C Octaves - Reflexions 23

C2, C3, C4 — and higher still, octave upon octave, each struck and then given to the pedal. One note, climbed through the registers, every string left open to ring.
A red column carries the lowest: terracotta, darker terracotta, and one red struck full where the bass lands hardest. Above it the same note rises — the warmth thinning to coral as it climbs, leaning toward orange near the top. The same C, only higher, only brighter. Nothing cools, nothing turns: no blue, no green. What fills the canvas is the strings resonating into one another, C answering C across the octaves. The taupe grounds and the dark browns are not notes — they are the wood and the felt, the body the strings are stretched on, the air the sound decays into.
Played sostenuto, ppp, pedal down — a single gesture, a held breath, a chord no finger touched. Nothing was chosen but the root, sounded again and again up the keyboard, and left to ring.