Vacuum
My piano beautifully sits in the center of my living room. Its black reflective body and bronze pedals illuminate the simplicity of the instrument. However, when the hood is opened, you can see the layers of keys, mechanics, and effort, displaying its craftsmanship and intricate details. 88 keys; 52 white and 36 black. Red felt padding protecting the keys from the body of the piano. Smooth soft edges, only harsh on the corners. The letters YAMAHA are printed in bronze directly above middle C. My music desk, cluttered with the fabrication of my thoughts, is always left upright and untouched. Dust has settled into the nooks of my keys and the strings which make possible the proud roar of my piano. It is fierce. It is bold. Yet, it is also calm and private. Keeping to itself without remorse. My piano waits for me. Waits for me to come home, to caress it, to take care of it. It is delicate and praises its praisers. My piano is like a 10-year-old boy. It responds instantly when provoked- no hesitation. But nonetheless, my piano respects me, and I repay the same kindness. We are alike, we know when to be quiet and when to make a scene. And, we inspire each other.
Passion: driving forces that compel us to act. It follows us. It weighs on our backs like a backpack. Tucked into this backpack are hopes, aspirations, fears, and almost every component of our subconscious minds neatly gathered into a three-ring binder. I feel my passion seeping out of this backpack when I sit alone on my cushioned piano stool. Everything around me seems to disappear and for a moment, the world stops. This doesn’t mean I forget the feelings that come with the weight of my current life; most times, remembering is exactly what I need. When I am carrying pain, hurt, anger, or love is when I start to write, is when I am inspired. I feel protected by my piano as if when I write, I am in a vacuum. I create frequency from the feelings within my subliminal mind. The words bounce off my tongue while simultaneously, the chords ring in my ear before I play them with my hands. I decipher what note I’m hearing and from this, a song is formed. This is my process, as I have with many things. A steady routine that has been engraved in my head. So normal that it becomes mindless. But not as if a zombie was haphazardly banging chords, it just feels natural, seamless. I find comfort in the things that feel routine. I tend to excel in the things that feel familiar to me, the things that work with me, not the things I need to work for.
The connection between mind and soul; the thoughts and the motions. The unseen forces that puppet our bodies and work cohesively to create a universal flow. Me and my piano work together. We are in tune with one another. I find that I lose my reality when I play, my being combined with that of my piano. Nothing in this world is black and white. Everything has hidden meanings, underlying attractions, or agendas. Things are perplexing and disarranged. However, when I sit alone on my cushioned piano stool, passion, drive, and connection pouring out of that invisible backpack, I feel an ardent sense of unity. This is how I know my piano is my place, because for the temporary moment I am there, things seem to look a little clearer. Just me and my piano.
Zoe Lee enjoys all things art; writing, music, and acting. Creativity is her passion and she hopes to get to share it!
