Specialty

Flute, clarinet, and piano thematically-based chamber music that brings music together with other arts, culture, literature, or spirituality.

Sample Program Themes

Postcards: an international excursion

Gathering Light: inspirational points of light in word and music

At the Scent of Water: life returning

Kick Up Your Heels: catch the energy of dance

Rising as on Wings: at the intersection of music and architecture

The Color of Sound: exploring the art of Henri Matisse

Perennials: favorites in the garden

Spring Fling: putting spring in your step

Faces in the Moon: lunar tales

Morning, Noon, and Night: music for your day

 

Upcoming Events

  • Mar 18
    St. George's Episcopal Church Fredericksburg

Stay Connected

Facebook -- http://Telos Trio

     Do you ever find yourself pausing mid-thought or mid-sentence because a strain of music has caught your ear?  In the produce aisle at the grocery store, I've been known to stop talking and blurt out, "Happy" when a distinctive chord or familiar timbre from Pharell's hit song lands on my ear.  Watching a PBS special on medieval English chapels, my attention was diverted by the Allegri Miserere with its amazing high resonance, and once when I got into a friend's car, the first thing I said was "Beethoven 7," because the symphony was being played on the radio.  My non-musician friends and colleagues get vaguely used to this; they chalk it up to a professional idiosyncrasy.  But I wonder if there isn't something deeper about the way music calls to us, something that hits us at the place of deepest yearning.

     In his poem "Roadside Flowers," Billy Collins talks about stopping briefly to view some beautiful flowers on the roadside at the beginning of a "non-stopping" day, looking at them "just long enough/so as not to carry my non-stopping/around with me all day,/a big medicine ball of neglect and disregard."  We've all done that - knowing that we don't want miss a view, however brief, of nature's beauty.  But is the briefness adequate?  Collins goes on: "But now I seem to be carrying/my not-stopping-long-enough ball/as I walk around/the circumference of myself/and up and down the angles of the day."  Hearing a favorite musical phrase but having to pull yourself away into the day's business or a conversation at hand can be deeply disappointing.  It was a refreshing moment, to be sure, but now there's an emptiness caused by a lack of satisfying immersion. 

     That immersion, that satisfaction, Collins equates to childhood summer days.  Roadside flowers, "pink and white among the weeds," he says, are as when a cousin came to visit, "she who unpacks her things upstairs/while I am out on the lawn/throwing the ball as high as I can,/catching it almost/every time in my two outstretched hands."  The many wonders of a day stretching out before us can be caught with receptivity in a child's outstretched hands but less easily in the hurry and bustle that characterize our "non-stopping" adult days. 

     When a piece of music catches our ear and pulls us into its orbit, is that not an existential call to a time "out on the lawn," engaged and delighting in life and in the wonders which appear "pink and white among the weeds?"  When we allow the serendipity of that moment to permeate our senses, when we stop long enough to be immersed in the aural refreshment, we can be satisfied. Then, perhaps, as we go through our days, we will fill our medicine ball with positive, connecting energy and throw it into waiting, outstretched hands.

"Roadside Flowers" by Billy Collins appears in Nine Horses, published by Random House, 2002.  Permission pending.

 

Leave a comment:

  •