How strange are the workings of the mind, and in particular the link between thought and our emotions!
Tonight as we sat eating dinner my wife and I listened to some music, as we usually do. I had selected a CD I bought during a visit to north-eastern Italy, several years ago. It is the music of a local choir, sung in several languages–Italian, Friulan, German, Slovene and English, all of which (except English) are spoken by the curious historical mixture of ethnicities that characterises the region. Suddenly I was quite overwhelmed by their rendering of Schubert’s Der Lindenbaum. This is strange, in a way, because I speak no German.
At one level I can appreciate why the music does move me so. It is, quite simply, the way that music works. The harmonies need no accompanying words in order to convey some emotional message, just as colours do even without draftsmanship. I began to realise, however, that there is more to it than this. To my surprise I realised that I was being transported back to Bentley Street junior school, in Nelson (Lancashire) in the early 1950s.
One of the things I remember most clearly about the school was the singing lessons–with Mrs. Whitaker. Among the songs we sang (and I can still remember the words) was an English song entitled Linden Lea. Like Der Lindenbaum it is heavily nostalgic, although in this case it is a yearning for a rural past that has been lost (although remembered, in “the air of dark-roomed towns”) and for freedom from a “peevish master”. Schubert’s song is also about loss, although I believe that it is more about lost love.
I remain puzzled by this complex emotional knot. Is the loss of childhood somehow tied up with the loss of love? How does freedom articulate with these things? How might such a clear and powerful emotional charge ever become integrated into my painting?