Music is all around us. All one has to do is put a sensitive finger on the pulse of human existence to become aware of the elemental music of the universe. To be impervious to it is not only impractical but also impossible. It is there in the first sound we hear and maybe in the last one we will ever register. In joy or in sorrow, we turn to music. The tones vary but never stop. Even in a moment of total silence, the heart beats in rhythm. Artists have always been instinctively aware of this. Both the body and soul sway to music’s tempo. After all what is dance but the body responding to rhythm? What is painting if not the harmonious madness of the soul made resplendent in colour? What is poetry but words blended with subtle thoughts in rhythm?
Why do we like art, why do we respond to it? The answer probably lies in the fact that the throbbing music of nature is a part of our being. As the wind rustles the leaves, our mind drifts back through the corridors of memory to coalesce with the unseen presence all around us. The pitter-patter of the rain enthralls us as we are nothing more than drops of the life-force that is everywhere. Nothing begins or ends in the eternal cycle of music, only the tone changes.
Leaving you with a few lines I love:
When music sounds, all that I was I am
Ere to this haunt of brooding dust I came;
And from Time’s woods break into distant song
The swift-winged hours, as I hasten along.
“Music” by Walter de la Mare