This gallery contains 4 photos.
This gallery contains 4 photos.
Since I haven’t driven for such a long time (since graduate school!), and since I now have a beautiful Fiat, I wanted to honor the experience with something special.
So I began daydreaming about names.
My VW bug was named Hansel, but just in my head. No fancy plates.
This time around, a fond memory surfaced. Several years ago, I lived in an apartment on Cabrini Blvd. in New York (near the Cloisters) with a single mother and her baby boy, Joseph. We decided before I moved in that we would trade piano noise for baby noise. I got a whole lot of nothing done during my 11 months there, because I played with him so much. He was extremely cute, intelligent, and curious. I witnessed him learning to walk!
He used to scratch things and listen to the sound. The cushions, arms, and back of the couch; the end table, coffee table, lampshade and its base; and, most interesting to me, a tiny steel manufacturer’s tag on the corner of a filing cabinet! The tag had raised dots and letters, so the surface was varied.
Joseph talked all the time, using his voice to experiment with sound. When I would look him in the eye and repeat a string of sounds he had just made up, he would have an astonished look on his face, as if to say, “Oh! Someone finally gets it!”
One day, he woke up ast 5:00 a.m. saying only one word, “Addy, addy, addy,” over and over. He repeated it until he went to daycare at 8:30. When he came home at 5:30, he was still saying it. And that was the word of the day until he went to sleep around 10.
I rather liked it!
CT vanity plates can have up to seven characters, including one period. “ADDY” seemed too plain. “MY ADDY,” with 2 “Y’s,” looked too symmetrical. So I went with “MI,” since I have an Italian car.
The CT DMV website has a page where you can try out your choice to see if it’s available. So I tried it out, adding a variety of backgrounds at the same time. The plain background didn’t work for me. I like lighthouses, so there you go.
In honor of Joseph and the Italians, here it is.
Now the old plates have to be mailed back to the CT DMV. And the MA title? I’m still waiting for the MA RMV (that’s the Registry, not the Department) to cash my check and send me the duplicate. The deadline for sending it to the CT DMV was October 15th. Fortunately, they use the date as a motivator. There is no late fee.
Ms. Brewer attended a very small college, where she played the violin! She participated in many groups. Along the way, one professor (who taught many classes and directed several groups) told her that maybe she should take voice lessons.
She went on to say that she had a tiny voice. No one could hear her. And because of that, she was always picked last.
That resonated with me in a few ways.
My first thought was that, in seventh grade, the same thing happened to me. I played flute, piano, and organ. During that summer, I attended music camp at the University of Iowa for the first time, playing flute in the band.
We were required to audition for seating within each section. I had no idea how to audition, so I just showed up, no doubt playing very badly. I was thrilled when they read my name third!
And then I realized that there were 50 flutes, and I was walking to the back row of the section.
It worked out. That summer, I studied with a professional flutist, a huge step up. The following summer, I was seated in the front row.
Piano has always been my best instrument. The music camp experience provided direction for my future.
Another thought that came to mind was the commentary I have read concerning competitions. There is usually only one winner. A small number of other competitors finish second, third, and in the honorable mention category.
Reality check: when someone enters a competition, s/he may not truly be ready for a major career at that moment. Concert Artists Guild mentors its competition winners for that reason.
Some of the interviews, articles, and blogs written about coming in second or third say that people who finish below first actually have a better chance of sustaining their careers than the first-place winners.
Something to think about.
When I played volleyball in high school, these types of injuries happened from time to time. They felt like no big deal then. I wasn’t enjoying piano lessons and had not yet made a career choice.
Now, however, this sort of injury is terribly frightening. It suddenly brings a great deal of vulnerability into focus. After all, I moved to a new State for employment purposes just 3 months ago. And that employment depends on my being able to play.
While choosing activities from day to day, I have made an effort to seek balance. I don’t want to do music all the time, every minute. I have other interests.
But this injury has made it all too clear what is most important in my life.
Today I was able to practice for the first time in 5 days. The swelling is receding, and obvious bruising never happened. I can move my fingers without pain. The knuckle area at the palm feels crowded.
So, I know tomorrow will be better.
My teacher slammed his hand in a door once, just 2 hours before a concert. He told me that there are only so many fingerings you can redo in an hour!
And my stepmother, who recently fell and is now home following surgery for a subdural hematoma, told me to be more careful. You know what falls can do.
Just the fact that I can write about this is an indication of emotional progress. I was devastasted last week, and frightened.
I had taken the bus from Northampton in order to see a performance of “Street Scene” by Kurt Weill, the student opera. It was a Sunday afternoon in January, shortly before the first day of classes and the start of my new job.
The bus schedule had me at the school very early. However, the event was ticketed, so I needed the time to navigate the system. Although I had an ID, my name was not yet in the ticketing system.
After obtaining a ticket, I remained in the foyer, a large room with upholstered benches lining the walls.
Audience members began arriving as curtain time approached. As the foyer was becoming rather crowded, two elderly women entered together. It seemed to me that they could use a place to sit, so I offered to stand, giving them two seats together. They gratefully accepted, then continued the conversation, inviting me to sit with them. I was happy to make their acquaintance, especially as they were among the first ten people I had met in Hartford.
It soon became clear that they were both opera fans who often attend Hartt performances. Their names were Ingeborg and Shirley.
Inga told me that she changed her name to Inge at first, but got tired of being called “Inkie” all the time. So now it’s Inga. Her companion’s name was Shirley.
Ever since January, I have kept an eye out for them. And on Monday evening, it paid off. Inga attended a vocal concert. The program was entitled “Occident Meets Orient,” and was wonderfully sung by Carole FitzPatrick, Robert Barefield, and their terrific pianist, Russell Ryan.
