Piano Concerto for Left Hand and Orchestra: Hymn · Ned Rorem · Andre Previn · Symphony Orchestra of the Curtis. Institute of Music
This morning as I enjoyed my café al fresco per usual, I began rereading Gary Graffman’s memoir, “I Really Should Be Practicing.” I read it high school many years ago and it’s still a page turner. The beginning includes many anecdotes about iconic teachers and students, and I began to ponder my own thoughts for my students for this last week of classes. I think we are all a little grateful for the semester to end for a number of reasons, especially for a bit of a mental break from all the problem solving. Not to mention the squinting at blurry images on a screen, cramping into position to stay on camera, listening through the compressed garble of tones to hear just a bit of articulation before the bandwidth got too low to be useful…thank goodness for paper books and fresh air! But I digress. While I was reading, I started writing this letter in my head. As my mental scribe worked, I realized I was writing something long enough to go into that “TOO LONG - IGNORE” box in the students’ email. I also realized I was writing a little encouragement to myself as I pondered the long expanse of summer ahead, so I kept going. Who knows what the future will hold? Well, at least one thing in particular…
Dear Students,
First, I want to congratulate you for getting through what I can only imagine has been one of the most bizarre periods of your life (or perhaps not, for some of you). This semester has brought new opportunities for learning and growth that you surely could not have imagine beforehand. It has also brought a great amount of destabilization and uncertainty which we all deal with different ways, both successfully and unsuccessfully.
As you prepare to finish the semester and “leave campus,” I have one important bit of advice for you: practice. I don’t say this as the cruel taskmistress some of you may think I am or as someone who can’t seem to find anything else to do with their life except sit in front of their instrument. I say this because the precious time you spend alone with that beast you are trying to tame is perhaps one of the most sacred bits of time you will have on this earth – a microcosm of mental and spiritual growth one moment juxtaposed with a cataclysm of mind-numbing inertia and failure the next. There is little more important in your life as an artist than that time spent pondering and discovering the depths and heights of consonance, dissonance, technical challenge, and emotional affect. And all those times of frustration when the notes won’t fall, when your mind won’t focus, when it was there yesterday but today it’s gone – they are the foundation of what makes you successful when you sit on that bench in front of the faceless mob of ears beyond the stage. Remember those times when you sit in defeat before the instrument staring at the wall (but probably your phone) or, if you’re lucky, out a window looking at nothing in particular wondering if “this is ever going to work”. All those long, interminable moments…they eventually do end. The long stages of lack of production when you just can’t get through that piece…they eventually do end. Not because you gave up, but because you didn’t. Because you kept going to find a solution, or you kept banging your head against the wall (never the instrument!) until you decided that you’d come at it again a little later, a little bit fresher.
No matter what is going on out in the world, this sacred time of practice is still important. “Why?” you ask. “The world is falling apart at our feet – what is the point?” It’s BECAUSE the world is falling apart at our feet. When the foundations of all we have are shaken – or gone – we need to remember why we are here in the first place. If you’ve practiced long enough (you’ll know what that means eventually), if you’ve performed enough, if you’ve taught enough, and if you’ve shared enough music with others you eventually come to realize that the point of the music is not about what comes out of the instrument or how it makes you feel as a performer or as a listener. The point is the inexplicable journey to that inexplicable place where the music lives and how you communicate that journey when you share it to others. It will mean something completely different to them as they see it from their own perspective, and that is why we do it. We share this Thing with them – this Journey, this important bit of navigation – so that they can find their own way to wherever they are going. Even when the world is falling apart.
And if you haven’t figured it out yet, I’ll give you a freebie – the beast I mentioned at the beginning is not the instrument. The beast is you. All those hours of discipline, distraction, and development shape musical phrases and structures and harmonies but, more importantly, shape you as a human being. How you treat yourself and your instrument during that time should be a mirror of who you are and how you treat the rest of your world. If not, you’re not being very honest with yourself as an artist.
So - go practice. It doesn’t matter if your recital is cancelled or you have no foreseeable goal. That’s not the point. The point of the goal is to get you to move – to get you to start or continue on that journey. And if you’re not moving, then, well, you’re going to miss out on some pretty interesting things.