Notes from the Back Row: Reflecting on the old adage, Life Imitates Art
By Charlotte B. Cerminaro
web posted May 26, 2025
In a strangely introverted mood one night, my thoughts began gravitating toward the uncanny and mysterious, a category of lived experiences that are spontaneously evocative, where the outcome is thoroughly unexpected and might even be described as, unearthly. At the time, such significant moments seem to be at once mundane and surreal, as if finding ourselves at a crossroads where ordinary events are intercepted by the truly extraordinary.
During a summer music festival in Aspen, Colorado I was tasked with playing solo horn once in a well-known work by late great British composer, Benjamin Britten. The third song in a cycle of five with lyrics drawn from poetic verse, Canticle III for tenor, horn and piano is just over 20 minutes; Dame Edith Sitwell authored the 1941 poem, Still Falls the Rain, a powerful meditation on violence, suffering, and redemption - chosen and set to music by Britten. Written in the 'theme and variations' style, each variation corresponds to a stanza of the poem.
On the day of our concert the typically mild, dry summer conditions in Aspen were turned upside-down. Extremely warm, humid air settled into the valley, growing increasingly unpleasant as the day wore on. By 4 o'clock in the afternoon, as two thousand audience members inside Bayer-Benedict amphitheater fell silent, the air was downright stifling. The music tent's amphitheater design had no air-conditioning; there was no hint of breeze, either, coming through any of several open doorways.
Just sitting and listening was difficult - the three of us, especially the tenor and I, were struggling with the physical energy to support our air column and sound. The group that played just before us appeared thoroughly drained and miserable as they walked offstage despite their plastered-on smiles. This was going to be a Herculean effort - both mental and physical.
Once we began playing, a certain amount of momentum and training kicked in, though the core intensity needed to make this piece really effective, seemed to be lacking. Before starting that final variation - and the poem's deeply emotional last stanza, we took an extra minute to prepare. Outside, the bright sunlit sky darkened, and a profundity, of the task within these next several minutes, settled resolutely amongst us. The audience sat motionless, their hushed electrified silence palpable.
In a type of free recitative called sprechtgesang (sing-speak), the tenor recited those poetic words of the last stanza in haunting melodic form reminiscent of ancient Gregorian chant. Piano and horn play soft restless harmonics searching for resolution. Just as the tenor quietly intoned, "Still…falls..the rain…." - an unusual shadow fell across the valley…and the stifling air shifted, a cool breeze lightly billowed through the tent. It felt like the breath of life, and just a moment later…the gentle summer rain started.
As we finished our work, those final solemn chords fading into the sound of light rain, the audience leapt to their feet with thunderous applause. We just sat there, completely stunned. Glancing around, the tenor's eyes met mine and a clear unspoken thought passed between us - "I don't know what just happened…" Reluctantly we got to our feet as the audience grew louder. Among all the whistles and shouts of, "Bravo!" - many of them had tears on their faces. Maybe we do know what just happened.
The old adage that life imitates art, though witty, doesn't resound with the most deeply human experiences. It would take a well-planned and mighty effort to create this appearance, and any spontaneous occurrence - those that can derail even the most controlled events - will steal away with every illusion. Therein lies the beauty of such pure experiences: without any pretense of insulation or expectation, with motives that are unselfconscious…creative energy will seek out possibilities. Our experiences are genuine and therefore, we are genuine. Truly, life doesn't imitate art, life is art. 
Charlotte B. Cerminaro is a Juilliard-trained classical musician and recording artist. In her free time she enjoys writing and regularly contributes to Enter Stage Right and she attained a Bachelor's Degree in Molecular Biology.
