There's an impromptu concert on the piano in the main lounge in Newcomb Hall, open to the public and free of charge. The anonymous musicians do not play for recognition or applause, they simply perform because they love the music.
Sometimes it's the passionate crescendo of a concerto, or it's the soft velvety keystrokes that pull passers-by into the storybook oasis on the third floor of Newcomb Hall. But despite its resemblance to a fairytale setting, the candelabra casting shadows on the deep blue walls do exist. The Persian rugs that lie beneath an assortment of couches and chairs likewise are no figment of the imagination.
And the coaxing piano player certainly is real.
On any given day, the piano in the main lounge accommodates a variety of players. The large room and elegant grand piano tend to deter the Chopsticks crowd, but many pianists who do not otherwise get a chance to practice take the stage.
For students who just want a secluded place to read or relax, the piano often provides a cross between a musical diversion and a soothing study aid.
First-year College student Ali Swanson, who frequently has studied in the lounge since last semester, has heard a variety of music styles played.
"I can distinguish between a classical, baroque influence and a George Gershwin, modern style sometimes," Swanson says.
The spectrum of melodies mirrors the distinctions that lie between the pianists themselves.
One Monday night, two players walk in from different backgrounds, yet with an unmistakable connection. Both are regulars to the lounge and both love music. One is a University student, the other a homeless Charlottesville activist.
Andrew Holden and second-yearArchitecture student Bernard Hankins shake hands as they smile, a little guiltily at each other. Both see each other so much, but have never introduced themselves.
The two develop an instant rapport, chatting about what the music - and the piano - mean to them.
Twenty-three-year -old Holden has been playing in the main lounge for about five months. He looks a little like a cross between a graduate student and John Lennon - if Lennon ever had short hair. Dressed in dark pants, a gray shirt and a puffy black vest, he has the trademark glasses and intense look of a doctoral candidate.
His backpack seems to mark him as a student - until he mentions in a steady, soft-spoken voice that he recently has been homeless and occasionally moonlights as a janitor for an activist organization of which he is a member.
Holden has many reasons for playing, but one seems to stand out.
"I just really love music," he says.
He plays with concentration, hunched over as he watches his hands move up and down the keys. Slow chords and languid fingering give way to a passionate, vibrating flurry of notes and then returns to a leisurely pace. Holden alternates between soft and loud melodies, playing not from any sheet of music, but from what's inside of him.
"After a while, you feel like the piano's communicating with you," Holden says.
Though Holden only has been playing the piano for two years and has no formal training, he walks to Newcomb Hall almost every day - a trip that takes half an hour each way - to play the piano on the third floor.
Originally from Boonesville, Va., Holden is an activist for the Virginia Organizing Project, a group that advocates a living wage, racial justice and peace, among other things.
The issues that Holden is most passionate about are those that are tied to his own experience. He was born with a rare genetic disease that requires $700 a week in medication expenses.
And he has no health insurance.
"I was working three factory jobs at a time at one point," Holden says. "But at the end of a week it was like I would be left with one dollar."
His experience with his own struggle to support himself in spite of his medical condition compelled him to be active in his fight for a living wage for himself and all other minimum wage workers.
His struggle also led him to the piano as a constant in an often-unstable existence.
"When you're doing factory work, music is the only thing that keeps you going," Holden says.
His playing retells the story that has just unfolded. The battle of notes expresses an inward tension that gradually fades into a peaceful melody, eventually slowing and stopping as Holden lifts his head and then rises from the bench. He gently replaces the cover that sits atop the keys and turns around.
"I hope you liked it," he says. "I can only play as much as is there."
Nineteen-year-old Hankins, an Architecture student, has listened with amazement to his fellow piano player's story. He has seen Holden in the lounge enough to recognize him, but said he never could have imagined the narrative that he just heard.
Hankins, though, has his own story of how he came to be an artist of the black and white keys.
At first glance, his appearance does not match that of the stereotypical pianist. His hooded Adidas sweatshirt and baggy sweatpants might seem more at home on a basketball court than behind a grand piano, and his half-grown beard shadows the lower part of his face. But he constantly smiles as he talks about music.
"Music is my life," he says straightforwardly.
Hankins' interest in music began almost from birth and he was immersed in it during childhood.
"My dad has so much music. Tapes, CDs, records, eight-tracks - he loves it," he says.
Hankins, though always a music lover, has not always been a piano player. In fact, his introduction to the piano four and a half years ago occurred in a somewhat happenstance way.
"My mom bought a piano and said that everyone had to take lessons," he says. "And some lady at my church was giving them."
Since then, piano has been a constant part of Hankins' life. This year, he has tried to play the piano every day, wherever there's a free piano. He frequently visits the main lounge for half an hour or more, thankful to have a place where he can express himself through playing.
But for the Architecture student, music and the piano are much more than just a pastime. Music is something that can be spiritual, even life changing.
"I want to introduce people to God through music," Hankins says. "It's soul penetrating. It can open people up."
He has even seen the effects of a higher power on his own musical ability.
"This past summer, God has blessed me so much," he says. "Last year I could only play children's songs. I listen to what I play now and I'm like, 'Wow.'"
Hankins said he feels an obligation to music because of the ability to play that has been given to him. He is resolved to use his knowledge of architecture to develop spaces that music will be played in.
"I want to work with acoustics," he says. "Architecture is my vehicle."
As the two players sit across from each other, they listen to the stories that become almost tangible as the night progresses. They outwardly are dissimilar. One black, one white. One talkative, one reticent. Different hopes and different dreams. But somehow, looking at both of them, all you can see is the music.
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