Day 80: Washing dishes.

Today I was listening to a great interview of contemporary comedic actors (many of whom are also great dramatic actors, but that was the context of this particular interview). The hour-long interview involved questions to the individual actors but also to the group, creating ample and hilarious banter between them. I happened upon the interview poking around YouTube at the channel for “The Hollywood Reporter.” In it, Don Cheadle said something that struck a chord with me. Here’s the exact quote:

“It’s such a nebulous job that we do… that’s why I like to wash dishes and sweep. Because I go… ‘those dishes were dirty, now they’re clean. I know that I did that.’ You know you walk off the set some days and you’re like, ‘I don’t know. I’m not sure.’”

The whole interview is brilliant. This little bit was a reminder of the intangible aspects of all art. I’ve written on this blog about some of the more tangible metrics in our work, like keeping up with a metronome or charting progress through a given book, but most of it isn’t like that. Most of it is what Cheadle is talking about: an amorphous and subjective journey, that even at its culmination is not “done” or “over.” At the very height of our ability and the pinnacle of our artistry, somebody will dislike, or even hate, what we do. And it might hurt. And that’s alright.

Today my practice is more thoughtful, oddly enough thanks to Don Cheadle. Special, meaningful music making is where it’s at; I needed the reminder.

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Day 79: Playing isn’t practicing.

Playing and practicing are not the same thing. I could write about this endlessly. I probably will.

Today I only want to put forth that both playing and practicing have value. Many of my students play too much; many of my colleagues could benefit from a bit more playing. Today I did a bit of both, but it was the playing that I really needed. So I worked a bit, and I goofed off more.

Let’s remember to make at least a little music each day that isn’t difficult or taxing. Let’s remember to PLAY.

Day 78: You aren’t the one I want, ooh ooh ooh.

As I wrote yesterday, I’m not a fan of this hurricane’s name. “Sandy” sounds pleasant, like Olivia Newton John’s character in Grease (before she got all punk and wore the shiny spandex, of course). It’s here though, this scary storm, and I have rain in my living room to prove it. Practicing the viola far away from the leaks, I decided to take a break and play some music from Grease in honor of this beast. Let’s hope hurricane Sandy isn’t elevated to a category end-of-Grease Sandy. I’m picturing a hurricane with teased hair and black stilettos sexily putting out its cigarette…

Seriously though, I hope everybody out there is safe and sound. Animals and instruments too.

Day 77: Inviting disaster.

They say there is a terrible storm coming… this one is named “Sandy.” I realize they have to go with an ‘S’ name, but this one is too jovial a name for my liking. First of all, she sounds friendly, even though she’s already killed at least 65 people, with many more expected. And then it just strikes me as insensitive: the people dying live near water, and they name this death trap after the beach? I don’t approve of this hurricane’s name. It should be named Salome after the lady with the head on a plate, or Sabrina after the teenage witch.

So this Sandy is coming, weather* we want her or not. (We don’t.) She can strip our trees of their beautiful autumn leaves, flood our roads, and close our schools. She can take away our electricity and make us buy exorbitant quantities of batteries and canned beans. What she will not do is take away the things we really need to spend a little more time with but forget about because TV/cars/Ipods/theInternet/everything/NOISE. Tomorrow might be the loudest of days and the quietest of days. I will play viola, and I will read a book. And if I can’t get back here to blog, I will continue the plan. I will play every day, and I will write about it, every day. I just may be writing by hand.

*This is a terrible pun. I’m sorry.

Day 76: Play fast and loose.

Play fast and loose. But read this first so nobody gets hurt.

I’ll start with what the traditional meaning of this expression: ‘to be recklessly inaccurate, inappropriate, or otherwise ignoring guidelines and conventions.’ This idiom goes back centuries, originally referring to a sleight-of-hand trick. But for me, today, it means something entirely different.

When we do something very difficult we have a tendency to get tight, even if we know better. And we DO know better: beautiful poetry doesn’t come because the poet is squeezing the pen. Brilliant painters don’t create masterpieces because they grip the paintbrush tighter. In fact, the opposite is true: we can only be our greatest selves when we let go of the tension. I’m realizing that this is true for every aspect of our playing: tension helps NOTHING. Any work we do beyond what is necessary is actually inflicting pain and harm against ourselves.

Today I (perhaps mistakenly) checked the prescribed tempos of some Lillian Fuchs etudes I’m learning. Now I realize that in spite all of my relaxation work, I have more to do. Or less to do. Never mind. Play fast and loose.

Day 75: Reach out.

It’s kind of amazing. The Classical music world is huge, and then it’s tiny.

