Before heading to the Kyung-Wha Chung concert, I tried an experiment where I painted without lines. I’ve heard that traditional plein air watercolor doesn’t have pencil lines, but the experience was difficult enough that I couldn’t imagine anyone who would want to work that way. I need my lines!!
For those of you who don’t know who Kyung-Wha Chung is, she’s one of Korea’s most famous violinists. I’d heard of her and her other child prodigy musical siblings at a young age. Together with her cellist sister and pianist brother, they were known as the Chung trio. I occasionally listened to her old recordings on Youtube, and the enthusiasm with which she played always caught me. I believe she now works as a faculty member at her alma mater Juilliard.
My old violin teacher remembered her. “Kyung-Wha Chung? Just as good as any male violinist!” She’s quite old now, and I thought she might have stopped performing.
Apparently she hadn’t. In my church’s lobby, I saw them selling tickets to her concert held for a charity in Africa. It was held in the Seoul Arts Center where I’d previously seen the Swan Lake ballet performed. When I got there, it was crowded with so many people, most of them elderly. I took a picture of the concert hall with my camera, but one of the staff members stopped me from taking more. No pictures were allowed.
Well she didn’t say I couldn’t sketch.
I wasn’t sure if they were going to stop me, so I frantically did the entire thing in maybe 10-15 minutes- before the concert started and during the intermission. From the corner of my eye, I could see the old man sitting in front me peeking at me now and then. I’ll admit, I felt a little nutty painting in a concert hall and trying not to get any watercolor on my skirt.
When she walked onstage with her turquoise gown, it felt so unreal. Knowing of someone for such a large part of your life, and then actually seeing them live. And sweet glory, how could I describe the sound? The best I could describe it was hot, strong silk. The kind of sound that wrapped itself in your ears, around your heart, and tightened at your throat and behind your eyes. I couldn’t believe that kind of sound existed.
Her passion was still in her movements. In her face, her body… in one piece she pizzicatoed with such ferocity I feared her strings might break.
When she was done, applause exploded in the air. Her accompanist kissed her thrice on her cheeks. The applause didn’t stop, so she came out again to place a hand over her heart and bow to the audience. It still showed no signs of ending, so she came out again. She said something, but I was so far away that I couldn’t quite catch it. I think in English she mentioned that she was so happy, and in Korean she jokingly complained about going back and forth. She performed an encore of “Ave Maria”. She exited, but again the applause thundered on. I heard that the second encore was titled “The Girl with the Flaxen Hair”. After a standing ovation, the third encore played was a piece I didn’t know. Amazingly enough, she came back out for a fourth encore. This time it was “Salut d’Amour” which I think was her subtle hint that this was going to be the last one.
I remember reading a short story once titled “Sonny’s Blues”, and at the end the narrator hears his brother perform on the piano. The music reminded him of people in his past, and I had a similar experience. Especially during the second encore.
I remembered people too.