Some things, like spring, just can’t be ruined. Case in point, right now I’m listening to Couperin’s Pièces de Clavecin played on the piano: a musical oxymoron, of sorts. But it works, like so many of Bach’s compositions, contorted  for every musical combination imaginable, including The Toys 60’s pop hit “A Lover’s Concerto“; Anna Magdalena never played it that way. But such unconventional performances are the perfect music for this quiet moment on the first Saturday afternoon in March.

March is a month of every conceivable méteo-possibility- within the same day.  Winter-past and summer-future twist into an unpredictable present. And this present is windy and gray. But the jonquils will ultimately show their yellow faces after sufficient coaxing by those chilly, capricious winds. And those chilly winds will one day blow warm, just as the thin strains of Bach and Couperin’s harpsichord  succumb to new seasons of pianos, voices, synthesizers and who-knows-what-else.

Change, like spring, is essential for a guy like me. I’m afraid I’d become an artistic swamp of green algae if left in yearlong sunshine without wind, rain and the occasional threat of snow. My creative bio-rythmns are exhilarated by changing seasons just as much as by my travels to remote corners of France. Like the seasons, nothing I create is new. It’s been done over and over. My only goal is that my work be fresh and true. Like March. Like Couperin. And that, like Bach’s Air on the G String,  it endures the reinterpretations of time.

One thought on “Spring

  1. Bruce, this was a beautiful, poetic entry . . . I’m not sure how I missed it, as I was with you all through your trip and back home. Fabulous video, as well! You tickled all the senses with this post. : )

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