Controversy Between Morality and Beauty: A Tale of Perfect Chords and Imperfect Harmony
Description:
In this short story (more like an essay than a proper story), there is a perfect controversy
between “morality” and “beauty” as an aesthetic search. I am not sure if it is a good story, although I can understand its original part, though I like others that I wrote more. The idea that I worked on in the writing is what satisfies me.
It was what my soul was asking itself at thattime, in 1988, and I expressed it in that way. “Perfect” is the superlative of “good,” which is, in turn, the object of the morality that reflects on good and evil. “Beauty” is the object of the aesthetic search.
The story proposes a dispute between the moral and the aesthetic, between the “perfect” and the “beautiful,” as you are questioning it. And it decides that “the good” is not wrong, oxymoron aside, but when it is exaggerated (by handling only legal criteria for the behavior of human society…), when it also proposes the exaggeration of “the perfect” for human social behavior as the laws propose, it “idiotizes” and becomes catastrophic…
In the story, it is not only seen in the chaos that occurs with the keys on the right and the despair of the right hand (the one that executes perfectly), but in some subtle elements: the right hand appears as a hyper-demanding teacher, conceited, not waiting for the left in its hesitations but hogging the scene; it begins to crumble when someone starts to catch up with it, meaning that there is a “competition with the other,” it is envious; finally, it has more of “copying the masters” than personal inspiration…
On the other hand, the left (which executes with beauty) is insecure because it has no external rules to follow; it has to convince itself because it seeks the rule in its own inspiration; when it hooks up, it feeds back; it does not pretend any exclusivity, but goes to look for the other in its fall and wants to play with it by dancing around it… The central idea is that moral goodness, especially as an extreme universal demand, is sterile in itself and always ends up being just a power play.
It is precisely beauty that gives final concert and meaning to moral pursuit; it is surprise and enthusiasm for man and the world that gives meaning to trying to give ourselves appropriate behavior to take care of ourselves through good deeds. Morality alone (and much worse… out of fear or hatred of the different…) becomes reactionary authoritarianism that leads to man’s confrontation with man.
"Between Gravies and Sharp Notes"
The aged keyboard whistles uncertain notes. The sharp sounds pierce the air and linger for a moment.
Both hands walk over those black and white keys, as if to complete the instrument.
Synchronous and precise, the right hand presses the sharp keys to bring forth countless notes that are heard in order and harmony. Due to its experience, anyone would have the perfect movement of that right hand.
On the other hand, the left hand waits, indecisive, inexperienced, not joining the precision concert. It waits without daring to formulate its art. However, there is a deep, firm “C” note that is almost imperceptible.
To the right, the keyboard exercises and accumulates precise chords. The performing hand, concentrated on its role, jumps from side to side, translating everything into a defined and haughty music.
Finally, trembling, its companion executes a first sound, heavy, opaque, a deep note without variations, that accompanies the lively mastery that is heard next to it. A first note is followed by another and another, always with the aim of harmoniously matching the sharp notes that mark the melody, not always with the desired result. Ashamed at times, fearful at others, the left hand continues to work hopefully on its keys. Behind it, an imperceptible and deep "C" fixes its mistakes.
Underneath that black and white synchronous perfection performed by the right hand, one recognizes the masterful chords of the greats, expertly reconstructed. By its side, with effort and determination, its companion seeks to incorporate itself. The sounds it articulates seem to blur, through an indelible brushstroke, what was musically written by the masterful hand.
But sometimes it hits the right notes, and then the combination of the sharp melody and the deep sound seems perfect. The keys unconditionally lend themselves to the game, the sharps bend down, the flats interpose, exhibiting the blacks; one by one, the whites also follow in scale, giving efficiency to the right hand that orders the rhythm. And then the left hand dances, dances on the keyboard, dances what it learned from the right hand, and learns what it will dance, in deep accompaniment to the sharp melody that becomes louder with the contrast.
The deep notes of the left hand begin to distinguish themselves clearly, agilely. A powerful “D” followed by an “E” and a “G” sound. The keys draw the sounds and the movement of the keyboard seems to equalize to one and the other end.
The right hand continues its effective, systematic, clear execution without errors. But it is the left hand that, even with some clumsiness in itself, executes beauty, simple and joyful beauty, and makes the tones of its melody paint an indelible chiaroscuro, without order or prescriptions.
The keys on the right remain in their harmonic impassivity, while those on the left now go by themselves, by whoever directs them; and in a vital enthusiasm of jumping movements, they find the sound of art. The right hand continues its execution. The left hand is carried away, dragged by the burning inspiration of a composition that, at the height of its splendor, reveals a firm and sustained “C”, although almost imperceptible.
The keyboard trembles from side to side. The high registers become violent, and then deafening, but remain balanced and unable to detract from the grave melody. They then gradually quiet down, inexplicably becoming muffled sounds enveloped in impotence that does not allow them to recover. The previously precise and delicate fingerings of the right hand have become tense, and now strike the keyboard forcefully, producing only sharp and untidy noises, but noises that fail to blur the candor of the musical picture painted by the left hand.
Suddenly, the noisy blows cause the highest “B” key to jump off the keyboard, dragging a tangled "D" key that returns thunderously to pick up the “C” key, which starts the continued end. The right hand protests, as if trying to contain the uncontrollable. But the keys, starting with the highest ones, rip off the keyboard accompanied by a deafening noise that still cannot cut through the majestic symphony that the left hand continues to orchestrate.
The collapse extends to the exact middle of the keyboard.
Those who observed would see the high notes falling to dispersion on one side, while on the other, art is enthroned and ascends. And in this, the left hand plays the lowest chord ever heard, and then the melodious symphony descends, causing the low keys to jump around the right hand, which desperately strikes the falling high keys, performing that perfect black and
white dance to the rhythm of an imperceptible “C” The dance lasts, swaying, while the fall lasts. Now, silence is complete.
The right hand that was just moving desperately is now motionless among its keys, waiting without calculation or plan.
Around it, the dancing hand creates, with its direction, the most dazzling movements ever seen, in front of its desolate companion.
The darkness of the right hand is profound. The lack of understanding of what is happening immobilizes it, failure dethrones it, and silence suffocates it.
Then, between dance and desolation, the ending arrives with a terrible crash that grows and concentrates, sordid and deafening. It reaches the limits of infinity to become a majestic rumble, and then slowly fades away, gently silencing, until a gentle silence covers everything.
A single point is drawn in the picture, the point that paints silence. In that point, quiet and entle silence has entered, and from that same point, a clear and defined sound of highs and lows begins to emerge. And then, the old melodies, the masterful melodies of both interlocked hands, begin to be recognized. The musical perfection of the right hand and the sweet beauty
of the left art are perceived; both in one. Beauty and perfection are united, hands and keyboard are united, and that genius composition that paints a clear dark line with a masterful touch, from which escapes the firm, almost imperceptible sound of a celestial “C” is united with the whole.
THE END
Author: Ariel Demarchi
Location and Date: Buenos Aires – Argentina, 1988