Music in my ribs, kidneys, liver, heart.

a thought is a landmark to a treasure that holds little value
when hidden, yet the risk of bearing your soul is the potential
for its value to be diminished by someone else

i realised, that how ever much i attempt to be cultured, scrutinising an art piece by its artistic profundity, visual perfectness, thematic representation, the truth of the matter is that the way it touches the hearts of many out there will forever remain much subjective confundity.

to me, i cannot for the life of me feel tugging of heartstrings at a bunch of lego bricks perfectly pieced together to mimic the human anatomy as much as the perceptive flair of the artist amazes me. perhaps, it is the way most modern visual art possess this avant garde like nature, ambiguous to the point that it communicates none of what needs to be said to mainstream audience. very much like avant garde of the auditory kind, but thank God much of music is still layman and soothing to the ear. 

so post afternoon of dragging my half asleep self around the art-science museum has had me thinking about what it is about visual arts that puts me to sleep, and what is it about music that makes my mind and soul and heart go crazy. 

i would first like to point out the singular and dual dimension of visual and auditory arts respectively. a visual work of art is crafted by the artist himself, of which had taken form and shape in his mind or some sort of draft medium, now ideas translated through the dexterity of his fingers. when finished, the piece holds a personal value known only to the artist/artists himself/themselves. music, on the other hand, is dual dimensional, where the composer crafts what it in his mind, and it takes form on the stave, where every staccato, ritardando, change in tempo, crescendo and diminuendo lovingly sits waiting for the conductor's/musician's interpretation to take form. the resulting work of art and its communicated value lies a relationship between the the composer and the musician. any one could feel such a personal connection when he plays the piece, and lives the notes.

secondly, their elemental natures in its complete and finished form, visual and auditory - respectively dead and living. visual art, in the midst of the doing, starts to take form and come alive. but once crafted into a tangible form, it ironically becomes dead. one where people poke their noses into, mull over and stare at, misintepret (or perhaps, was the original intention of the artist anyway. that is something i will never get. is post-modernism an excuse for a poorly communicated work of art?!?!?!) but it exists as it is, never to be remolded and remade (you could, but it will just be an imitation, which is not cool) ever again. 

music, on the other hand, appears dead in its finished form in the composer's hands. but for every time curtains go up and the band resumes, that is when a work of art truly comes alive. every piece played will never take the same character as it did the day before, or the day before yesterday, even if it were by the same people. because what comprises in that performance, is the marriage of both the conductor's and musicians' souls and their state of minds and emotions at that point in time. the watching audience are a part of that raw atmosphere, contributing another dimension when their presence somehow changes the delivery of music, and they are a part of this work of art in its playing. 

and thirdly, their abilities to reach. chances are, the best pieces of art will travel around the world, be a subject of institutional discussions, go through auctions, land themselves at places other pieces of art dream about. but nothing like the transcendental nature of music. for every time a piece is played, even reinterpreted and remixed, the arms of reach extends, further and further. it crosses geographical and cultural boundaries, holding a value close to the hearts of the musician and the listener. it even surpasses the dimension of time, for playing a Tchaikovsky swirls up the settled dust, every replay bringing life to the ideas of a man long gone in this world.

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i was 9, and out of my school bag i took out some lyrics that was passed out during music lesson. and on the school bus on the way home, i sang 'Home'. that was the first time i heard my own voice speaking back into my heart, like some sort of a self-monitor- the pulsing of the vocals and how i could effectively take charge of my voice and mould it. i kinda liked music. it wasn't till much later in life, that this became a little more serious.

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everyday, i think i know myself a little better.

i always knew music spoke to my soul, but never could quite put a finger as to why. now, as i'm slowly inching towards a breakthrough in the marriage of my inner compass and thought processes- the heart and the head, i am realising why i gravitate towards the things i do. more often than not, it is because it holds a little bit of the relationship like that of the Maker and us.

Music encompasses a creator-creation dynamics that mimics the relationship between God and man. Music, like life, takes a living form once creation is finished. Music, like life, is alive and present, like the living nature of the relationship between God and us. Music, like life, holds the ability like that of the gospel to reach far wider than His once chosen people. this juxtaposition couldn't point any more towards the realisation that music is God-breathed.

totally mind-blown and comatosed right now.

(i'm sorry, visual arts, but you're too much like the God whom people who don't understand Him think He is- a God of the yesteryear, a God who speaks but not listen, a God far away in the tabernacle.)

breakthroughs are cool.

more on this coolness!