At the heart of the Central Train Station in Tel Aviv stands a grand piano. It watches over the traffic moving to and from the docks, seemingly hearing and seeing everything from its own point of view. For some, the piano is a regular stop on their commute. Others, occasional travelers, encounter it in this unexpected space, inviting them, subject to their will. There, in the most bustling place is a piano that makes people take off their earphones and take part in something magical that requires no words. The piano is unplugged, the people unplug. How many of those who sit and play manage to transcend the external noise, reflecting in a different and challenging way the reality we live in, allowing us to look into ourselves?
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At the heart of the Central Train Station in Tel Aviv stands a grand piano. It watches over the traffic moving to and from the docks, seemingly hearing and seeing everything from its own point of view. For some, the piano is a regular stop on their commute. Others, occasional travelers, encounter it in this unexpected space, inviting them, subject to their will. There, in the most bustling place is a piano that makes people take off their earphones and take part in something magical that requires no words. The piano is unplugged, the people unplug. How many of those who sit and play manage to transcend the external noise, reflecting in a different and challenging way the reality we live in, allowing us to look into ourselves?
