So it is late on a quiet Sunday night and I find myself looking for love. In the air. In the mood of the moment. You know that feeling you get, every so often, an ever so slight one, of a subtle yearning, for something warm, something comforting, but not necessarily for something you can touch. In its essence, more as something ethereal, than something real. When you cannot be bothered by the mundane, or the frivolities. When you only want, only seek, the purest joy, that is there, beneath the clutter, the purest beauty, the simplest elegance, in its purest form. Hélène Grimaud. At the piano. In her beautiful dress. Hair done just so. Altogether sexy and sophisticated. Of educated charm and bodily perfection. Yes, the sound is real. And yes, the image is real. But they are all that I hear, that I see. And they are all that I am aware of, in front of me. The sublime beauty of Hélène Grimaud, the magnificence of her performance, of her artistry, and the overwhelming sensations she is able to create, in her ever so appreciative audience, both public and private, when one is among the cheering crowd, or when one is all alone. She comforts, she heals, and she elevates the spirit with her own beautiful inspiration. And without the cumbersome unnecessities of all else to distract, with only Hélène Grimaud filling your senses, there can be these moments of bliss.
I am watching the great, the lovely and beautiful and magnificently talented Hélène Grimaud in a video performing the Rachmaninoff Piano Concerto No. 2 in C minor, op. 18, and I must say, that I’ve never found posture so sexy. Her posture, Hélène Grimaud’s delicate and refined posture that seems to be a lasting mirage you take away in your mind of this world-class pianist, that becomes the encapsulation of all the things, and so very many of them, that strikes you, repeatedly, about this beauty. Hélène Grimaud is the embodiment of refinement. Of beauty. Of talent. And of refined posture. As her exquisiteness is all-encompassing.
Hélène is the spirit of that simple and sweet elegance that only uplifts, only comforts, and only heals. One’s soul. Surely my own. Her concentration is sensually appealing. The look on her face. A deep river of expressiveness flowing from a chasm of churning emotions, emanating from her very personal abyss of inspiration deep down below. On the surface of her beautiful face a serene expression, a wistful sign of sensuous serenities that are far from the simplistic. She is a complex and certainly complicated female. A beautiful enigma. She is rich with expression and emotion. She does not deceive with her intent, nor betray with her action. She yearns herself, to fulfill for us, what we can only dream. This feeling of joy, of beauty, of art. This feeling of the divine comfort of femininity. This feeling of elegant sweetness. This feeling of love. There is no one better to turn to, to let your heart reach for, on these evenings of solitude, in these moments of longing, than the sweetly beautiful, the delicately refined, and the serenely talented Hélène Grimaud.
You cannot see where her virtuosity comes from. It is not projected. The source of her strength is not apparent. But beautifully disguised by her delicate beauty. She will not be waving her arms at you, flailing about with wasted insincerity. Her signals are much more subdued. Her invitations are tender chances, fleeting offers, of herself. That is, of her artistic self. Her otherworldly world of her own special talent, of her beauty, of that place where all her good stuff resides. We get these chances, these glorious offers, to reach her halfway, to meet her at the threshold of her realm, to share with her moments such as these, to bathe in the warm glow of her inspired radiance, to express, in our own humble way, our love for her, and to appreciate that she shares her valued time, and her beautiful spiritual energy, with us, and that she gives of herself to us, and for this we thank her. Beautiful Hélène Grimaud. And we love her. We truly do.
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