It’s the piano in classical music. The soft drifting from key to key, the light timidity, and then the majesty of the melody. In my mind I can see the player’s fingers dancing across the white expanse, their figure hunched over the keys, their eyes half-open, lulled by their own song. Then the strings emerge. Bright. They weave around the piano, like a braid, twisting and spinning, but never touching. Together they sing, their voices intertwined and soaring. They dance, first apart and then closer and closer until they come nose to nose, two halves becoming whole for the briefest moment, only to drift apart once again.
Classical music evokes something visceral within. A subconscious animal we all have that gives us to the impulse to jump in puddles, kiss with passion, and lie on the ground and stare up at the stars. It has the ability to tap into that primal nature within as very few mediums can.
Tonight, as I walk home after three hours in lecture, it’s the haunting melody in classical music that transports me. Who knew how magical the College of Arts and Sciences could look in the streetlight, its sharp edges dulled by the night. Classical music, unlike any other medium, has the ability change something mundane into something otherworldly. It can turn a simple walk back home into something more- a world of soft pools of streetlight and golden shadows. It can make you look up at the sky, see a star, and smile.
I realize that listening to classical music isn’t something you normally just do. In fact it may seem strange at first. But really, just try it. It’s a surprisingly emotional experience. Calming. Thoughtful. Reflective. And at times… magical.