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©2006-2009 ~Clepsidras
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Submitted: October 16, 2006
File Size: 748 KB
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Resolution: 400×613
Comments: 95
Favourites & Collections: 174 [who?]
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Total: 4,518
Today: 3
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Submitted: October 16, 2006
File Size: 748 KB
Image Size: 89.4 KB
Resolution: 400×613
Comments: 95
Favourites & Collections: 174 [who?]
Views
Total: 4,518
Today: 3
Downloads
Total: 0
Today: 0
Thumb
Artist's Comments
He entered alone in the sacred space. With him, the season came, softly caressing the stones. He looked around, hearing the echo of his footsteps on the walls. His face, hidden behind a cloak of ages, was long forgotten. But his voice could still be heard in the silence hours of the night. A call was heard. A last great grand call.
Along the nave, he starts a low melody with the ancient voice. The sound fills the halls, crushing against the stones with the strength of a sea storm that is rising in the horizon. He was called here for the latest spell casting. His heart is filled with sadness beyond any words, so he hums the melody. The candles flick. The melody grows in strength. He takes his hands to his heart, not wanting to believe what was asked of him.
So he call them slowly, one by one, the players. The violin, the harp, the flute. The triad that been endlessly in the shadows of the melancholic hours of the day, playing, creating, recreating. Giving the moment strength, substance, out worldly feeling. In the joyful moments remembrance. They come, obeying old laws, old rules. The ancient ways. They carry inside of them the same sadness. What request the world had cast upon them! Oh, how they wish it wasn’t true. They hope against hope.
The harpist fall on the corner, sister of the flute player. So many feelings they watch together. So many nights and days they have played to warm so many hearts or to chill so many bones. They have been the shadowy escorts of the noblest of feelings and the saddest ones. The harpist raises her hands and touches the chords with wisdom and deep feeling. Her sister takes the flute to the cold lips of knowledge and, in synchrony, they start playing. Carrying in the heavy air of the sacred place the wind of the humming of the Guardian.
The violinist appears in the sunshine, carrying her mask of feast. The mask that hides the tears that music can bring. She had been the watcher of many moonlight nights, the roof top player in several occasions. Inside her, the deepest feelings of human emotion that thrived in her chords, giving them life, making her play more than just another melody. A sunset player that rarely was seen in the full day light now enjoys the warmth of the sun and shines above the scene. She looks to the Guardian and to the twin sisters. And, she too, wishes for all this to be a mistake. And raise her bow to join the cry of the violin to the music.
The world asked for the End of Music. The death of the melodies, the songs, the symphonies. Tones and tones of paper burning in the outside, in a language no one wants to read it no more. The Guardian bows his head. The world was build with music! And with music it shall end… Everything, all things have a sound of it is own! Even silence is just a pause between two sound moments. Sound, music…
The melody touches the high ceiling and suddenly, the cry shapes itself into flames as the spell casting takes place. The players play faster and faster, melody growing, filling, overwhelming all senses. Even the stones themselves start to vibrate to the humming of the Guardian. Sadness becomes madness, madness becomes joy. Joy takes the sky and turns to love. Love burns into hate. Pity, mercy, friendship, mutual help, depression, happiness, will, strength, all of them playing, dancing in the heavy air of the sacred place!
Growing.
And growing.
Until all is a single sound, a single cry, made of such singularities. Until all is a unique feeling that bursts all laws and all boundaries. A grand finale for the Death of Music! And the Guardian screams a last word before the silence that falls next…
An old wish.
And as they put their instruments to rest, they know, Music only have to reborn from the ashes again… and they smile.
I'm a lover of Music. It is impossible to me to even think about a world without music. So I decided to put my imagination to the test, create a "funeral" for the day music would die. And how strengthfull it would be. And the greatest big finalle will be the greatest reborn in the story of that world! Ok, I'm insane, no one said I was normal.
Story by me (as usual) and copyrighted too.
Stocks:
(o.o So many!)
