The Voyeur

Mt Eden, Auckland (click to enlarge)

Mt Eden, Auckland
(click to enlarge)

 

I watched without embarrassment, thoroughly devouring the people, the bows, the hands, the feet, the strings, the glances, the smiles, the concentration.

The choreography of classical compositions is intimate, and watching the notes unfold must be both the eighth sin and wonder of the world.  l feel gloriously unnoticed in my noticing, however, as everyone is doing the same.  Everyone is watching.

Our collective gaze strips their actions bare.  Not to nudity, but to breaths, pauses, moments.  Sensual rather than sexual looking.  A desire to glimpse a passion and practice and genius that we ourselves lack but admire.  Voyeurism revisited, I suppose.  We’re scopophilic, of course, but the pleasure derives from a physicality of a different kind.  We’re looking and longing for the corporeal manifestation of music.

The musicians are looking too.  There’s the intense, wide-eyed stare of the cellist, absorbing the music through his eyes.  Another set of eyes stays shut, refusing to look but instead feel.  One I could not see.  And the last looked back at us.

They looked at each other.  Their eyes harmonized strings and their bodies responded, in starts fluid and powerful and soft, melting into the melody.  Me, we, the audience and the paintings all, gazed upon music today.

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