the piano room

November 17, 2012 § Leave a comment

a chinese student wants to know, am i ready for the art writing class? we look at a book together and read about marcel duchamp. oh i know this work. is it art? yes it is art. what is this word?

fountain.

we look at a picture of a fountain with an acorn upunded like a cherry on top.

oh yes, i know that.

when my shift ends, i’m feeling like little miss autumn. i cross a few down and across and over curbs and under a tree dark red against the nursery blue sky. how many people have tried to take this picture? and failed–what a failure this is, this tree over them all. still people will keep taking that little picture with their little phones, as long as there are trees and phones and art students who want but cannot capture a vision.

the building i’m heading for has a room called the piano room. the girl behind the front desk notices what surely we all are thinking about me, at any given time and asks: do you need help?

i have a student whose work is on display. in the the piano room–is that a real thing? yes, it might be locked. but the handle submits. a baby grand holds ocurt inside a room the sized of a kitchen. a strange vanilla-yellow light. then i notice there is a person sitting at a piano who begins to play chords.

i say, “i’m here to look at the works. am i disturbing you?” i actually love weird, unprecedented, quiet situations. everything works. i actually live for them.

“no, i’m waiting for someone,” he says.

we could keep going with these declarations. i’m wearing a coat. well, i’m sitting at a piano. and i’m standing here.

i move along the wall, and he continues to play chords. the wall expands and contracts around the small pieces. he repeats the chords in a suspenseful little rhythm. at times i feel i have dialed out of this world somehow and into another. don’t we all–to think we’ve transcended into another plane in a room,

in a small room, with a piano, another person, a wall of art, a repeating chord. the repeating chord is a stairway. you’ve heard it before (oh i know this) and will hear it again. the question is how–how do we find that room again? how do we walk over the curb, under the tree, and then along a wall.

so i walk a different way home. i see a nice autumn street in bolton hill for the tastefully rich, the richly tasteful and see a house for sale. i am sure it contains rooms filled with musical instruments. i take the sale flyer outside, but no piano rooms are listed. the vision will have to wait for another walk.

on the way home i pass a fountain with an acorn on top, perched like a cat on a bench.

 

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