A story about... Classical Music © 2000 Marg Frey, Bryce Graves-Hurst, Nahoya, Christine Schwab	BRYCE	CHRISTINE	MARG & NAHOYA
				NAHOYA & MARG
			MARG	CHRISTINE & NAHOYA
			NAHOYA	CHRISTINE & MARG
				MARG & CHRISTINE

     "Afraid of success. You'll think me either a fool or a braggart, I'm afraid. I felt the music so strongly just now. It's force reminded me how moments like this are turning points. Yes, you might not feel it or be affected by it. You might even hate my work and that would be the end of me as a composer and player. But that won't happen. This is the kind of music which will flow through its hearer. It makes the audience part of itself. I will know you and you will know me. Are you prepared for that kind of intimacy, milady?" Her impatience turned to an uncomfortable blush.

     Someone from the audience spoke: "We are all artists here. Isn't this the kind of experience we all claim to seek?" Another said, "Is this, what you do, teachable? Learnable? Transmittable?" A couple who had been sitting in the back row whispered to each other briefly and then fled. The French lady, however, seemed to have regained her composure. "Yes," she said.

     I closed my eyes to hide the leap of joy I felt. Then, eyes still closed, I began to play. The music flowed from my head, to my fingers, to the keys, to the strings, to the air, to my listeners' ears. I could feel the contact as it reached each individual, could feel their shock at the unfamiliar contact. Slowly the music began to change as their reponses came back to me, strains of counterpoint, of dissonance, of arrhythmia. It changed further as we began to discover what we could to together, became bigger, and more complex. Time was lost in the all-encompassing music.