Clavilux

The stage of Aeolian Hall, Manhattan, was set for a concert. On it loomed no pianoforte's harp-shaped shadow; no fiddlers tried their strings; no brisk conductor raised his arm. It was bare as Mother Hubbard's cupboard. At the back of this bare stage, there stood a huge screen, black-bordered; down by the footlights were certain metal boxes, each topped with a keyboard of sliding buttons. Before the concert began, a man made a speech. He was Thomas Wilfred, Danish singer, who invented the instrument so curiously composed of the metal boxes, the great screen. He explained his invention, the Clavilux or light-organ, that makes symphonies of colors. Then he played.

Assymetrical Forms Ascending, Triangular Etude, Structures, Fairy Tale of the Orient, Projected Four-Dimensional Stage Settings for a Fantastic Play. Such were the compositions of Mr. Wilfred. On the screen, like dyes filtered through fathomless deep-sea canisters, colors fainted, burned, swelled, darkened, dwindled, incredibly clear; patterns crossed, shapes passed, cubes collided, vortices spun down through hell, sucking the sight with them, and the earth, like a small ball knitted by music out of cloud and fire, whirled voiceless through the gulf where sound and color merge. Amazed were the listeners, for surely those in the dark hall listened with their eyes. When an enthusiastic dolt began to clap, they hissed him down as if he had interrupted the first movement of a sonata. But at the concert's end they, too, clapped long for Inventor Wilfred.

Any instrument which so unites the rhythms of music with the accents of color, properly perfected, is beyond doubt as permanent an addition to the engines of Art as a violin or a paint brush. Great advances have been made in the Clavilux since its first demonstration in Manhattan three years ago; great advances must be made before it will be pliant to the uses of genius.