Sergei
Rachmaninoff’s symphonic poem, “Isle of the Dead,” was inspired by Arnold
Böcklin's ultlra-romantic painting of the same name, which the composer saw in Paris in 1907. Rachmaninoff
continued to work on the orchestral score for “Isle” for several months before
conducting its premiere in Moscow, but the inspiration for it came suddenly, in
a spontaneous effusion of sound:
Bach’s
organ masterwork, the “Toccata and Fugue in D Minor,” has become a pop culture
standard thanks to its use in film scores (Disney’s Fantasia, Rollerball, Quartet).
The
celebrated piece also seems to have been an improvisation—or, more correctly, a
later transcription of an improvisation. Parts of the “Toccata” especially have
reminded music scholars of the sort of passages “used when testing organs.” But the “Toccata and Fugue in D Minor” is not
just a series of flashy keyboard sequences. From its opening flourishes to its
final tectonic coda, the work develops and unfolds with an unrelenting momentum.
It
sounds, to me, almost like a musical working-out of the Big Bang theory of Creation.
Where
does such transcendent inspiration come from? Like many other “canonized” composers
(almost any of the classical names who come to mind), Bach acknowledged a
spiritual source.
I
learned to love the “Toccata and Fugue in D Minor” not from Stokowski's lush orchestral
transcription in Disney’s Fantasia, but as performed with panache on a piano by
a dear friend, the late James Sewell.
Jim
was a gifted pianist with considerable technique and showmanship, but equally
remarkable as a composer, painter and scenic designer.
He
told me once where he got his ideas, both musical and visual. Like Rachmaninoff
(though Jim did not pretend to be of that artistic caliber), he first “heard”
the music that he later transcribed for the keyboard. Likewise, he “saw” paintings
in his mind as finished works, and often could analyze (with the other half of
his brain) the technical steps and brushwork necessary to create the envisioned
effect. Jim told me that he had perhaps hundreds of pre-visualized paintings in
his mind, most of which he never got around to executing.
 | |
| Sketch of Jesus by Jim Sewell; Jim with Joni Eareckson Tada |
Jim
Sewell was a preacher’s son, and it was his abiding joy to serve for many years
as art instructor and studio assistant for one of the most inspirational
artists of our time, Joni Eareckson Tada.
To
quote her website (Joni and Friends International Disability Center), “A diving
accident in 1967 left Joni Eareckson Tada a quadriplegic in a wheelchair.
Today, she is an internationally known mouth artist, a talented vocalist, a
radio host, an author of 17 books and an advocate for disabled persons
worldwide.”
A
Rennaisance woman—“but not quite,” she adds. “I don’t tap dance. One of these
days, yes, but not quite.”
It
is hard to imagine an artist who has overcome greater challenges than Joni has. For
this, and everything she has achieved in her miraculous life, she gives thanks
and glory to God.
The
same acknowledgment is met again and again in studying the lives of great
writers,
It’s
an exalted lineup, from Louisa May Alcott and Jane Austen to Walt Whitman and
William Wordsworth, with more than fifty beloved names in between.
The
epigraph—by Dante Gabriel Rossetti—encapsulates the book’s message:
Give
honor unto Luke Evangelist: / For
he it was (the agèd legends say) / Who
first taught Art to fold her hands and pray…
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