Etchy Keys (Faisal)
Bring to closure; I wonder if these black & white keys will ever rest. And that girl’s face tells me which piece she is playing just by looking at her expression. And in my mind, I hear a distant reverberation of Ludovico Eunaudi’s tamed sonatas. A storm brews in Provence as Beauvoir visualizes a certain metamorphosis where orange gradually burns to form crimson. She plays on, fingers sensually intertwined with keys, she is in the zone; she is the music she plays.
