THE WAY OF PIANO • MIND • BODY • SOUL
Written by ANDREW EALES
A famous folk tale, recounted in the Annals of Lu Buwei (239 BCE) tells the story of a special friendship which has become immortalised in Chinese lore…
Long ago, in a period called the Spring Autumn Period (around 770-481 BCE), a man by the name of Wu BoYa was travelling on a diplomatic mission to the State of Chu on behalf of the king of Jin.
BoYa was a renowned player of the Guqin, a seven-string zither. Resting along his journey one evening, he took up his instrument and played freely, remembering the sacred mountain of Taishan.
A poor woodcutter named Zhong Ziqi chanced by, overheard and was taken by BoYa’s music, hiding in a nearby bush to listen.
Discovered, Ziqi complemented BoYa, enthusing that his music was as lofty as the sacred mountain of Taishan, with running passages epitomising the natural elegance and smooth clarity of a fresh, flowing river.
Although the two men were of different social backgrounds and countries, they struck up a lasting friendship forged through the power of shared music. Each year on his travels, BoYa would visit the region to spend time with his musical companion.
But one year when he arrived in the region, BoYa learnt that the woodcutter had starved to death since his last visit. Reflecting on the fact that he could have helped his dear friend, he realised that Ziqi had consciously refused to exploit their connection.
Distraught, he knelt at the woodcutter’s graveside and howled with grief. Taking out his Guqin, he began to play again the music they had shared in life, but was unable to complete the piece.
Recognising he would never find another who would understood and truly appreciated the quality of his playing, BoYa smashed his Guqin and vowed he would never play again.
The phrase “High mountain, flowing water” is a chengdu, a “set phrase” used to this day in China to signify the strong bonds of friendship. But for those of us who are musicians, there are perhaps other pertinent messages to glean from this moving story.
Were I to bump into BoYa’s modern-day counterpart, I would undoubtedly chide him, reminding him that while others might not properly appreciate his art, yet his playing would still have a profound impact in his own life, bringing personal enrichment and creative satisfaction.
Our private musicianship is surely good for the soul, offers an avenue for self-expression and discovery, contributing to our self-improvement, health and sense of wellbeing. How deeply rewarding! Why ever would any musician want to lose the joy of playing?
But it is the obvious and enduring message intended in this story which remains perhaps its most powerful theme: that of friendship.
Attending an adult piano playing club or event such as the one I organise each month in Milton Keynes offers more than simply a chance to play the piano to others; it provides an opportunity for deep and enduring friendships to be forged in the furnace of our creative endeavour and development.
And even when such gatherings aren’t possible, are there not surely many other opportunities for us to share our music with family and friends?
None of us perhaps want to “show off” incessantly, but where we know significant others who share a love of music, it can be wonderful to share our playing and offer mutual encouragement.
Are we making the most of these opportunities, or are we hiding our musical accomplishments from the very people who may well appreciate them the most? Food for thought!
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