Andante by Chipka
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Description
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1:
I was drawn to a sound that made me think of mice in newspaper; it was faint—a whisper beneath the sounds of the city: voices in the distance, the groaning, flatulent drone of traffic, the wooden clop-clop-clop of women stalking by in shoes that easily cost two-month’s rent—it was an unobtrusive noise: shy, retiring…unheard by those lacking what ears it takes to listen. My ears were tuned to the sound of mist, as filtered through a piano. My mind was far away, drifting just over the surface of the Vltava River, as it makes its way through the town of Český Krumlov. I’d discovered apples there, and walnuts in a plastic bag, delivered by a friend with automotive grime under his fingernails. I wasn’t thinking of friends with work-dirty fingernails and cheap, acrid cigarettes pinched between their lips. I wasn’t thinking of apples, but because my thoughts were far away, I was receptive to the mice-in-newspaper sound of dead blossoms. I can’t name the plant in question. I don’t even know if I could locate it again if you asked to. All I know is that there was a breeze, and what remained of its blossoms rustled against one another, whispering, telling secrets—perhaps, or perhaps not.
2:
I didn’t visit the grave of Leoš Janáček when I lived in the Czech Republic; he is buried in Brno, and I’d only ever spent about a day’s worth of hours there. Upon my eventual return to my adopted homeland, I’ll visit his grave. I’ll probably go there with friends: one or two…or maybe I’ll go alone. I suspect a quiet Russian will go with me, and then find a place that serves honey-sweetened lemon juice. (It’s what he does: he drinks lemon juice, faintly sweetened, and ponders things.)
I’m not yet in the habit of drinking lemon juice with honey. At least, not yet. I’ve been in the habit—however—of listening to Janáček compositions since I first discovered him in 1987 or was it 1988? I’ve been in the habit of finding various Janáček-motifs in unexpected, unrelated places. On the day that I was drawn to the mice-in-newspaper sound of winter-dried blossoms, long past their mortal incarnations, I found the first movement of Janáček’s In [the] Mist embedded in the distinctly non-misty colors and textures of dead blossoms. The colors made me think of aged parchment, the vague, faint rustle of dry, lifeless foliage recalled something other than mice scurrying through newspaper, though I’m sure that mice and newspaper were rather dominantly associated with what I was feeling at the time.
*
There are stories hidden within the musical mists, composed by Janáček. Perhaps, one day, I will discover them and commit them to (digital) paper. There are stories hidden within the papery rustle of winter-dead blossoms of unknown pedigree (unknown, at least, to me). Perhaps, one day, I will learn the name of such blossoms, and the stories that they may tell.
In the meantime, here is an image…
*
As always, thank you for viewing, reading, (listening) and commenting. I hope you are all having a great week.
Comments (14)
KatesFriend
It's interesting that you bring up the sound of light rustling of blossoms or perhaps fallen leaves. A few days ago my dragon slaying cat Lilly was watching something intently from her perch against the small window by our front door. A small black-ish almost ephemeral object that seemed to scurry and stop and scurry and stop with the wind. Mouse like it seemed, though it also seemed like a leaf fragment - so many find their way to our front door. The mouse qualities were what no doubt triggered my cat's primordial hunting lust. I could see the excitation in her bearing. Every now and then though she seemed to remind herself that there was a stout piece of glace between her and her quarry. She settled for retaining the watchful peace. Thank you for sharing the music though, it is helping me relax and reflect from a most busy afternoon. I shall have to try lemon juice with honey some time. Though I more often take lime juice, it's good from keeping the daemons at bay - it's a long story.
