Ode to the choral arts

(Now back to what I wanted to write about last night, though I am still in mourning.)

Every Tuesday night Stephen and I travel 40 miles north to let our voices ring... it's choir rehearsal. It's nothing new for me as I've been singing in choirs since I was 12. Which means that I've been in love with the choral arts for more than 16 years. There is something about looking at the paper full of strange looking black marks, being able to interpret the language, and transforming those notes into a beautiful sound. If I take a reflective moment when I'm singing, it amazes me that my voice is melding together with 30 other voices and that together we create a seemless harmony. On a piano it's as simple as your fingers pressing down onto 2 or more keys at the same time. When a choir sings, each of those keys (notes) are represented by a number of different people each making the same note come out of their vocals. When you step back and think about it, it's a musical miracle.

If a choir-created harmony is a musical miracle, the conductor is the mastermind. He is the puppet master. I have this recurring visual that the sound coming out of each of our mouths is a rainbow of air current. As it flows to the conductor, he shapes the current with his waving arms and molds it into the art and music that the audience hears.

To be a part of this is a wonder to me. By no means do I consider myself a superb vocalist or musical expert. But being a part of a choir that does such wonderful work is a joy to me. Even with so much on my plate, I wouldn't trade this for the world.