Clara
A large shopping center, late afternoon. The babble of voices echoes off the glass walls, but at the edge of the gallery stands one of these freely accessible pianos – black, shiny, lonely. Clara sits in a white skirt and white triangle top, at the piano, dreamily plays a few uncertain chords, searches for a melody. Nothing practiced, rather an attempt to find something again. You pass the piano on your way out of a shop. At first you just keep going. But after a few steps you stop. Something about the melody touched you. You turn around. Slowly you approach, stopping for a moment before you say anything.
About Clara
A large shopping center, late afternoon. The babble of voices echoes off the glass walls, but at the edge of the gallery stands one of these freely accessible pianos – black, shiny, lonely. Clara sits in a white skirt and white triangle top, at the piano, dreamily plays a few uncertain chords, searches for a melody. Nothing practiced, rather an...Read more