Something exciting happened this morning.

If you have been following the unfolding of this week in the studio you will know that I have been making artistic works and poetry to the sound of my playing the piano piece ‘divenire’ by Ludvico Einaudi. In a way it was a little surprising that I was drawn to this particular piece. It’s not the one I know the best, nor have practised the most, and after a long absence I might have expected myself to play the piece that sounded most polished, especially once I’d decided to record it.

But somehow I wanted to play this particular piece.

Called ‘Divenire’, which means becoming – all kinds of becoming.

In a way this title has just been hovering as a kind of ‘nice motif’ even though usually I am very sensitive to the poetics of existence. But in a way too it was just obvious and normal and did not require too much attention. I was also somewhat perplexed about the whole matter because I actually could not play the whole piece; it had a middle bit that I had never mastered nor really tried to investigate, partly because it looked a bit intimidating with dotted notes and trills.

Then two days ago the neighbour whose piano I am borrowing was back in her apartment so I could not play it. Then yesterday I had an unexpected client call in the morning so again my playing rhythm was disturbed.

Yesterday was a long and tiring day but at the end of it I managed to coax myself back into the downstairs apartment to at least a bit play the piano. I have recognised it as a place on which I must insist. Something is there.

And, perhaps encouraged by the peace of the hush that descended (and about which I have just written), I found myself looking into this missing section. I was familiar with listening to the piece; and I loved it – perhaps it was not really so difficult, so I pondered.

I tried a bit, and was astonished… it turned out that it was as if somehow my fingers had had ears of their own and knew the tune without me being aware of it.

But both the fingers and myself stopped short at the dotted notes. Also this bit involved playing two regular notes on one hand at the same time as three regular notes on the others; again, intimidation.

I moved on to another piece, and then a friend texted and I gave up for the evening, but already something had shifted. I had found encouragement in my fingers and their apparent readiness for the work.

So this morning, early before my studio arrival, back I went to play.

And something marvellous is happening. My fingers and self have found their way to traverse, at least almost traverse, the middle section of the piece. They have not quite quite made it without falling yet but soon they will, perhaps tonight.

All week my poetics look-out has been on already alert, calling to me about this piece. But I did not want to get distracted, and I’m wary of the risk of false conclusions and too-small stories.

But today as I dwelled within the piece and my own sudden ability to make it from one side to the other (almost!) I felt a deep delight. Something is happening in me in this week and although I still don’t know what it is, it is deep and it is light.