What a beautiful piece -- thanks for that moment. And a deep question indeed. How does age affect one's sensitivity and one's authority in the production of art? If we think for instance of authors, I'd mentioned in the thread on
coming of age novels two masterworks by Woolf, Melymbrosia (arguably her first novel) and the Waves (written at the height of her powers). In the first, which is splendidly drawn, one nonetheless feels that certain things happen to the characters because of pressures which the novelist feels imposed on her almost from the outside -- the world is not entirely of her own creation, but rather fate intervenes.
Youth is in many ways reactionary: whether raging against the current order or submitting to it, there's nonetheless a kind of engagement with the world
as it is, and a feeling that things must be dealt with, must be encountered, actually exist.
The Waves, on the other hand, is radically different; it's a world of its own. She is old enough, and deep enough, to be a creator in the full sense of the term. The world she draws for us is one in which we have lived without knowing it.
Of course, turning back to music, some people in old age may become so radical, and so subtle, that they perhaps no longer submit to the will of the composer at all, but rather play a piece of their own creation. Technique is a factor, but I suspect issues of interpretation are also at play.
It's an argument for working continuously at what one loves. When one is eighteen it seems as if adulthood is relatively shallow: from the shore it's difficult to gauge the sea's depths. And many people stay close to the shore. But when one sees people who have indeed spent their whole lives sailing out, and what great distances and depths they have attained -- one's entire focus changes.
Do keep playing...
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