Faemike55
The image is beautiful and your narrative captivating the link to Mozart's music is an added dimension to our enjoyment
photosynthesis
Beautiful light & range of rich yellow to brown tones. And an evocative & haunting narrative to accompany it... I'm planning to take a river cruise with some friends from Budapest to Prague next year - as a former resident, maybe you could give me some advice on what to see & do in Prague? Something the tour books might overlook?
giulband
Superb image !!!!!!
durleybeachbum
It was something new for me to listen to that. I saw his opera The Cunning Little Vixen, but that was till now my entire knowledge of him. I love the narrative and the dried Hydrangea photo.
jayfar
Wonderful image and a wonderful narrative to go with it.
jendellas
Love the image, great words too. X
helanker
What a beautiful and also elegant image you have here. It was a wonderful piece of very gentle music too. I made it play, while I read your sweet narrative and studies your image. I en joyed all three very much. :-)
kgb224
Superb capture my friend. God bless.
flavia49
wonderful capture
anaber
While reading you and looking your image, i could imagine the 'scenery' ...and for some unknown reason, when i was listening 'In the mist' of Janáček' in youTube' ( because i didn't knew it) come to my mind another music that has nothing to be with this one...'the green green grass of home'. Mind is strange, in reality... but your image and words, speaks so much about contrasts, so, may be it is the reason and is still hidden...or then, perhaps because you spoke about your 'adopted homeland', i dont know. Anyway, i agree! There are always stories hidden in what we see or in what we touch and that, is a big treat for me to discover. The image is EXCELLENT! I love the golden leafs and the others so tiny in the branches.They are so perfect and so elegant as Helle said. I can see one, that is still green behind in the bottom. A great photo that goes perfectly with your narrative. Great pieces, both. I love it!
MrsRatbag
I love these almost better dried and dead than in their prime; they are so graceful, and the small sounds they make in a breeze are almost apologetic. Beautifully captured, and your meandering narrative is enthralling, as always!!
anahata.c
Janáček was one of those rare birds who straddled two ages/two centuries, and wrote both romantic and modern music all in one, and beautifully so. How you link so many worlds into one journey is stunning, as it all fits, all communes while each part comes from different worlds...Yes, there is a rippling effect in the music, and I can see the connection to those dried leaves rustling in the breeze---which your photo totally captures, as the feel and the brittleness are all there, as is the autumnal parchment beauty. Mice on newspaper is a wonderful image, your whole first paragraph is filled with them...phrases like, "the groaning, flatulent drone of traffic, the wooden clop-clop-clop of women stalking by in shoes that easily cost two-month’s rent," or the automotive grime under fingernails from hands who deliver the sudden burst of a fresh apple. Or how the rustling dried leaves tell 'secrets', or not. You pack a melange of memory into a single paragraph; and, as in many of your fuller writings, there's a reference to love, in the mention of that russian and his honey-sweetened lemon juice, as he ponders existence. You quietly grab little bits of life and make a bouquet of them, for us, and then give them to us and move on. Absolutely beautiful and delicate as those leaves. And interesting too because Janáček had a deep interest in the folk musics of his heritage (he probably influenced later composers like Bartok to go deep into the countryside and gather samples, so the world could hear what only a small portion of the world had ever heard, a collection of melodies as arcane and haunting as one could imagine, from the ancient frontiers of Eastern Europe). I mean, the folk-connection fits, because your piece is filled with memory and private rite, which are at the heart of all wonderful folk art/music/tales etc. And, as a touch of serendipity-magic, like your own, the Janáček upload was made by Mozart! Lol---freakin' Mozart! I guess he jumped out of the next world and ran over to YouTube and uploaded a movement from Janáček! Way to go, Wolfgang! And btw, you may know it, but it's worth repeating: "Andante"---which usually means "slow"---actually means "walking," like gently walking, sauntering, exploring. (Root's related to ambient, even ambitious.) Walking is just so central to your journeys; even in your most intensity-packed passages, we feel you're quietly walking, looking, feeling, retaining a deep quiet within. Another graced bouquet from you, plucked from the magical garden of your soul, and given as one who, on their way to another destination, stopped purposely to give it to some people he loved, with a hug and a "this is for you, I walked 20 blocks so you could have it". Thank you. It's beautiful.
auntietk
Hydrangea is one of the only plants I think looks absolutely stunning at every stage. I love it that you loved it, not knowing what it was, or what it might have been in other times. Sometimes I think it's sad that I can identify a lot of the plants you come across ... that it somehow spoils your fun to know what they are. There's an element of discovery, of epiphany, in coming across something you've seen once and then see again later, like meeting an old friend you didn't know well. (I know that makes sense to you ... thank heaven for friends like you that don't ask me to clarify and explain!)