The suffering we have experienced throughout our life can only be expressed concretely through artistic expression. It is always misunderstood if expressed directly, described, portrayed, effectively filtered, because each of these means is born of the visual and the need for concepts to be constructed. Only when it is expressed concretely, overtly, can we the audience also experience it. The suffering must not become a concept, something others interpret, to be pulled around and fitted into the library of the mind, classified, recorded and so on.
It is when the suffering takes you by the throat before you have had a chance to interpret it, change it, re-design it, that it is accurately and directly received and can never distort. The artistic event, the effort and intelligence employed to create this reality of suffering, the belief and confidence to get it across publicly, is supreme. It is always unexpected, unlikely, and intimately connected to our karma, our DNA, our spirit energy. In short, it is the invisible world merging with the visible.
The suffering which drives a man and a woman to withdraw from society is moving. The man is a child prodigy with a flawless musical memory and ear; the woman lost her way to drugs and alcohol, unable to find her human mission. One performs as a pianist in cabaret clubs and mid-price range hotels with his brother. Each brother sits at a grand piano 300 evenings a year, including New Year’s Eve, entertaining with familiar tunes. Their act is losing popularity, so they decide to join forces with a singer. The woman is the latest and last auditioned for the part, and unlike the 38 others, she conveys her suffering. There can be no distortion. It grabs both the brothers by the throat, especially the child prodigy, who immediately recognizes her.
They perform and musically match perfectly, daring, deeply intelligent, again some invisible quality which they share, but their suffering, their level of dejection, does not allow them to make contact socially. Off stage, they avoid direct contact with the eyes, wearing sunglasses often, but onlookers know their bonding potential, moved by their courage and honesty. They each deal with ordinary life exclusively under heavy anesthetic, using it to make way for the suffering to flow through to others.
Then they are left alone to perform on New Years Eve without the managing brother who is called away to an emergency. There is nothing to prevent them from letting their suffering flow in and out of each other. They put on their greatest performance ever, both completely absorbed in their individual suffering. He dazzling at the keyboard with superhuman virtuosity, she inseparable from the paradise of her song and her yielding body subsumed in the piano case. Their approach to each other is tangible, their becoming one is inevitable.
In the deserted auditorium of normality, among the balloons and confetti, the used plates and champagne glasses, they desperately look for a way to connect their bodies by other means than lust, their habitual coinage. She turns her back on him and begs for a shoulder massage. He complies, tenderly moving aside her hair, slowly undoing her dress zip, touching her keys to drizzle in the suffering, she singing hers without a sound into him through every pore. The lips are the final confirmation that they are not alone anymore in their divergence.