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amores de argentina Diario de pianista Zaida Saiace - Piano Hamiah Producciones (Promotion CD) 1999 |
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LOVES FROM ARGENTINA Pianist's Diary Music is a disappearance, said Francis Ponge. If we feel like him, we share an illusory identity and a fidelity, a liaison rather, towards the musician. In this pianist's diary both desired and rejected loves point to the same casual intensity and the same deliberate forgetfulness. A diary is made up of minimal, microscopic, daily entries; every line is filled with small doses of feelings, of vows, of secrets, of longings. In this one, on the contrary, incredible magnitudes, surprising distances and infinite lengths of time, are retrieved. And Guastavino can chat with Satie, who chats with Gismonti, who does so with Piazzolla, who in turn chats with Nazareth... Zaida Saiace couldn't care less about time and space in the chamber storm that she creates here. It is almost unbelievable that these two unequal symmetries should pass so easily through the doors and the windows of music which comes and goes as the mystery is revealed, represented and shared as a balsamic air relief. The paths of memory are written in such a perfect hand that only those, who out of emulation, wish to appreciate beauty, will be able to seize it. In the meantime, Zaida minds her game: hidden in the music, she looks innocent. Luis Chitarroni
Buenos Aires, December 4, l996 I love writing letters. In fact, I have always loved to do so. As if following a flow of thoughts inspired by someone I am missing .. and asking myself whether love letters are perhaps the only real ones. As well as letters, I have been writing my own diary for some time now. It may be true that Erik Satie and Olga, his sister - who lived in Buenos Aires teaching the piano, and who died in Haedo -, have been the secret inspirers of my diary. But it is my own history that took me to Paris and forced me to take the lid off the pot... of my writing... of my loves from Argentina... the history from which I'm detaching today and to which I must return, * for the forehead not to fade and to bear fruit. If art accounts for solitude, if an artist transmits essentially what he does when he is lonesome, what he makes out of his desolate times, in the intimacy of this loneliness are the others who, invisible, like music itself, sustain, motivate, restrain, push, stop, feed, reorganize and transform this intimacy. Indeed, I play for the sake of the others, to whom this disc is dedicated. Among them, Néstor and Lastenia, my parents, two great loves. Zaida Saiace
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