hortus conclusus

I’ve been hanging out wi th my two cellist siblings a lot this summer and it has gotten me thinking about cellos. Well, cellos and people. Well, cellos, perfume and people. You see, to me the cello is the instrument that most resembles the human voice. In shape, it most resembles the human form. Its voice is mostly male, its form mostly female, and thus it is fundamentally androgynous, a quality which has done much to keep it in the collective unconscious of pop culture. Even the act  of playing the cello is intimate in a way unlike any other player’s relationship with his instrument. The female player titillatingly holds the cello between her thighs when she performs—my sister has trouble finding black clothing appropriate for performance for this very reason—and their union results in the birth of music itself. The male cellist, too, is locked in a creative embrace of his beloved. The color of the cello—as well as its tone—is the richest warmest honeyed amber, in one of the most pe