Sensory Memoir-

Sensory Memoir-

  • Submitted By: Lindseyq123
  • Date Submitted: 12/06/2008 11:44 PM
  • Category: English
  • Words: 434
  • Page: 2
  • Views: 390

Memior Flowing arpeggios caressed the air. His skillful fingers were glidingeffortlessly across the black and white. His brow glistening with sweat from the effort of musical enigma, Colinseemed to recite the concerto without a second thought, without giving heed to the audience that listened attentively for a single sour note. I can still recall the day when I witnessed my fellow pianist’s performance of Rachmaninoff’s Third Piano Concerto. I never fail to marvel at that aural dreamscape which inspired in me a passion and desire to excel in a follow-up concert of my own. I woke up the following morningno differently than any other, but a lingering air of ambition laced every breath I took. As I rubbed the morning grit out of my eyes, I halted in mid-motion, before slowly pulling my hands out before me. Compared to those of an experienced pianist, what could I be proud ofin my own ordinary, mediocre hands? My brow furrowed at such a dilemma, slightly envious, yet eager of the talent which I had yet to prove of myself. My infatuation and intensity grew with each page turned. I couldn’t be stopped. themovement of my fingers wouldn’t cease to play with melodious resonance. Nothing in the entire world could halt my performance; I was driven, and so energetically motivated to do my best, and to dazzle the audience with all my talent. It was almost as if passion blossomed, fueled by the crowd’s radiating energy and the gleaming stage lights burning their way into my skin; which was now beginning to perspire. I could feel every eye resting on me, presenting me with a rush of excitement and ambition. I played and played, for there was not a note that was carried away that I didn’t put my heart into. That very last note, I struck it hard. I knew that I had played until my heart’s content, for once not caring where I stood in comparison to my fellow pianists. As I stood before the ecstatic crowd to eagerly take my bow, it hit me; passion isn’t something that you gain...

Similar Essays