Magic Man

Make the unseen, seen; that is his job. When asked if he is a magician, the soft-spoken student says, "No, I am simply exposing what has always been, and what will always stay the same." As a mad-man each night he sits at a large piano and pounds Middle C again and again, as though listening for some change in the sound of that illustrious note. Once finally satisfied, he abuses G directly above his previous note. Banging and blamming, pushing and pressing, a genius still unknown to the world sits and works magic. Finally, the pen meets the paper, frantically scritching notes on the lines of a scale like little black ants, forced to run a marathon over a frozen tundra. Scrubbing and scribbling, squeaking and streaking, an artist composing his masterpiece; dividing himself between the physical and abstract. Behold the divine.