Playing by heart

In the household of my childhood, piano lessons were a must! Music was more than entertainment or a pastime, and with an enormously gifted father the hope was his passion would carry on through one or more of his children. Although the pressure was overwhelming, the deep seeded love of music was given to all four of us.

I do not remember what the piano lessons were like for the oldest two, but for my sister, Sara, and me the experience was remarkably distinct. Sara paid close attention, practiced and learned to read music well. I, on the other hand, loved the instrument but could not (or would not) give the task the time and attention it deserved.  Longing to play, however, I often went to our piano when no one was around and pecked out the notes of familiar pieces. It was a slow, and sometimes frustrating, endeavor, but, in the end, I learned a few songs and was able to play without notes. In time, my sister was able to play pieces without notes as well. It’s called “playing by heart,” which is a phrase I love.

It has been years since I sat at a piano, but recently I tried and found my hands remembering the notes to a Bach piece I love, a Neil Young song of my youth, and the beginning of the Beatles’ Let It Be.

I write not to suggest my, or my sister’s, way of playing was superior, only that we sometimes find the music of faith in much the same way. There are those who sit and put in the time practicing and learning to read the “notes,” whether through Bible studies, church instruction, and authentic fellowship. There are also others who, like me, learn how to play without notes. Step by step, we peck out the melody of faith through a series of correct and incorrect notes. In time, we learn to play without the help of sharps, flats, quarter notes and treble clefs, but we do learn to play.

Like so many differences in life, we often look over at how the other person does something and wish we could do it that way as well. Sometimes our longing becomes judgment, of them or ourselves, but on a good day I hope we celebrate the gift of being able to play the song of faith in whatever way works for us.

The goal is to learn to play by heart. Who cares how we get there? 

Conversations.

An artist recently said the purpose of art is to create conversation, and the more I have thought about it I agree. Whether by stirring or inspiring, angering or comforting, art has the ability to reach people in profound ways. "You've just got to come here this song". . . "That sculpture is a piece of crap" . . . "When I read this I wept" . . . are all beginnings of conversations.

Between artist and viewer, or fellow spectators, the conversations begin and lead to places unknown and unexpected. If perspectives are challenged, beliefs affirmed, then art has done its thing. In the end, the world is changed, people awakened, if only slightly, because the art caused a conversation.

Last week, I went to an amazing presentation by an artist named Diana Greene. Using twelve dresses stored in her attic, Greene used photographs and words to bring life not only to the dresses but the stages of life they represented. Whether her high school graduation dress or the one she wore when she met the man who would one-day be her husband, her wedding dress or the dress she wore to her mother's funeral, the performance caused us all to reflect on the clothes in our  "attic" and the important chapters they represent.

After the show, my wife and I went to a restaurant where we spotted a woman who had been at the show. Uncharacteristically, I invited her to join us, and we were soon talking about the show and the thoughts and feelings it provoked. Vividly, the art created a conversation between strangers.

This week, another art show will do the same. Entitled Finding Home: Portraits of Courage, the show uses photographs (also by Diana Greene) and the words of recovering addicts to paint a collage of the horror of addiction and miracle of recovery. Testaments of courage, the show would maybe be enough as that, but the responses have shown a power far beyond anything for which we hoped. The words and faces have started many conversations. The magic of art has begun once again. Who knows where it will lead. Who cares? It’s art, and its purpose is to begin a conversation.

Photograph: Anthony M. by Diana Greene

Finding Home is on display at the public library in Winston Salem (660 West 5th Street) and will be a book available by Christmas.

Cliffs

Long ago, as a ship navigated through notoriously dangerous waters, the captain looked out and saw the infamous cliffs that had periled many a vessel. Feeling safer with the potential danger in sight, he sailed near, but not too near, the cliffs. With the ship rocking in the surf, a young crew member questioned the captain: “Why, with all that open water to our port, do you sail so close to the cliffs ?” Unable to find a justifiable reply, the captain admitted his error and turned the ship in a new direction.

Like the sober alcoholic who remains transfixed on the bottle  . . . the recovering addict who thinks only of the needle . . . the young driver watching the police car . . . the dieter smelling the tempting dishes . . . the married woman fantasizing about her new co-worker, cliffs beckon us in their own particular ways. Keeping them in sight can feel safe, but it can also demand the kind of stoic resolve that turns knuckles white as we grip the wheel to navigate our way through life. Why not sail toward the open seas of new social habits, meaningful relationships, healthy living, and true serenity?

Cliffs? Open seas? The choice is ours.