This is where the very difficult part of the story begins; it’s not very clear how to tell it. Firstly, you need to imagine what a Mill
is . Because the Umbrian forest is in the Mill. In a nutshell, the place is magical. You can’t leave the same way you came, it doesn’t work.
Secondly, I have been a dance teacher for the last few years. In general, I know how to awaken dance in people (it doesn’t always work, but more often than not it works out). Therefore, purely by analogy, I can guess how a person should open up space for any other art, especially music. Because of this, it is very difficult for me to teach something like this: I feel that I am being led in the wrong direction, I get angry, argue, interfere with the one whom I supposedly came to learn, and in general. But I can’t get through by myself, alone: it’s one thing to guess how the door opens, quite another thing to have the key to it.
But here is a tooth, and also Moscow February outside the window, dirty, slushy, sad. In general, I carefully placed all the hope that was inside me closer to my heart; He left all the musical instruments that were in the house in the car and off to the Mill.
And thirdly, my ability to weave words into a pattern of meanings and images quickly disappears somewhere as soon as I internally get close to telling about the very essence of events. I even had to allow myself this slightly foolish and tongue-tied style, because in my usual manner I can’t write anything useful. And so - look! - sideways, sideways, let's get to the heart of the matter.