One Hand
Clapping:
The Taoe of Music
WholeArts and
The Psychic Internet is proud to present the
"Preface" and "Part One" of this
remarkable book by Daniel d'Quincy. "One Hand
Clapping: The Tao of Music," originally published by
WholeArts in 1991, is a book-length essay on the
performance of music from the perspective of Eastern
philosophy and religion. Mr. d'Quincy is a noted
composer, musician, author, inventor, educator, speaker,
and photographer. Please visit his unique music sites at WholeArts: syNThony, and the WholeArts Online Music Conservatory.
Page 5
This suggests
a way in which the East may be able to teach the West
something about democracy, although this is not usually
advanced as a theory of progress by those who bother with
such things. For instance, in a truly democratic religion
such as Zen, all people are held to be already and
equally enlightened. Some people may be unaware of the
state of grace in which they dwell. That’s true. Yet
it exists for them all the same nevertheless. In western
terms, this is not unlike the proverbial assertion that
the "common man" is the "man" we all
hold in "common". In Zen, enlightenment is
something that we already all share in common.
In music, what
seems to distinguish the great musician from the
mediocre, apart from the question of technique, is
principally the former's greater access to an inner organ
of meaning and significance that beats in the breast of
every human being. Were this not true, the sound of the
great musician would be totally inaccessible to the
people that hear it. In performance, the musician holds
up a mirror, and the musical reflection sympathetically
resonates upon the chords of Self that exist within all
of us, each and every one.
In a sense,
then, artistic creation happens when the Ego achieves
access to the Self. This is a matter of techniques again,
but techniques of an entirely different cast, and they
function on a different level of consciousness
altogether.
This book
arises out of my own experience as a musician. The path I
tread has been long and there have been many detours. I
set forth at an early age. When I was a young boy in
Denver, my falsetto had a certain elegance that caught
the attention of our local music teacher in the public
schools. She introduced me to her friend, a
violinist, as a prospective student. He turned out to be
a stern old man who was some seventy years my senior, and
long since retired from the rigors and frustrations of
putting up with little children. Nevertheless, he agreed
to teach me out of the goodness of his heart.
His goodness
did not forbid high impatience. If I’d forgotten
something he’d already said, or if, worse still by
far, if I’d not practiced, he would fly into a blind
rage. And his rages were frightening. I don’t know
what his actual height was, but all adults are tall to
little children. I remember a very big man. His waist was
enormous, and the smoke of his repellent cigar filled his
little basement studio. Since I was without grandparents,
his age was an endless source of bewilderment for me. But
instinctively I revered him, and naturally I loved him. (Next Page)
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