https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qc6e8NOswOg
This composition is typical of most of Anna’s work: sad, somber, mournful. Most of her pieces are slow, so the fast motions here are somewhat unusual, but they do exist in some other pieces. As with all her compositions, this was not “written” in the actual sense of notes. It was played, by ear, over and over, until she felt it sounded as it should. She took notes (as she always does), but these consisted of general ideas and vague indications of tone shift, “louder”, “softer”, etc…not actual musical notes. And, like all of her compositions, it is always open to changes she feels…it is “alive”, like her husband.
pose shifts the violin ever-so-slightly, cradling it now as a newborn; something treasured, precious, delicate. Her head lowers to just above it as her eyes begin to close. She exhales once, softly but faintly audible, as her eyes shut fully, her right arm bringing the bow to just above the top string of the instrument. She seems to virtually melt into the violin as the string is touched by the bow, eyes clenching slightly just as sound emerges from her delicately-held instrument. It is faint, at first; as something beginning to grow from the smallest of seeds, breaking from nothingness into reality. The sound, quiet as it is, is decidedly mournful: a sad, longing, hopeless cry…destined to suffer for all eternity.
pose holds her wrist steady; it does not move except as it is drawn by her arm, as if the bow and arm were the only things allowed this luxury, two objects coming together to produce a whole. She glides the bow very, very slowly down from the top string, the quiet cry becoming louder; hopeless, despairing, opening up its sorrow to the world. That one note is sustained as the length of the bow moves down, her hand almost touching the mournful string as its call seems to reach its highest point; still not loud, but having risen steadily on the bow’s slow journey downward.
pose moves her head – and the violin – the slightest bit then, pulling the bow back up much more quickly than it had gone down. This slightly faster pace elicits three distinct notes, played so close together that they almost meld into one, their sounds similar to each other but quite different from the mournful downward note; while still sad, the music which emerges is at the same time defiant and strong, attempting to soothe the pain of the original note, to cradle it in empathetic warmth.
pose seems completely a part of the music, now…as if perhaps it is speaking to her, as well as responding to itself. There is a split-second pause as the bow reaches back to the top of the violin before she gently lowers it down again, instrument crying out just a bit louder, sadness not comforted, despair not soothed. The note is exactly the same as the first in tone, except for the faint echo of the first soothing reply, even as the strings begin to cry once more. The answer comes again, as before, without pause; a defiant challenge to continue, to carry on, rising in power to match the louder, more baleful cry, as if trying even harder to soothe, to lift up, to strengthen.
pose repeats this motion, this action, over and over – allowing the violin to echo its call and response, each one more distinct, more powerful in its tone than the last; wailing louder and louder, responding comfort rising in challenge. After the tenth such reprise, the baleful, echoing cry seems as if cannot be more sad; dying, perhaps even dead…
pose continues, and the response is shockingly different, coming after so many repetitions of the call-and-response: the bow moves quickly, seven times, virtually flashing up and down the strings, producing a sound that seems to be a combination of the mood of the two cries, yet different from each and each other in slight, subtly altering ways; more elegant, more refined. It cracks in places, her lack of complete mastery evident…but she seems completely unfazed by any mistake, moving on, and indeed the cracks make the song itself perhaps even sadder, more real.
pose repeats this new series after a tiny pause; allowing the joined voice to speak again, dominant and powerful, loud and sweeping, ignoring or crashing over any faults with its undeniable strength. This time the series uses eight strokes, bow moving with quick, easy motions as she extends the last passage; a bit slower, flashing only slightly less. There is a feeling of faint transition, as about half of the notes alter just slightly from before as her fingers move rapidly and instinctually on the edge of the instrument, seeming part of the cohesive whole that flows elegantly now, bow tilting faintly to call forth every possible nuance.
pose continues to play, quickly and freely, arm flowing as seamlessly as if she was waving it through air, bow flashing up and down as the sound only continues to grow. The music evoked is a declarative statement spoken in elegant, seamless, slightly twisted notes; there is a raw, imperfect beauty to it, and with fifteen strokes of her arm, it seems to complete its message, as there is the tiniest of pauses…
pose then seems to re-start the new response from the beginning; after a quick burst reminiscent of the whole, she starts actually echoing it with faintly altered, smoothed, elegant notes as the bow flashes up and down repeatedly, restating the combination of sad and defiant, mournful and urging. Seven elegant strokes, then eight, then fifteen…if anything, even more refined than the first time, yet also more varied, as if the notes are emphasizing their elegance. The raw, somewhat unpolished nature is there, but her playing drowns it out in comparison. She finally reaches the last note, and seems to pause, again…
pose finishes this last message at nearly the exact point the song began…and then, very quietly, the violin begins to mourn again, the sound of the first note, slowed so that her arm seems to barely be moving, drawing all the sadness out of the strings, mixing with the echo of the much louder previous passage; its sadness seeming eternal. Eventually, as the bow reaches the bottom, the sound slows…echoes…and fades. At almost the same moment, she exhales again, faintly, and her eyes remain closed as she is as still as a statue, apparently in the thrall of what she has just played.