I approached her at the reception. She looked frail. Shirley was not with her. I didn’t ask about Shirley, but may at a future encounter.
Inga told me she’s going to the Connecticut Concert Opera production of “Gianni Schicchi” by Puccini and Pasatieri’s “Signor Deluso,” and wanted to know whether I’m going, too. We’ll both be attending the Sunday matinee on November 2nd.
I’m looking forward to seeing her!
In the days that followed, it was obvious that this was the right move.
The atmosphere was chaotic, the supervision oppressive. I had been unable to sleep at night, waking up in physical pain, with clenched fists. I had become sick to my stomach on several occasions. There were so many pieces of information competing for space in my brain that I couldn’t focus. My practicing was affected, not to mention my ability to enjoy life.
Since I resigned, I have regained the ability to enjoy my surroundings. I can listen to music and actually hear it. I found that my soul is intact. I have protected my integrity and the integrity of my playing, and feel optimistic about the future.
I want to say more about being an artist.
When the public attends a concert or watches a performance by other means, they can become mesmerized. It’s magic. It’s a chance to suspend cares and discomfort. They have the wonderful opportunity to enter another world.
Performers do that, too! Having the ability to do that is the reason many performers are on the stage in the first place.
I can’t speak for all performers, obviously, but just yesterday, I entered another world while practicing. Sometimes this occurs in mundane ways. Just before leaving home in the afternoon, I felt hungry. So I took an energy bar along and headed for a practice session. While practicing, I forgot all about being hungry. Five minutes after stopping, I was ravenous!
It is often not only possible, but necessary to place whatever problems or concerns one has into an invisible box while practicing, rehearsing, and performing. If the music doesn’t come first, the work is compromised. What are you going to do, turn to the audience when you miss a note and say, “Oh, sorry! I was thinking about… I forgot to turn off the over. I forgot to lock the door. I’m worried I might miss my plane. I’m planning dinner for tomorrow night!”
Performers have daily lives, just like everyone else. When they are not “on,” they can feel insecure and vulnerable. Think for a moment about what percentage of their time is actually spent performing. Not so much, right? That leaves plenty of time left over for whatever normal life is supposed to be.
Sometimes the difference between those two lives, performing and not, can be difficult to navigate. After a concert, there is very often a huge letdown. Just because someone is a good performer does not mean their entire personal life is wonderful, easy, ideal, glamorous… feel free to add your own terms here.
You may feel you know a performer if you follow his/her career. But that is just a small part of that person’s life.
I’ll give you one more example about the glamour involved: My piano trio drove from New York to Pennsylvania to play a concert. On the way back, we got lost and ended up stuck in traffic for miles. At some time around 3:00 a.m., we all became hungry at the same moment. Even though we were only 1/2 hour from home, we stopped at a highway rest area. So there we were, standing in the empty parking lot in concert dress, enjoying burgers and fries from Roy Rogers off the top of the cellist’s BMW (a relic), laughing about our glamorous lives. We arrived home at 4:00.
I’d do it again in a second. We had a blast. But the next day each of us had to get out of bed and practice.
Depression needs to receive much more press and public discussion. Comedians, actors, artists, musicians, dancers, writers… often struggle a great deal, unbeknownst to the public.
Toni Nadal, who is Rafael Nadal’s uncle and coach, once said in an interview that people just don’t get it. They see what happens during the performance (or, in his case, the tennis tournament) and think that represents the artist’s/player’s daily life.
I agree. People don’t see what happens in everyday life, whether it’s jet lag, lack of sleep, performing/rehearsing when under the weather, altitude changes, relationship issues, sleeping in a different bed every night… it’s a very long list. In tennis, even the balls are different from tournament to tournament. They come off the player’s racquet differently, react to weather conditions, and travel through the air differently in each location.
From what I’ve read, people with a well-developed sense of humor are often depressed. Harvey Korman, for example, was known to have struggled with major depression throughout his life.
So Robin Williams’ death, in some ways, should come as no surprise. We need to pay more attention.
R.I.P., Robin Williams. Thanks for all you gave us.
Please share your thoughts.
Dr. Levitin writes about the way we arrive at solutions, advocating dedicated project times interspersed with listening to music, taking a walk, or just plain daydreaming. He suggests that our brains, which assimilate so much more information with ever-improving data delivery, need to take breaks in order to function well.
He goes on to suggest that we check email, text messages, and voicemail only during certain times of day, turning off our devices at other times.
Speaking for myself, I will hear my phone beep when a text message arrives or Facebook sends an alert to my phone. I always want to know who it is! I will stop doing whatever task is at hand, whether that is computer work, practicing, or something else like reading a book. Then I will call the person back, comment on Facebook, or send an email.
During one recent practice session, I was awaiting directions to a rehearsal venue. So I practiced with my phone on. You can guess what happened: I texted quite a bit more than I practiced.
I have turned off my devices for years in order to practice or get other work done. It’s refreshing to read Dr. Levitin’s suggestions about doing exactly that.
For the past 2 or 3 days, I’ve been thinking about why this works so well.
When playing involves brain work only, one can become caught up in the exact length of each note, the weight given to each, the dynamic changes from one note to another. That level of detail is crucial to interesting playing, of course, but isn’t that mind-boggling, doing all that thinking?
When I practice in that way, I find that I am physically removed from producing the sound. I am not a participant in playing phrases. I notice that when I sing while playing, my body takes care of all that.
When the amount of breath sent through the body to produce the sound varies from pitch to pitch, the breath maintains the line. The body (arms, hands, tips of fingers) produces music, not just mathematical changes. What if someone told you that to reach a certain goal involving myriad details, all you needed to do one thing?
This is the best explanation I can come up with at the moment. I hope it is helpful. Singing makes all the difference. It coordinates separate, much smaller details, making them an organic whole. And it’s so easy!