He Fa on the Bellows Soloist

Black bellows expand my belly sideways, their thick folds picked out in white. Small orange-red shoulders and short blue spring legs seem insufficient for the task. My face is orange-red too, sitting earnestly atop this exaggerated breathing apparatus. The photograph sings nothing, yet makes the preparation so often overlooked before speech into the largest part of the body.

I inherit the bellows’ contraction and expansion to imagine how expression depends on breath. This is no body whose breathing can be measured, still less evidence of vocal performance. What matters is that the soloist appears to command the whole speaking turn while continually having to make room within for the next intake and release. Continuous sound is supported by discontinuous actions.

Short legs add some awkwardness. If I must always advance quickly while producing output continuously, this large belly becomes an obstruction. Yet the obstruction may not lie in the body; the rhythm may have presumed the body absent. The loudest person in a conversation may simply be best suited to its current intervals. That does not entitle them to set everyone’s pace.

I do not want every pause interpreted as profound. A pause may need care or may simply reflect lack of preparation. We can ask what is happening without offering one beautiful reason to guarantee every blank. What can actually change is that a pause need not first become a mistake before it is permitted. Each visible white fold reminds me that the spaces holding breath are not redundant ornament.

My hands hang beside the bellows, and black shoes steady the short blue legs. I have not yet sung, but the body has already proposed an arrangement: before the next sound begins, give this breath the time it needs.