photography – Page 13 – Carlo Centeno

POV

As much as I love being in Manhattan, I also love being just outside of it, in particular, just across the river in Brooklyn. There’s plenty of “city” to be found and experienced, but thankfully, the parks are terrific reminders to take it slow once in awhile.

Chrysalis

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Some call it a creative block. With credit to Franz Kafka, I feel a lot like a chrysalis because there’s something in me dying to get out, to be expressed and heard. How many times have we sat [or stood] at our work stations wondering how-in-$%@!!-name can we get something done. Where are the words, the concepts, the visual elements that when properly assembled, delivers the key message? The message can be one of benefit, of productivity, of prophylaxis, or of exclusivity. You get the idea.

Of course, all of this is figurative, but I would say that the photo of the tunnel suggests that I can see a “way out,” but I’m a bit unsure of how to get there. I’m inside the chrysalis, evolving, developing a collection of ideas, hoping to create something altogether different if not unique.

“My Better Self”

The wife-husband duo of Alaina Moore and Patrick Riley are the indie pop group, Tennis. The music and lyrics to “My Better Self” is a heart-felt, rhythmic poem about several things, not the least being how we struggle with words to bring clarity to how and what we feel. This is my favorite stanza, which also happens to be the bridge of the song:

If I don’t use words
Then each sound goes unheard
Utterly senseless without nouns and verbs
But symbols suggest they are fit to possess
A purposely function
That cannot be met

Steampunk art and my epiphany

When I first saw this wonderfully creative piano, melancholy hit me. I love the energy and imagination in its installation. However, seeing the keys made me think of days past when I just about played every day. I went through some photo files and this image crossed my screen. It was taken at the Paradise City Art Festival in Massachusetts. Then the proverbial light bulb went off.

Our upright piano, one we’ve owned for decades was a lovely gift from my mother-in-law. But like many things mechanical, especially those made of wood, the instrument became harder to keep in tune, notwithstanding the sticky keys in the scale that begins middle C. Our grandsons now “play” with this piano. Literally. Trucks, a plastic hammer, puzzle pieces, blocks and small enthusiastic hands have travelled the keys. Those small hands make the most discordant of chords, but at least there’s a type of bang-bang-bangbangbang kind of rhythm in the effort.

The epiphany came to light a few short weeks ago [pun intended]. I had asked the president of the local music community school if I could use one of their piano rooms to practice, this during my lunch hour. Eileen is an empathetic, enthusiastic and erudite person; she was kind enough to grant permission. I’ve started playing again and recalled reading an article about the brains of piano players. The one thing I’m focusing on here is the fact that playing an instrument can really help one’s thinking. Perhaps it’s why I’ve longed to play again, yet I really like playing for the sheer love of it, for playing and feeling from heart and soul. I have no evidence that shows improvements to my memory, problem solving or time management, which is fine with me. I’m more right-brained anyway.

For me, playing a musical instrument engages me in therapeutic and cathartic ways.