beauty times two

tuesday night
40 on 40

tonight, i cried.
and incase you want to make any assumptions about validity, they were on the chaste heels of a full day filled not with any device. nary a sip, naught the faintest hint of a toke.
purity. verifyably me.

i sat in a darkened theatre, supposed peers littering all peripherals (and others too), and i watched. i watched them. 40 shorts on 40 ontario artists. 40 people living. 40 people making art, digging into my eyes or ears, jiggling things about. and when the everythingness of it all gripped too tightly to hold social conventions, thick globules of saline intensity meandered down my cheek.

note to self: create more.

***
wednesday
toronto symphony orchestra

again, the tears found me.
i didn't have a fighting chance!
it was all so much, so impressive, so intense, so beautiful.
there's the music, that's the obvious one.
but also the building. the master craftsmen, the engineers, the carpenters, all that work. the amount of detailed and meticulous attention to that space, designed solely for the ultimate listening experience. it was so fucking gorgeous.

Beethoven's violin concerto was light, frisky, with dark and desperate undercurrents. written in haste for a friend, it is rumoured that it was completed a mere half hour before its premiere. the performers had to read it, it is said, while the ink was still drying. he dedicated it to a childhood friend. for Beethoven, who often dedicated his work to high rollers and potential patrons, this was no small gesture. i imagined him as a young boy, fleeing from his abusive father at the dark bits, and when the violins again started dancing, i could see him rejoicing in the solace and comfort his friend brought him. oh those light parts, those bouncy parts. and yet always that undercurrent. always the father waiting at home, threatening to crush the frivolity. but in the end, the frivolity won out. thank fuck! she exclaims with a big grin.

Tchaikovsky's 6th Symphony is the one that really got me, right there... presented in 4 movements, the symphony starts passionately, intensely, fiercely. as you may remember, this was his last piece before committing suicide. he was in love with one of the elites. a man. this was about 8 steps beyond being frowned upon. in the first movement, i could taste his tears, hear his rage, feel his frustration. as my heart swelled, swelled, hot thick tears raced in rivulets down my cheeks. the 2nd and 3rd movements were light, pretty. i think he was thinking about his lover. sweeping strings, high soaring hopes. at the end of the 3rd, i swear i could hear him shouting "I HAD LOVE, AND *THAT* IS MY VICTORY!!" it was so rousing the audience got confused, and started clapping instead of indulging in the usual between-movement-ass-shuffle (really, it's amazing. in that space with perfect acoustics, you can hear hundreds of asses shifting in anticipation of the next movement, it's a little silly actually). but then the 4th started. slow, sweet, mournful notes taking us to the darkest corner of his heart, where the secrets are hidden. and oh god, the painful beauty tucked therein.

next time pms strikes and the tears need their safe haven, a trusted outlet, i'll know better than to race to the video store for a chick flick. i'll turn instead to the big Tchai.

art.
what a gift.