Have you ever been taken over by a piece of music, or the muse of a particular piece? Where at the point that the muse finally leaves, you find your life in shambles, and remember it vaguely?
For me it was the Ciaconna. A mentor of mine invited me to a Baroque ensemble. There were 4 pieces played, and the second of them was the Ciaconna. I could not believe such a piece of music existed.
And so immediately after she dropped me off, I went online and listened to hundreds of versions. My early favorite was basically anything where Veronika Skuplik was playing violin, but in particular the arrangement composed by Maurizio Cazzati.
The Maurizio Cazzati arrangement is the one that speaks most to my sensibilities because it outlines the progression of a delightful new idea. Initially boohoo'd by the gallery, and then discussed until the delightful new idea triumphs gloriously.
The harmonics of the piece, in any of its arrangements, have been studied by mathematicians and scholars throughout history. In it's essence it is a varied mathematical harmonic pattern that builds as it folds into itself until the base pattern again emerges on a glorious wave of bliss.
It took about 2 weeks of exploring different versions, listening to others on loop, for the piece to somehow rob me of my better judgement. Started at a doctor's visit. A doctor I had been going to, suddenly was the object of my affection. I can't tell you how many times I would mull over the last visit, or visit the profile page on the clinic website. I can honestly remember telling myself, 'Ana, seriously? What is going on. She is not your type, and you don't even really think she's a good person...' I can't remember how I replied to myself, but obviously there was a momentum that would not be stopped.
Paintings, poems, emerged. I was obsessed. I had this image of the Knight of Cups in search for the Holy Grail. Over and over again, the simple mathematical lullaby took my ability to reason with it away. It was lovely, and a bit scary. I remember nights in my lab winding transformer coils on loop with Maurizio. And then the poetry. Bad poetry late into the evenings. Work was a vacation, a needed reprieve, and then the buzzer rings, and it all starts again.
The Ciaconna was originally a dance, and in that way joins the likes of Merengue and Cumbia which are similarly wedded to a form of dancing. The notation for the dance looks like an ancient alien scrawl. All the crazy little lines branching off the curves represent flicks of the foot.
I did eventually come down, exhausted. Grateful for the excursion, but glad to have full agency over my wiles again.