Just returned from Don Giovanni. Mozart was truly a genius to combine such harmonies, melodies and musical elaborations within the structure of such a coy libretto.
(There is a woman in the states who thinks she's the reincarnation of Wolfie himself. Dresses like him. Has a 'Stanze' girlfriend. It was an embarrasing doc(moc)umentary to watch.)
Has always been in my life. Has saved my life. Is drama. Is meaning. Is salvation.
I remember strolling around school music rooms, picking up this instrument and that; at once wanting to play them all. I settled on violin in junior high school, clarinet after that, and a brief love affair with the glockenspeil and the snare drum, in that order. It was suggested I would be a match for the French horn, which I immediately snubbed on account of it being forced upon me. I wanted the music maker to call out to me. As it should. Still have a love affair with the violin and clarinet. Haunting, them sounds. Piano was also a love, but never got the lessons. Have to start young, I think. Still enjoy tinkering. Learned this once, painstakingly. Slowly. Bach destroys me. But who has time for these things when you're studying ancient languages. I miss it. I truly do. The theatre, the music, the opera singing. I need another lifetime.
See Don Giovanni.
Last October I was priveleged to be in New York and visited museums such as the Pierpont Morgan Library where they had a collection of Mozart's original notation. I poured over it for long pauses of scintillating imaginary glimpses into handwriting analyses, wishing I'd known his rumoured flirtatious ways, was able to inspire a few notes, a few glances. Surely this is fantasy. Incredible seeing his works so close. I should still be there.