All the regular items that fall under the makes-me-happy list apply, of course. But I realized today, after a nearly week-long Christmas hiatus from practicing (geez, I hate it when I don’t practice for a week!) that when I wrote in my daily journal (morning pages in The Artist’s Way speak) and began to dream about how I wanted to create a special performance of the Rachmaninoff Rhapsody on a Theme by Paganini, I felt totally energized and alive.
The sages say that in order to be happy, a person needs three things: 1. someone to love, 2. something to do and 3. something to look forward to. It is the third item that caused me to feel so soul-poppingly awake. The invitation to play the Rach-Pag Variations, as they are familiarly known, is for October 2007. Slightly more than ten months seems like a long way off but there are other commitments to be met before then and there are new aspects of this performance that really have me all a-twit.
The details of how I go about preparing this performance I hope to share in an on-going diary. The feeling I am relishing today is the sudden laser focus and excitement that the prospect of the performance is giving my life. Now even jogging takes on new meaning: I want to be physically fit. I want to have the release of energy and positive glow about life that jogging seems to give me.
I want to create the most powerful experience for the audience that I possibly can. I want to share the magic of Rachmaninoff’s ballet score that tells the legend of the great violinist Paganini selling his soul to the Devil in order to be able to play better than anyone else. Practicing needs to be the most specific and intensely attended-to that I have ever done. I want to know the sound of every note and to be totally connected with those sounds, each one of which has meaning and place in the score. In addition to the research on the story, the historical context of the legend, Rachmaninoff and ballet will all of which be incorporated into the performance. Therefore, the other parts of my life need to be unfolding in a logical and well-organized manner each day.
Boy, am I lucky. Imagine having the opportunity to play this great piece of music with a fine orchestra.
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Friday, December 22, 2006
The Power of Music to Create Community
Last night my heart soared and I felt completely connected with the capacity audience at Sydenham Street United Church, temporary home for concerts of the Kingston Symphony Orchestra. Why did I have this encompassing and joyous feeling? Because the conductor invited the audience to sing a few Christmas carols.
I love the traditional carols, but that's not the reason the feeling was so powerful. It was because all of us were singing together, creating a community from our shared voices.
When I was a small child during the Second World War, at the movies there was always a short subject, as they were called then, of a few songs. The lyrics were displayed on the screen, and we were invited to sing along and “follow the bouncing ball." At school we sang every day for thirty minutes out of the book called “the Canadian Song Book." How I loved those songs like “Flow Gently Sweet Afton” and looked forward to singing them.
Singing around the campfire on the beach in the summer evenings was traditional. Someone always had a ukulele, and “Bye, Bye, Blackbird” was invariably part of the song list.
Much later I attended a small church in a village in BC, where the temporary minister, who loved the old hymns, would come early to services and sing them, inviting everyone to join him. Attendance more than doubled within a few weeks.
We're fortunate to have many fine choral groups in Kingston. I guess I'll have to join one of them.
I love the traditional carols, but that's not the reason the feeling was so powerful. It was because all of us were singing together, creating a community from our shared voices.
When I was a small child during the Second World War, at the movies there was always a short subject, as they were called then, of a few songs. The lyrics were displayed on the screen, and we were invited to sing along and “follow the bouncing ball." At school we sang every day for thirty minutes out of the book called “the Canadian Song Book." How I loved those songs like “Flow Gently Sweet Afton” and looked forward to singing them.
Singing around the campfire on the beach in the summer evenings was traditional. Someone always had a ukulele, and “Bye, Bye, Blackbird” was invariably part of the song list.
Much later I attended a small church in a village in BC, where the temporary minister, who loved the old hymns, would come early to services and sing them, inviting everyone to join him. Attendance more than doubled within a few weeks.
We're fortunate to have many fine choral groups in Kingston. I guess I'll have to join one of them.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
The Miracle of Friendship
There is a painting of a wooden barn with a round stone silo. The light is glancing from a place low in the sky. It is probably around 5 pm on a long summer’s day. Looking at this painting by my friend Carrel takes me to the years I spent in Wisconsin and in particular to the farm owned by Carrel and her husband. The painting will be delivered to my house tomorrow and I am going to hang it in the hallway where I will see it every time I enter the house or walk from my bedroom to the kitchen.
I visited Carrel at the farm in Wisconsin last week. She and I played Mozart duets for several hours each day. She is also, like me, a pianist and teacher, and having the opportunity to make music with her after such a long time away was slaking a thirst I was unaware I had. Carrel plays the piano every single day as a way of keeping her increasingly arthritic fingers supple. I was happy and astonished at how fluid the running passages were and how musical her playing continues to be in spite of the physical challenges of being 87.
As we were playing, and indeed all the time we were together, we laughed and laughed. When I told her that nobody makes me laugh the way she does, she said that no one laughs with her the way I do. I felt good.
I visited Carrel at the farm in Wisconsin last week. She and I played Mozart duets for several hours each day. She is also, like me, a pianist and teacher, and having the opportunity to make music with her after such a long time away was slaking a thirst I was unaware I had. Carrel plays the piano every single day as a way of keeping her increasingly arthritic fingers supple. I was happy and astonished at how fluid the running passages were and how musical her playing continues to be in spite of the physical challenges of being 87.
As we were playing, and indeed all the time we were together, we laughed and laughed. When I told her that nobody makes me laugh the way she does, she said that no one laughs with her the way I do. I felt good.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Nuannaarpoq: The taking of extravagant pleasure in being alive
We have access to so many and varied sources of music. The most significant and valuable source for the developing human brain appears to be classical music. More and more articles are appearing about research that shows how the brains of infants are stimulated and enriched by hearing the highly patterned and structured sounds of the great classical composers.
Human beings are hard-wired, scientists now believe, to make music. There’s no culture without some form of music, no matter how primitive it may appear to be. Even as recently as today’s Globe and Mail (Nov. 29, 2006), a segment in the Social Studies column states that when a person hears a rhythm, an immediate and physical response occurs. The music triggers the release of chemicals into the bloodstream that are directly linked to pleasure (quoted from Tom Horan in the The Daily Telegraph).
When I read the Inuktitut word nuannaarpoq in an article by Yann Martel, (Globe and Mail, Nov. 26, 2006), I felt a shiver of recognition, the kind of reaction one has when something is articulated that you didn’t know you felt until you saw it written.
What a magnificent concept this word captures: the taking of extravagant pleasure in being alive. I do feel this way in general often nowadays and find that kind of pleasure in listening to or making music.
Human beings are hard-wired, scientists now believe, to make music. There’s no culture without some form of music, no matter how primitive it may appear to be. Even as recently as today’s Globe and Mail (Nov. 29, 2006), a segment in the Social Studies column states that when a person hears a rhythm, an immediate and physical response occurs. The music triggers the release of chemicals into the bloodstream that are directly linked to pleasure (quoted from Tom Horan in the The Daily Telegraph).
When I read the Inuktitut word nuannaarpoq in an article by Yann Martel, (Globe and Mail, Nov. 26, 2006), I felt a shiver of recognition, the kind of reaction one has when something is articulated that you didn’t know you felt until you saw it written.
What a magnificent concept this word captures: the taking of extravagant pleasure in being alive. I do feel this way in general often nowadays and find that kind of pleasure in listening to or making music.
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