This is another update of an artwork that was moved from an aluminum frame to a stretched canvas frame. This music box is 2021’s Chopin Prelude.
Chopin Prelude completed in November of 2021 and pictured here updated in late October of 2022.
Pictured here is the original finished Chopin Prelude main frame brought up from storage. Both the speakers and the long ending notes are removable in storage.
The backside of the original the aluminum frame that the canvas and speakers where hung from.
This image of the updated Chopin, showing the stretched canvases that replaced the aluminum frame. The artwork’s canvas is secured at the top with a galvanized bar and held against the stretched canvases with magnets. The two 36 inch by 24 inch canvases are attached with 31/2″ 1/4″ bolts, offering a much stronger, and sturdier support for the artwork. No other updates were performed on this music box.
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Roger’s poem: My younger Brother Roger passed away a year ago this last August. In a tribute to him I wrote this story poem that I read at his celebration of life, this last June 4th. I believe this poem contains universal relatable moments that many who have lost one close may find some value. It is a story poem of choice, of moving ahead in life with instead of without. (This poem is in fifteen parts or sections and with each new blog post, there will be added one additional part. I am currently posting sections 1-13)
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Roger’s poem The sun in winter is all too short. Who knew as you move through our lives, that yours would follow the winter sun. Winter arrests time for thought and reflection that February afternoon. Dressed for warmth we venture out, Into the soft light, surrounded by stillness, not an oak leaf stirring. The cold of that yesterday is heard in the crackling crunch of fresh fallen snow, as I straddled previous steps along a well-worn path, deep into the woods. Although I think we are alone, Zelda knows better, her actions are telling. Life and the deer are about. Stopping with her tail up, head sharply flipping, to-and-fro sensing something_, curious, I also pause, feeling a stirring in the air. With her nose to the snow, Zelda looks to turn off the known path, to explore another trail, far less traveled. Her interest, I cannot foresee, or know where it leads. Before I can call her back to the safe way forward, Winter freezes my momentum, with a stinging breeze across my cheeks, breaking the silence, awakening concerns. Had I dressed warm enough? I feel and pat my coat, all was there. Then it came to me, that it was not the cold, but the wind, returning to me moments once set quietly away. I wondered why on a cold Winter’s Day on this made-up path, at this crossroad in these common woods, this walk halted, by an unforeseen breeze sending a shiver tumbling inside, then out into the light. Why over all my many memories, did I find this one exposed from beneath Winter’s blanket_, a consciousness, an awareness, that once_, was you? But time was fleeting. I had let pass the diminishing forest light and our late start. Fearing the coming darkness will hide this path, I call Zelda back to the safe way home. For Home is where we want to be. What choice have I, but to be on our way. We had to turn back, for time does not. I could only turn away. Those moments have passed this another Winter’s Day, although the cold is harder to ignore, our routine beckons. Although she cares less, I dressed Zelda in a purple coat and I in my heaviest hooded jacket, thankful that each new walk the sun grows nearer, and longer, and the return less concerning. Along the way Zelda repeats her many stops, on our well-walked path. And for a distance all seems as it should, until the quiet is interrupted by a strong gust pressing against my coat, pausing our step. I feel this air’s warmth, as I look to see Zelda stopped ahead, her ears pushed back by the wind, standing at that barely a crossroad from yesterday. Her brown nose twitching in this comforting air. Although surprised to see her at this divide, I have a smile of déjà vu, brought-to-mind by a long-ago line, from a well-used book of poetry now gathering dust, from the poet Robert Frost__, “Two roads diverged in a wood…” Two roads, diverged, in a wood. However, that is all I recalled. With a sigh and interest I pursue this other trail upwards, to see it following the rush of rolling clouds, knowing soon these winter paths will turn to mud, preventing our return, until the frozen has left. Thus beginning the awakening, ending Winter’s parsing of time, with days merging all too quickly. We will lose ourselves to work to be done, and unforeseen tasks, demands and bills to pay, that surely will come. Though today Winter still decides, in the fast blanketing approach of low clouds bursting with snow and ice pellets, pirouetting down to us, if in an effort to hide our way, on this favored path. But wait! Where is Zelda? I see her brown eyes turned away as she slow trots along the untrampled path. Concerned I call her back when from behind I am shoved stepping forward, by a distant hum that becomes a gusting woosh, shaking the treetops, that then fads slowly to a murmuring sound, all so astonishingly familiar, awakening a time thought placed away_, when I held your hand, my eyes focus on your whispered breath, not knowing what would be your last_. Until now. For Winter’s calmness has returned. And I am hearing only my own breathing. And although I know that this air we can no longer share, as if to awaken Winter’s silence, I inhale deeply in, then out that which gives me life, in a last hope, it may find you, and I may again hear a whisper of you_, still here. But that time and faith has passed by me, leaving now only the understanding, that I was meant to be a part of your irreplaceable story, a witness to your bravest moment of unselfish courage, that enveloped everyone in the room not of your choice, that became your last unforeseen loving gift__, the fearlessness of letting go__. That it was alright__, to let go. I see that now, what other choice have I, other than to love you_, and so I, let your hand, fall away, from mine. But that moment too has passed by me, and I am here, in this Winter woods, at this crossroad, without you questioning our way Home. For Home is where I want to be. And Home is where you are no longer. What choice have I other than to let you go, knowing each breath I take you will still be with me long after Winter has passed. Section 1thru 13 of fifteen.....to be continued. Scott Von Holzen
art IN music 
