Sale e zucchero.

Tonight is my final evening in Varano. With the fellows en route to America and my suitcase packed, I now notice the hushed tranquility of the Italian countryside. I see that the light is beginning to change to a dusky orange, and I note the smell of summer edging slowly into the kitchen. The house is still. But it continues to vibrate with energy, like a concert hall in the quiet moments after the audience has left, yet before the janitor turns off the stage lights. I can imagine a flute playing long tones, the creak of a refrigerator door, and Tonino’s colossal voice yelling on the phone at some sorry soul. Lena, the Italian woman who lives across the street, scolds her grandchildren. A car drives by. Now a motorcycle. Now a tractor.

I often try to visualize my future with calm, carefully calculated expectations, and Chamber Music Campania had been a part of my reticent imagination for over seven years. Still, I came to think about the project with near fanatical anticipation, the way a teenage girl obsessively ponders her future Prince (or Princess) Charming. It did not feel real or even possible. But it did feel necessary. Now that the festival rests in my memory, not my fantasy, I am left with the great sadness that arrives when things come to an end. And, so, I find solace in the whisper of new dreams.

Thank you for taking this journey with me. I will continue to update the blog as Chamber Music Campania grows into something ever more beautiful.