90. The Virtue of Being Alone - Michelle Ross
Counterpoint is an art of governing the elements and a tool of transformation. Bach was a master of it. He used it in a way that transforms one single instrument into a journey across the human experience.
In 1720, Johann Sebastian Bach returned home after a trip to find that, in his absence, his wife had died and been buried. Shortly after, he wrote six Sonatas and Partitas for solo violin, titled in Italian as "Sei Solo." Bach’s choice to title these six works “Solo”—versus “Soli,” the more grammatically correct plural—could be interpreted as having an alternate meaning: I am alone.
These works of Bach’s are always taking on new meaning for me, and during quarantine, they’ve once again become an anchor. I've been thinking of them through the lens of counterpoint, which is a musical technique of writing one single voice, and adding other subjects or melodies to it, following strict rules. It is a way of having a very organized conversation—think of “row, row, row your boat,” which is a type of counterpoint called a canon.
Counterpoint is an art of governing the elements and a tool of transformation. Bach was a master of it. He used it in a way that transforms one single instrument into a journey across the human experience.
“Sei Solo” begins with a lone voice, and slowly builds, sometimes up to four separate lines that the violinist plays simultaneously. Suddenly the lone theme is navigating through a rich and diverse universe; one brick becomes a cathedral. Being alone becomes a virtue, a way to build perspective, to highlight both solitude and connection.
I think back to being alone in those first days of quarantine, when I realized that my aloneness was a singular feeling. Now, my aloneness feels slightly different. I recall the first time I met a friend in the park, or when I made it home to be with my parents and saw our dog for the first time after three months. With each additional person, or “voice,” my own voice unfolds slightly differently, and slowly transforms.
- Michelle Ross
Prompt:
Recall a conversation. Perhaps it is an inner dialogue you’ve had many times; perhaps it’s a real conversation, or one you imagine having with a loved one as soon as you can see them again. Think of how your aloneness has unfolded throughout quarantine. Can you remember the first time you added another voice? How has it been transformed by the addition of another voice, or its absence?
Now write. Record only the “responses.” Include the silences. Refine each line to its bare minimum, maintaining its integrity, before you add in the next. Perhaps one voice drops out completely—like Bach would do in a Fuga—and perspective shifts to follow the will of the accompaniment, taking you to a completely new place.
Anonymous
I am alone
even when surrounded by others,
for that is what they are: other.
I am on the edge of something,
of what,
I don’t know.
I am empty,
telling myself all will be well, but
I’m not sure I believe it.
I like to think
there is a reason for it,
something below the loneliness.
What it is,
I don’t know.