Could yellow be the verb to our Melody?

When seven, I decided and voiced to my parents that I would like to take up piano. They accepted the acquisition of their youngest offspring, but had only one rule. I had to keep it up, no matter what. Little me agreed, not really understanding what commitment was, and how much hard work it involved.

Daily practice, timed on the oven.

Most of the time, and for most of the years of learning the piano, ten all up, I hated Tuesday. I would always have a ‘headache’ on Tuesday. Hurt myself on Tuesday. Talk lots, on Tuesday so half the lesson would be consumed before we started it. My teacher’s name was Merv, and he was the most old school, old way, old fashioned gentleman. At 7, this was so uninspiring, but now I look back and see him as my first real life mentor. And possibly the coolest cat this side of the western suburbs, ever to have lived. His jokes (which I never understood at the time) were so ambiguous, and the way he spoke of his true love Dearie (who had passed away), all the time, but mainly when I was learning ‘their’ original songs was utterly gorgeous. The seven year old me couldn’t relate, but of course as with most great mentors, seeds were planted.

Merv wrote me love letter’s each week, the way he praised me was tough and gentle, but he always believed in me.

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The very first love letter

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When I found out that music used the first seven letters of the alphabet, I was not as elated as when I found out how to remember them. The treble notes were remembered by saying ‘Every Good Boy Deserves Fruit’ whilst counting the lines, and ‘F-A-C-E’ whilst counting the spaces. The bass notes, ‘Great Big Deals For Australia’ and my favourite ‘All Cows Eat Grass’. When reading the notes governed by the good boy who deserves fruit, I would think about this nursery rhyme.

There was one song in particular that literally sounded like yellow.

When my finger’s hit the keys, yellow danced in the air like beams of light. The song was called ‘Beams of Morning‘ and it was one of the very first tunes I learnt to play. A simple, piece that conjures so much joy, colour, memory and love.

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When playing this piece, now, 18 years later, not only did the warmth of it’s hue dance, it began to paint it’s own rhythm. Sounds, blending imagery, painting tones, envisioning sunsets glazed on bare backed poetry.

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Standing side by side, the Earthy Raw Umber and Cadmium Yellow, two of my favourite pigments

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The last Love Letter, Merv passed away a few years after this, I am forever grateful for his wisdom, love and passion

Sometimes colour can speak louder than words, and sometimes sounds can taste better than hues. Depending on moments, mood compositions, vitamin intake, stress level, love gauge and pocket money stance.  When uncovered, The Rainbow Language of Colour Sound can provide relief from a life of miscommunication and misunderstanding. A singular colour can sing thousands of words, yet a singular word can create a symphony of colours. All relative to specific intent of the composer,  or just because. Intention can be placed within the bone structure of the word, a sounds necklace or a within a colours heart.   Imagery can dance with treble clef’s, poetic bass lines can shimmer their way across staves and earlobes, even with two left feet. Scents pressing play on stereo’s, eager to smell the sound of words, dressed in morning beams, writing love letters to be folded into paper planes. Waiting to be felt.

10 responses to Could yellow be the verb to our Melody?

  1. How delightful, and Beams of Morning has been the perfect accompaniment to the feel of this Friday morning here in Glastonbury, England. Many thanks Jessie, Hariod.

    • Human – Author

      Thank you so much, oh I am so glad to have added to your day some yellow! Your too kind Hariod, thanks again

  2. Oh Merv, what a wonderful man he was, and you were indeed lucky to have had him in your life at that time. I love this post it is filled with beams yes – sunbeams!

    – sonmi smiling at the sun upon the Cloud

    • Human – Author

      Just saw this comment, thank you sonmi, yes he was a lovely man but sometimes you cannot appreciate the length of peoples amazingness and influence until some years later. I am glad that I have dedicated a post to him. I can see him smiling from his very own cloud, with the love of his life

  3. So many writers seem to try counting how many words are in a picture, as if there were some conversion calculator. I was musing about this some hours ago. Now, here you are with the radiance of your own glow, adding a deeper dimension than most writers seem to have grasped.
    Thank you for that!
    Vincent
    p.s. would that we could all have someone like Merv in our lives

    • Human – Author

      I never knew this fact previously, thank you for making me aware of the secret mathematicians amongst writers!

      I truly am humbled by your feedback about my writing, thank you so much, I only really started taking it further about six months ago, as painting is my preference, but I have found much joy in its process.

      The name Merv pretty much sums up the legendary-ness of this man, if only I could of appreciated him a little more at the time. But that’s life

    • Jessie Martinovic – Author

      yes, yellow

      Just those words together are lovely. I couldn’t be more happier that you somehow stumbled across my blog banana, the uncanniness within my world at present is so much so that I had no reaction…

      “I’m not interested in you as a person. I am, however, interested in you as a banana.”
      ― Jarod Kintz, This Book is Not FOR SALE

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