by Brittany Anne Jarboe Jennings
A tall elderly man walks through a wooden glen. He smiles often, having a child like joy for the things around him. He stops often, meandering. Active in his slowness. Still in his activity. He listens often. He is listening to the silence in between nature’s composition. This elderly man is Estonian musical composer Arvo Pärt. To him: “Silence is always more perfect than music. You must simply learn to hear it. Silence is utterly full. The fewer the measures, the more genuine the whole—spiritual abundance in the desert. Where the holy men fled.”
Please listen to this recording of “Fratres” by Arvo Pärt before or during reading. It will help what I write make sense.
It was around 2006 when an uncle introduced to me Arvo Pärt’s music. I was at a state university studying cello performance and visual art. I had hit a bit of a wall mentally. Studying classical music felt forced. I was disillusioned with the current American Christian music scene. I was questioning if someone in our present time could be a true artist and a true Christian. I wanted discipleship in this. Looking to past artists, when the Catholic Church was a patron, seemed lifeless. I craved a more intimate view of God, a wider view of His saving grace, and a bigger scope of what an artistic Christian life could be.
My uncle, who is an artist and a Christian, probably gave me the CD of Arvo Pärt’s Fratres during one of our many art chats at his house near campus. After I listened, I knew Mr. Pärt was who I had been searching for. I was searching for music that rang true to my experience as a child of God. I say to my experience because each believers’ journey is uniquely intimate with our everlasting God. I had been in church praise bands for around five years by that point. I had grown up in a Christian and artistic environment. I played church music since childhood and knew the way some older hymns felt true. Experiencing church music from different cultures felt real. However, I was increasingly numb to the four chord, jumping up and down, praise music that currently surrounded me. Not to say this style of music doesn’t have a place; at that past juncture I was searching and it just wasn’t helping.
Arvo Pärt’s music and writings gave me a renewed sense of awe at our Creator God. This someone, who comes across as a wise, gentle giant, had his own rebellious and experimental streak that caused the birth of a new musical movement; an exile from the Soviet Union, who once accidentally set a violin on fire on stage. His rebellion and innovation was rooted in his Christian faith, more specifically the Orthodox Church and early medieval church music.
So I decided to try and play his music.
Illustration of Arvo Pärt by Brittany Anne Jarboe Jennings
I have only played two out of his vast amount of pieces. Spiegel im Spiegel and Fratres, both originally written for violin and piano, then later rewritten for cello and piano. There is a great BBC Soul Music podcast episode about his Spiegel im Spiegel; I encourage you to listen to the episode, as I will not talk about that one and am going to write briefly about his Fratres. No heavy musical language. No music theory. There are ingenious theoretical reasons why Arvo Pärt is one of the most performed living composers of today. There are reasons why his works embody the sound of transcendence. I am not going to write about those because I do not fully understand them and there are great articles and books already on the subject.
Remember the solitary woods in which we found the elderly man? Please imagine it again. If you haven’t listened to the piece yet, now would be a good time.
This was my experience with Fratres: Playing the opening segment is like sprinting. I am sprinting into this wood trying to catch up with Arvo Pärt. The cello is sounding the afternoon light filtering in narrow bands of warmth through statuesque trees. The light kaleidoscopes as I run past. But I never catch him. As soon as I reach the clearing where he rests, he is gone. I listen to the lonely chords on the piano and pizzicato of my cello. Alone. The whole piece for me is a search. Running followed by the stillness of opening my eyes to all that surrounds me in this afternoon wood. I search through each movement. A slow searching of the clearing’s edges. The lonely piano chords and cello pizzicato, I see him again. I slowly walk towards him. Then disappears. I step in water. Music is good for portraying running water. I search around the stream. It is so freezing my breath is stolen. Partial glimpses of the creator obscured by shadows which move on the opposite bank. Alone again. Then I run. Careful searching followed by running.
For me, playing Fratres is constantly searching for this creator of Light’s sound, while never being in step with him. At least not until the end. Once silence has wrapped the performers and audience in awe, then we all have caught up with the composer. The silence that had flowed in between the running and searching has led us to a final peace. After the music stops, we bask with Pärt in the warmth of the light which now lives in memory. We are all smiling.
Fratres sheet music and Brittany’s cello.
No recording exists of me playing this piece. I graduated before I remembered to ask for a copy, and I even lost the sheet music in a move. I have recently bought the music, but cannot reach the point where I can proficiently play it. When I hear professional recordings I can imagine playing it again. It’s probably for the best I don’t actually remember how I sounded. Only the memory of the experience is left. Maybe that is all I need.
God has used Arvo Pärt’s demeanor about art to open my eyes to the quiet joy of God. To quiet myself and know that though God is far mightier and more awe inspiring than all human minds throughout history can collectively imagine, He is also gentle. He is a lover. He delights in creating. That He loves His creations. That He is a still small voice in whirlwinds. A contented smile. Content to smile at me and my smallness.
A funny thing for musicians is that silence and rests are the hardest to get right. Running is easy. Waiting is not. The space between the notes is equally important. Utmost patience is needed to play this music correctly. Just being with the music is needed to understand it. Presence. Continual presence. Pärt’s music contains the breath of human suffering, sorrow, bliss, and satisfaction. It also reminds me of how our God is empathic to us. Our Triune God knows the range of human thought and emotions. Jesus lived this. To me, Arvo Pärt uses music to emote the human condition. But through the silences, Arvo Pärt emotes the presence of Divine empathy.
Brittany Anne is a visual artist and cellist in Louisville, KY. She has shown in various shows around the Ohio River Valley since 2009. Currently she is working on a series of meditative graphite drawings focusing on how the passage of time shows in our changing natural environments. Find updates on Instagram @brittandthecello.
For further information on Arvo Pärt, visit Arvo Pärt Centre.
This post is part of an ongoing series where we ask artists and arts professionals to share a piece of artwork that has significantly impacted their formation as a Christian.