black notes on white paper and black soul on white skin
/du-ende/ n. (Spanish)
¬the mysterious power of art to deeply move a person
¬the feeling of powerful awe experienced when viewing a piece of art, watching a performance or listening to music th...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Sometimes, Nikita doesn't dream of people without faces and clicking cameras and flashing lights until he's blind - sometimes he dreams of sleeping bears with sharp teeth and white-black claws and bowing and bowing and kissing the floor because he bows so deeply, applause roaring like the dark, angry sea, and drowning in a lake out of notes and sounds and commitments but he isn't able to swim to the surface because there's nothing corporal to suffocate him except himself.
And when Nikita bolts up in his bed, his fair hair even lighter because of the cold sheen of sweat covering him, his finger tips are tingling, the phantom sensation of playing piano, tickling the sleeping bear and drowning in music.
He despises it.
Nikita doesn't want to have to do with music that comes out of him anymore, he's dried out long ago and there's never been much passion in his playing anyways. Whenever reading in critiques that his playing is robotic or mechanic or whatever, he's silently agreed because for him it's been like this, he hasn't ever played with real emotions except anger and such - however, his father's been ranting about the "obvious need for cultivation" and "the missing taste and ears" of those "dog-fucking bastards".
And then Nikita's had to practice more because they might be right and Vasili couldn't let his son's success go because some think, he has a poor way to create atmosphere.
And Nikita's practiced and practiced and created atmosphere over atmosphere, finding out carefully how to touch the bear's claws to not wake him up but produce the right tone colour, abuburn, cerulean, scarlet, pitchblack.
However, there've always been people who like a certain way and dislike the other, no matter if it comes to music or painting or acting or laughing or loving. There'll always be somebody to criticize you, you can count on them.
However, Nikita only has to count on his father because there aren't any critics to judge him anymore - either because they're dead because of war or Nikita's simply vanished from the music world, hiding in the shadows of Hogwart's dungeons.
Nikita Pavlov's sudden disappearing after the last concert he's ever given to the very moment is a big mystery in the world of music, just as popular amongst those who love the rotten air of secrets like the Elgar Enigma and the riddle around Mozart's death.
Has Nikita Pavlov been kidnapped?
Killed?
Died due to war?
Has anybody seen him? You, you, you? Nobody?
Nobody.
And his father? Vasili Ilyich Pavlov? Who's been a world-known pianist himself?
No? You don't know him?
The one, who's had to retire after loosing an arm!