I once wrote a paper on a work by a contemporary and quite famous composer.  While preparing for it, I happened upon her work e-mail address. I reached out with a few questions, and she wrote back with her responses within 24 hours, allowing me to use her as a primary source for the paper. Months later I noticed that a super famous violist was coming to Seattle for a concert, and I wrote him too. And you know what? He met with me. He gave me a private lesson backstage. This keeps happening, time and again, throughout my musical life. One world-renowned violist helped me at a time of need and wouldn’t even accept payment for the lessons because she said people had helped her and she was paying it forward.

Just recently I’ve been reaching out once again. I need help, and I figure it doesn’t hurt to go big and ask the people high up. What’s the worst that can happen? And somehow, again and again, these folks write me back. They offer me their help. I feel fortunate and encouraged and motivated.

We are a network. Keep helping others, but don’t forget to ask for some help yourself. Let’s reach out people!

Day 74: It’s complicated. Until it isn’t.

A student saw something I’m working on on the music stand and said “Holy cow that looks so complicated. Can you even play that?” I said something like, “Well, yes. Mostly. Almost entirely.”

I explained to him that everything is complicated until it isn’t. I reminded him of how difficult his last piece seemed just a few months ago.

Music almost always looks scarier than it really is. And even if it is scary, it will get easier.

Day 73: Music is chemistry. Or French. Or volleyball.

What subject or sport did you excel in in school, and how can you apply it to your practice?

I always got good grades in French. I worked hard, but I also loved it. And then because I loved it, I worked even harder. I remember drilling verb conjugations like a crazy person. Then, I loved it so much that I made sure I immersed myself in the language. After much hard work and some serious begging, my family saved up so that I could live outside of Versailles as an exchange student my junior year of high school. (Incidentally, I had the absolute honor and joy of studying with violist Paul Hadjage while I was there. Changed my life… more on that later.) There are lessons from my French studies that I apply to my music practice almost every day.

We’ve all heard that study after study shows that music students get higher scores on standardized tests. It’s true: there are skills we learn in this discipline that help us in other subjects. (Music has a unique math-meets-poetry essence that I have yet to encounter in any other discipline… it just makes us better thinkers, n’est-ce pas?) But now I’m suggesting that the inverse is true, too: we all have things we are good at in other areas of life that we can use to inform our practice. So here’s what I ask myself: what are you great at, and what can you teach yourself because of it?

Day 72:This kid gets it.

I had the most affirming private lesson with a student of mine last night. A little back story: A.B. is a sophomore in high school who hasn’t played all that long, but shows great potential. He’s working on the Gavotte at the end of Suzuki book 1 and I suggested he poke around the internet to listen to differing interpretations and help get the tune in his ear (unlike some of the other pieces in the book, this one isn’t a familiar melody for most folks). He returned, disappointed, and we had this really cool conversation:

A.B: ‘So I did what you said, I watched a bunch of different videos of people playing the piece. and nobody was doing the dynamics or anything expressive at all. Why??? Even the adults, everybody I watched was just very plain.’
Me: ‘Yeeeah, that’s a problem. That’s not good.’
A.B: ‘Is that why you said there are armies of kids playing like robots before? Why is that??’
Me, laughing (…had I said that?): ‘I suppose it’s because people forget that kids are expressive, too… it’s kind of insulting really, the idea that kids don’t have real feelings or can’t create nuanced art. I remember being a kid and being deeply sad when I was bullied, or experiencing that incredibly strong feeling of a first crush…of course kids have an understanding of emotions and can be expressive. There’s the added problem that many people think of expression as an afterthought rather than the very core of what we are doing.’

(A.B. was nodding and a moment passed)

Me: ‘You know what? This makes me feel good as a teacher. It should make you feel good. You are discerning enough to notice a lack of expression in music, and I’m a teacher who doesn’t create armies of robot musicians.’

We smiled, and then we made some not-robot music

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I was working through some sonatas today…pieces I’m studying academically for an exam but that I haven’t played in many years (Hindemith 11/4, Clarke, Brahms Op. 120). It was a mix of feelings…disappointment that the notes weren’t in my hands like they once were, pride that any of them were there at all, and grateful for the feeling of familiarity that comes from just being around a piece for so many years. Still, this stuff is hard!!

Day 71: Mediocrity is mediocre.

Some days, mediocrity is okay. Not every day will be brilliant and inspired and magical. The beauty of mediocrity is that it isn’t terrible.

Today (for me) is a mediocre day. I’ll still clock in and (at the least) get some scales in.

Once in a while, just doing something is enough. It’s okay. We aren’t perfect.