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Using prosetry to explore the difference between the student and the teacher, the artist and the journeyman is challenging. Finding common language for both sides of a painting, symphony, poem, i.e., the creator and the patron is never easy. Still, we owe it to ourselves and those who might respect our work, to make such an effort.
Two Worlds of Black and White
How furiously most navigate
these polarized worlds of image and sound
and lack of
black never becomes white
White never embraces black
Paradox is banished
Stunted minds only perceive one
or the other.
For a precious few
those who sit before
a black and white world of keys
bone and skin
as limber fingers
such merging of color’s deep mix
its wash of infinite searching
for hue and texture
gives birth to unique tone and vision
enabling layers of voices to step forth
becoming echoes to overlay echoes
embracing sound of distinguished structures
Hands realize the enigmatic reach
that unheard touch to fill the stretch
to speak that which might remain mute
were it not for those in need
Such is the struggle.
Behind such fingers and hands
there resides a restive pulse
that place where artistry gathers legitimacy
where striving to be felt as a language
yet to be defined
suffices the heart’s desire
the mind’s nourishment
Mystery the keyboard artist understands
An unrealized longing the pianist accepts
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|Reviewed by Morgan Merriweather
|This is a wonderful write. Black and white makes me think that one or the other has to be accepted and no more. I think there is room for shades of grey and then the whole spectrum. If just one heart is enabled to sing off key, then its one in the right direction. ~ Morgan|
|Reviewed by Jerry Bolton
|Such an amazingly truism, Odin, and explored, however briefly, you brought out the underlying struggle and overpowering lack of respect for and comes down to "Stunted minds only perceive one or the other." Tragedy, but the artist and the bricklayer (which is an artist of his own making) breathe differently therefore the rarefied air of the artist and the cement smell of the bricklayer are suspicious of the other. This is a good condensed piece, my friend. It may be condensed, but the message is stunning. Take a bow.|