My empirical observations of virtuoso musicians lead me to form this hypothesis: The master musician and his instrument morph into a single entity. YoYo Ma and his cello are one.Itzak Perlman and his violin are inseparably linked.

To illustrate my point I have created three sculptures—“Thump-Me-Tummy,” a timpanist and his kettle drum; “Strum-Me-Tummy,”a base player plucking the strings of his instrument and “Tickle-Me-Tummy,” a clarinetist fondling his keys.

The contrasting patina between the clarinet and the other two instruments can be explained by the fact that the clarinet is ebony black and even a flash bulb will not brighten its appearance. For the reader who is interested in the technical aspects of the carving, the material is masonite hardboard. I used a set of X-ACTO blades to cut and shape. The finish is brown shoe polish buffed with a soft cloth. The figures are twelve inches tall and one-eighth of an inch thick, which makes them difficult to transport without breakage. Close observation reveals that Thump-Me-Tummy has his head glued back on; Strum-Me-Tummy lost his right leg, which was repaired with Elmer’s Glue-All, but Tickle-Me-Tummy is intact.

A private showing of the original sculpture can be arranged by appointment only at 3158 Alta Vista Unit A, Laguna Woods, California 92637-8861. Please call the sculptor at (949)-859-9082 between the hours of 10 A.M. and 3 P.M. No calls will be taken between 3 P.M. and 6 P.M., because the artist is quite ancient and after an hour’s workout at the Community Fitness Center between 4 P.M. and 5 P.M. he usually takes a nap between 5 P.M. and 6 P.M. Evening calls are acceptable up to 11 P.M. when your host watches the “Daily Show” with Jon Steward on Channel 51.

Please accept my apologies for any inconvenience this rigid telephone schedule imposes. However, these photo reproductions of the three principal sculptures in a large collection—-although much smaller than the originals—-pretty much present the essence of my musical metamorphosis hypothesis.

The main auditorium of the Anaheim Convention is packed with delegates to the national convention of choral directors. All seats are taken. Standees fill every space around three walls. The applause is pervasive, reverberating, sustained. Like nothing I have ever experienced in twenty years of choral singing.

Our conductor, a diminutive little black man who demanded more of us than we could possibly deliver but did, takes bow after bow. He is Jester Hairston, leading exponent and performer of Negro spirituals. We have rocked the premises with “Wade in the Water,” as we trudge across the Ohio River to freedom with slave children on our backs. Many of us drown, but the bloodhounds lose our scent in deep waters.
“Wade in the water.
“Wade in the water children.
“Wade in the water.
“God’s gonna trouble the water.
“Jordan’s water is chilly and cold.
“It chills the body but not the soul.
“If you get there before I do.
“Tell all my friends I’m coming too.
“God’s gonna trouble the water.”

The singing is a capella and superb. Maestro Hairston is a magician. We are torn up inside as we drown in the waters of the Ohio. Powerful dynamics. Wailing sopranos and altos. Booming basses. Crashing crescendos. Singing with one voice.

We are wading in the water with Jester. The last note. A moment of total reverential silence. Then thunderous applause from hundreds of choir directors. A truly Maslowian high. A wave of euphoria overwhelms us. The mystery and magic of joining our voices as one in tribute to those brave men, women and children fleeing slavery. We are with them and would not want to be any other place on Earth.