Along the nave, he starts a low melody with the ancient voice. The sound fills the halls, crushing against the stones with the strength of a sea storm that is rising in the horizon. He was called here for the latest spell casting. His heart is filled with sadness beyond any words, so he hums the melody. The candles flick. The melody grows in strength. He takes his hands to his heart, not wanting to believe what was asked of him.
So he call them slowly, one by one, the players. The violin, the harp, the flute. The triad that been endlessly in the shadows of the melancholic hours of the day, playing, creating, recreating. Giving the moment strength, substance, out worldly feeling. In the joyful moments remembrance. They come, obeying old laws, old rules. The ancient ways. They carry inside of them the same sadness. What request the world had cast upon them! Oh, how they wish it wasn’t true. They hope against hope.
The harpist fall on the corner, sister of the flute player. So many feelings they watch together. So many nights and days they have played to warm so many hearts or to chill so many bones. They have been the shadowy escorts of the noblest of feelings and the saddest ones. The harpist raises her hands and touches the chords with wisdom and deep feeling. Her sister takes the flute to the cold lips of knowledge and, in synchrony, they start playing. Carrying in the heavy air of the sacred place the wind of the humming of the Guardian.
The violinist appears in the sunshine, carrying her mask of feast. The mask that hides the tears that music can bring. She had been the watcher of many moonlight nights, the roof top player in several occasions. Inside her, the deepest feelings of human emotion that thrived in her chords, giving them life, making her play more than just another melody. A sunset player that rarely was seen in the full day light now enjoys the warmth of the sun and shines above the scene. She looks to the Guardian and to the twin sisters. And, she too, wishes for all this to be a mistake. And raise her bow to join the cry of the violin to the music.
The world asked for the End of Music. The death of the melodies, the songs, the symphonies. Tones and tones of paper burning in the outside, in a language no one wants to read it no more. The Guardian bows his head. The world was build with music! And with music it shall end… Everything, all things have a sound of it is own! Even silence is just a pause between two sound moments. Sound, music…
The melody touches the high ceiling and suddenly, the cry shapes itself into flames as the spell casting takes place. The players play faster and faster, melody growing, filling, overwhelming all senses. Even the stones themselves start to vibrate to the humming of the Guardian. Sadness becomes madness, madness becomes joy. Joy takes the sky and turns to love. Love burns into hate. Pity, mercy, friendship, mutual help, depression, happiness, will, strength, all of them playing, dancing in the heavy air of the sacred place!
Growing.
And growing.
Until all is a single sound, a single cry, made of such singularities. Until all is a unique feeling that bursts all laws and all boundaries. A grand finale for the Death of Music! And the Guardian screams a last word before the silence that falls next…
An old wish.
And as they put their instruments to rest, they know, Music only have to reborn from the ashes again… and they smile.
I'm a lover of Music. It is impossible to me to even think about a world without music. So I decided to put my imagination to the test, create a "funeral" for the day music would die. And how strengthfull it would be. And the greatest big finalle will be the greatest reborn in the story of that world! Ok, I'm insane, no one said I was normal.
Story by me (as usual) and copyrighted too.Stocks:
(o.o So many!
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Comments
...pelo menos para mim claro...
--
[link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link]
A Musica está lá sempre!
E obrigado pela estrelinha, se os sintomas não passarem dentro de três dias é favor consultar o seu médico de familia.
--
"There are times when dreams come to be our only solace. We cry, we laugh, but we are alone in the middle of a insane world. "
Member of *Apophysis
I'm awestruck
both by your story
and its exspression in your image
--
Music Is True Love
Thanks for reading the text, for commenting, and for the
--
"There are times when dreams come to be our only solace. We cry, we laugh, but we are alone in the middle of a insane world. "
Member of *Apophysis
--
"There are times when dreams come to be our only solace. We cry, we laugh, but we are alone in the middle of a insane world. "
Member of *Apophysis
--
Music Is True Love
Love the athmosphere.
--
De nada meu amoooooor
(já está marcada a consulta, apenas como precauçao)
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