This is the last song Anna wrote before her husband’s death…he wanted something upbeat after all her sad songs, so she composed this for, and about, him. It is her most special composition.
pose shifts the violin ever-so-slightly against her left shoulder, cradling it now as a newborn; something treasured, precious, delicate. Her head lowers to the point where it actually is touching the base of the instrument, making them, for the moment, joined. As her eyes begin to close, she exhales once, softly but faintly audible. Eyes closed completely, her right arm brings the bow to just above the top string of the violin.
pose draws the bow very slowly down, and a somewhat melancholy sound begins to coalesce; not truly depressing, but definitely on the sad side of the musical spectrum. Judging by the way the music emerges from the violin it seems almost as if she is playing intentionally in slow motion; the sounds and notes seem more suited for a faster pace, but are slowed – and quite probably saddened – intentionally, as if to accentuate their meaning, each one a special entity unto itself.
pose has her eyes closed, and her focus is absolute as the melancholy notes continue to emerge; rather than simply melting into the music she seems to submerge herself in it, to play with a loving, tender reverence. The veil she wears seems to heighten this effect, as if she has almost disappeared into what has been created and is being created. The notes bend, creak at times; but these are minor flaws, and the emotion and power of them are not lessened by the woman’s lack of mastery.
pose continues to play, slowly; her pace seems unshakable, an absolute focus, a certainty. The notes continue to bend and emerge sadly-tinged, bow moving up and down the strings at different varieties of slow, slower, slowest, creating different varieties of twisted, faintly tortured musings. They are seamless in that her hand never stops moving, but the motion is uneven, plying different noises from different places; reluctantly pulled out, perhaps, before the bow moves on to the next.
pose pauses – for the tiniest fraction of a moment – on certain notes; these seem to be fairly regular but not perfectly spaced, and at these points the sadness swells even more, pained notes declaring their esteemed positions at the heights of her bow’s movements and the song’s importance. The cracks seem to emerge the most here, but it seems almost as if that is intentional, as if she is pushing the notes as far as they will go, bending them until they creak in nearly breaking.
pose seems to alter and repeat this process then, the same method but with slightly alternately-tinged notes, slightly altered high points, slight variations…all the while, there are cracks in the smoothness of the playing, but they seem to be completely ignored and, in fact, the bow seems to linger in special attention on some of them. Finally coming to the end of the refrain, she slides the bow, now very gently, down the length of the instrument, pulling a few last sad notes from the strings.
pose slides the bow up instantly upon the last note fading and disappearing; her movements are as exaggeratedly fast as the previous ones were slow, though now it seems right, proper, completely true, as if the song had simply been waiting to come alive. The results are no longer sad: tiny pauses, only, separating proud, confident music; as majestic as the highest mountaintop, the most beautiful rainbow. The peaks of her playing, now, are almost exhilarating in their sweep and power, and she plays with utter and complete confidence, in tune with such music.
pose continues to play, bow moving at a furious pace as it proudly and defiantly elicits gorgeous swaths of occasionally flawed beauty; fairly regularly – but inexactly – placed pinnacles, each as surprising in its emergence as it is majestic. They seem to be never-ending; their energy appears able to last a lifetime. Her appearance doesn’t change except for the speed of her playing; she plays with virtually the same near-stillness of body, and the same expression, as she had previously.
pose seems tireless as the bow moves with remarkable speed, the music seeming alive and vibrant, unquenchable. It seems to slow, then, just slightly, as the volume drops just as slightly; melody not quite as powerful, but seeming satisfied to be that way, as if it has screamed out in defiance and is now content to simply reinforce such defiance and allow it to echo repeatedly. It slows, again; the bow gradually taming the relentless cries of defiant, undeniable life.
pose finally brings the song to a pause, suddenly, bow actually stopping for just a moment, allowing one last content, more subdued note to be drawn out fully and extended before moving down in a final reprise of the power and beauty of the highest notes, rephrasing their scream and focusing it, one last time, to greatest effect and at greatest volume. It seems to dare to be repudiated, declaring its unwillingness to die. She then stops, suddenly, lifting the bow from the violin as the last note fades away as quickly as it came. She is stark silent for a moment, unmoving, and then lowers both the bow and her head slightly.