what music means to me

I'm applying to colleges right now and this was one of the prompts for my essays! enjoy :)

ESSAY PROMPT: How have you been changed by a piece of visual or performing art, a work of literature, or a concept of math or science? (500-750 words)

            I grew up surrounded by music. In the womb, I expressed my musical tastes very pointedly (I was not a fan of a certain Chopin nocturne my mother played). Rhythms of Prokofiev and soaring melodies of Debussy perfumed the air over my crib, and Puccini and Verdi provided a dramatic soundtrack to the woes of middle school. It was only natural that one night my energetic self made its way over to our Boston upright. When my parents noticed my pathetic attempts to pick out the notes to Bach’s Prelude in G by ear, they sat me down and began to help me understand the world of music. After that, the world swam with melody and harmony. It was as if up till that point the world had only been in shades of gray, and I had found a painter’s palette that I joyfully smothered my universe with. As I have grown up to become a pianist myself and have played thousands of hours of repertoire, the line between assigned piece and work of art blurs. However, one piece in particular has left an indelible mark on my life. Maurice Ravel’s Pavane pour une infant défunte is a piece I have listened to countless times on playlists, cds, and group classes, but I hadn’t really heard it until recently.
            I heard a teacher once explain how the art of communicating with words was the most heightened form of expression humans possess. But when you watch first your grandfather, then your aunt, then your uncle, then your grandmother, then a treasured older friend die in a very short span of time, words fall away. Words are powerless to describe the polarizing emotions swirling in your heart, but music—music can express what the human cannot say aloud. I first truly stumbled upon Pavaneat the beginning of this year, when my mother was going through a devastating miscarriage. While I had heard it countless times before, its poignant, haunting strain captivated me in a way it never had before, filling my dreams. Ravel’s piece seems to ache with me, swelling with passion that yearns and longs; yet, it smiles through the pain. It tosses its head triumphantly as it rises to face the light at the end of the tunnel, but the grieving refrain returns. Juxtaposed between moments of tender nostalgic happiness, the two melodies waltz around each other but never meeting. 
            Pavane touches something deep within me that unlocks my emotions and sends them running down my cheeks. I am not an outwardly emotional person; I prefer to be calm and collected and think through my feelings before I let myself feel them. However, Pavane decides to subvert my natural leanings and bring to light my heart and soul for me to observe. Putting myself under such scrutiny is painful and uncomfortable at first, but then it becomes healing. As I journey throughout the six short pages of Ravel’s piece, I can only wonder how he manages to express so much in a few notes on an instrument. 
One thing I find completely remarkable is the composer’s own admission that this song was not composed in memoriam of anyone; rather, it was just simply composed. How is it possible that as I grieve, this song resonates so deeply with me, but was not originally composed to be comfort for loss? The answer lies in beauty. Beauty and suffering are two sides of a devilish coin. Beauty in our world reminds us of our humanity—our frailty, our desires, our faults—and suffering reminds us also of those same things: in the midst of our sorrows, there is beauty. Pavane captures the essence of that rose-among-the-thorns for me; it has captured my heart and imprinted itself upon me to wear forever. I am learning this piece now, getting to live inside of it for a while, and it has truly changed my life and way of thinking about music. In a way, that teacher was correct: the art of communicating is the most heightened form of expression humans possess. Music communicates more than anything I know.

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