flowing from these interactions. I began to see how connecting again with my friends, the experience of the film, the discovery of the poem, and the serendipitous background leading to new skills in this gifted young synthesist had converged into a pivotal moment that  could change my life.

He agreed to give it a try and made an appointment to come visit the piano the next day.

A Broken Thread: Long Live the Gate Keeper

David  W. Ecker, Artist,  Philosopher,  Educator

The last day of 2013 was the passing of an era, almost unnoticed, as all the players have moved on in spite of our indebtedness to our mentor and pioneer in the quality of life: David W. Ecker. And yet this quiet giant of phenomenological inquiry who taught us all how to see, how to listen, how to write, how to teach, how to be... has passed from this earth, a true broken thread  to the past.  Even though I had a doctoral degree and was newly arrived at New York University, my colleague David Ecker began my real education about art as experience and the basis for understanding our experience of life. He has always been my mentor and my catalyst.

I was mystified that since his passing on December 31, more than two weeks ago, almost no one was honoring his presence and his passing through any public sharing. PLEXUS, an International community-based art experience over which Ecker had significant influence and experience, appeared not to have noticed he's missing among us. I was hoping to read some tribute from PLEXUS since Dr. Sandro Dernini, who is the heart and spirit of PLEXUS, was one of Dr. Ecker's greatest allies and collaborators. I am delighted that now the PLEXUS FaceBook site is posting images and celebrating the work of this man who was both an elegant scholar and an articulate maker of art and events.

And the website ISALTA that sprung from the genius of his ideas and conception has become so dormant that there is no memorial tribute... as though everyone believed the dream died long ago. In fact, the web address ISALTA has become the index page to the activity and interests of Dr. Carleton Palmer who was David Ecker's protégé . Admittedly, ISALTA as a website exists only through the efforts and perseverance of Dr. Palmer. But it has been a source of concern that when I give the ISALTA web address to friends and colleagues who have been excited about the philosophy underlying ISALTA, there is nothing of ISALTA at that address.

I am encouraged by some communication from Dr. Dernini in which there are plans to dedicate future projects to David Ecker, and I anticipate his passing becomes the opportunity to honor him in the process of text, and the creation of works that his leadership has encouraged and inspired.

I call David Ecker the Gate Keeper because it was the vigilance of his vivid consciousness that kept our efforts true and honest to the integrity of pure inquiry as the nature of experience. He was such a splendid advocate for phenomenology, because it was central to all that guided his actions and interactions. When people first met David, they expected him to explain "Phenomenology".  He always refused, but not directly. He would just smile and proceed to have us learn through engaging in inquiry and description of specific encounters with works of art. He taught by example much more than by lecture. Sitting in on his "experiments" was always such a revealing process because he helped us uncover our direct perceptions, edit out the garbage, and emerge with a deeper sense of our experience.

Breaching the Abyss

You broke your long silence just as I  found myself in the trenches of the Abyss. The Abyss is fundamental to human experience. In some ways the Abyss exists as our terror of nothingness.

I have passed through an autumn of despair always on the brink of the Abyss ... celebrated the full moon at Autumn Solstice, and I did look at that beautiful moon and thought of all my friends around the world... I thought of you and wondered how your transition to a new life was going. I thought of those beautiful souls that brought this celebration into my life...and how this solstice moon changed my perception of the world,

My Abyss is filled with the cacophony of silence...  a troubling rift  in the soundscape, filled with the energy of the sounding presence about to happen... a silence that spins sound into being....

I have passed through a really difficult time that I will never understand and now find myself in a world that somehow seems strangely alien. 

What sense can I make of this stage of my experience... everything that had started four years ago suddenly tumbled down and out of my life...

So I am in a new place...  now going through radical changes in my consciousness... I step into new terrain where I don't recognize things that should be familiar...

I know there are intense energies changing the universe and penetrating my reality, and I am watching with a certain wonder and hoping that somehow I will find the language that will reveal some meaning of the riddle of the Abyss that has always haunted me...

The opera I had started for Second Avenue broke apart like brittle clay, but there were lovely clusters of music resonating as though somehow they might assemble into something even more poignant and compelling...  for it has always been the music that has sustained and inspired me, no matter what the faces and the spirits that surround me and invade my soul...

And the occasion of breaking your silence has reached across the world and awakened a moment in me, igniting a passion that clings to life and living, to beauty, truth, and wonder... you are such a splendid catalyst...

I suddenly wish I could bring us all together to celebrate the magnificent splendor of who we are... connected, but unconnected, in a universe that shimmers like the solstice moon disappearing over the rim of a hill... breaching the Abyss in the recognition that what we have created together endures and continues to resonate.

Tales from the Abyss

It's difficult to pinpoint this process of awareness that comes in like ocean tides, waves sweeping in and covering me and then receding and leaving me exposed and raw as I understand that for a moment I couldn't breathe, and I was gasping for air. Then suddenly there is a flash of consciousness, and I become aware of thoughts and ideas that were uncovered as though the sand of the beach was swept away and what was left was a kernel of truth.

It is even harder to understand that this is a fundamental flashback to points of discovery and to moments when I committed myself to believing in impossible dreams. I was also embedded in despair of a world I thought was dissolving out from under me, and there was no more reason to continue in any direction because everything was quicksand.

So into this abyss came the Trio, or perhaps my invention of the Trio was my hope that such vision for beauty and truth could be shared and become the reality of its potential. So when I asked my friends if we might adventure together for a time, it was an innocent and naive assumption that such a fusion of purpose was possible and desirable.

What followed was indeed adventure and deception.