An Artist’s Keys

And so he sits. Day in. Day out. His fingers float effortlessly over the keys with remarkable speed.

The way he puts groupings of keys together, it tugs at heart strings. Swells of emotion. It can’t help but evoke involvement . Sometimes it is pure joy that he can illicit. Other times it is the kind of sadness that makes you sit still for minutes of reflection.

There’s an entire community out there. But he prefers solitude. He’ll take aspects of their work, but never publishes his own within the community. And why shouldn’t he? Of course he had to learn at some point, but now he’s not in this for being praised. It’s so that he can make a decent living. About as decent as any other artist but he rationalizes to himself that at least he enjoys the lifestyle.

His work may have been taboo once upon a time. When countries were run by the church. Morality prevailed. But the fact is, things have changed. If what he does can be considered “bad”, then he’s no worse than half the people running the country.

He is working on his latest masterpiece. His back is hunched forward as his slender fingers flutter over the keys. The ones he uses more than most have transformed from a matte finish to a smooth glossy coating. Sometimes as he pauses to meditate on his work he subconsciously circles his index finger over the glossy finish that has long been formed on G.

He’ll often put a CD on in the background. Modernism. Always modernism. It inspires him. The progress, innovation, science, technology, urbanization. The way Strauss could play his keys makes him think he may be able to produce a work of art of equal valour.

He always chooses modernism because he can relate to the way that romantic classicalists rejected the mechanization that it brought forth.  It exposed vulnerabilities. A language that was able to undercut the traditions and roots of society. People said it brought too much dissonance. Ruined harmony.

People didn’t understand it. And they still don’t. That’s why he will never be understood.  His keys are not too different from the ivory and ebony keys of the great pianists. Both push the boundaries of what is considered normal and okay in society.

The only difference is his score. The frets, notes, sharps and flats are replaced with punctuation marks.

<script type=”text/javascript”> document.write(“An Artist’s Keys”) </script>

His skills could be used elsewhere but there is no desire. Modernist composers did not make their music to make everyone happy. No. It was for themselves. And so, he will not use his skills to make others happy but his own.

He doesn’t see it as stealing. He feels no guilt. It’s not his fault they are unaware, easy prey.  It’s not like taking candy from a baby. It’s planned. It’s genius. It’s art.

Not just anyone can play piano like Strauss, and not just anyone can scam like he does.  The fact is this is all for money, but sometimes he’ll put himself to the real challenge. This is where he writes his beautiful score. Each line of the script floats in to the next. The code unravels like a yarn. He can hack into any account, website or platform.

Sometimes it’s an easy Craigslist scam taking aim at naive people looking for apartment rentals. He advertises for apartments that he doesn’t own and people are so trusting they pay him with no guarantee.

Sometimes it’s an item with a price tag that’s “too good to be true”. Fact is it was too good to be true. He doesn’t feel bad for this kind of work. People just aren’t smart. And he is. This doesn’t mean he should limit himself. Hacks in to someone else’s e-mail account. Crescendo. He claims they needs donations to pay for the pills they need for their kid’s cancer. Diminuendo. Money in to an account that never had to do with a sick child.

And so he sits. Day in. Day out. His fingers float effortlessly over the keys with remarkable speed.

The way he puts strands of keys together, it tugs at heart strings. Swells of emotion. It can’t help but evoke involvement . Sometimes it is pure joy that he can illicit. Other times it is the kind of sadness that makes you sit still for minutes of reflection.

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One Response to An Artist’s Keys

  1. emilyhowe says:

    I’m claiming this piece for my presentation

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