Happy

March 28, 2007 at 8:59 AM

As it turns out, I only needed one event to turn my entire week around for the better. One of my students, Shane McVeigh, was awarded a scholarship to Interlochen’s summer music program.

At the time of his audition, we weren’t really working on any serious repertoire. I was focusing more on getting his setup just right, teaching him solfege, and getting him to listen to the little important things, like intervals and sound production. We took pieces like Hot Cross Buns and Avignon and sang it, then bowed the open strings, practicing upper half detache, then lower half. We played simple piece after simple piece, listening for the sounds to ring clean and pure, scrutinizing the bow's contact point and the angle of his left wrist.

The last piece we’d gotten together was a very basic Bach gavotte. Modest as it was, I remember that during our last run through, I felt a specific contentment as our two violins intertwined in the room and made gorgeous mournful phrases. I told him I was impressed, to which he responded with a shrug of dissatisfaction.

What is it about my role as a teacher that makes me such a harbinger of criticism and self doubt? I get so downhearted at times when I see my students struggling to find the confidence and determination that it takes to continue improving themselves. I wish to insert little disclaimers as I begin opening their ears, warning them of the negative side effects that are likely to follow. As we progress together, they begin to hear things that they didn’t before, like funky bow sounds and wonky tuning, and they become disgusted at themselves. I can’t seem to explain to them that they are actually beginning to sound better than before, not worse. All the flaws had been there before; they just hadn’t noticed them. The only difference now is the honing of their ears, which in turn pilots their progress. The forward gain is difficult to see; it’s almost like watching spring breakup. It’s slow, but steady and certain--undeniably certain to the one who chooses to be patient and give it a try. It can’t be rushed beyond its own pace, though.

So we continued along, like our March thaw. “It snowballs later, I promise!” I kept insisting, when Shane complained about the heckling his peers gave him for playing such babyish songs. To make things worse, I discovered that he would need two audition pieces instead of one. We didn’t have two. The application wasn’t specific as to the deadline for the recording submission, and by the time we got some solid clarification, the deadline had already passed. He really wanted to go. In good faith, his mother submitted a simple recording of his gavotte anyway, and nothing else. I assumed that since he’d failed to meet the requirements, nothing would come of it. I felt bad; every time the subject entered my mind, I tried to convince myself that it was okay that I didn’t spend the year polishing up flashy showpieces to get him into that summer camp.

I was on the scene the day they opened the acceptance letter, and watched the overjoyed mother and the typical bashful 7th-grader counter-reaction. I played the role of the excited and proud violin teacher, alternating between sincere appreciation of his achievement and feelings of reassurance as to my own legitimacy as an instructor.

As a largely self-taught violinist lacking in credentials, I cannot count the number of times I've ended my lesson day with an urgent discontent under my fingernails. Questions assail me for the remainder of the day: Did I make sense? Were they ready for that exercise? Am I holding them back? Are they improving? And if not, is the lack of improvement due to my incompetence, or their incorrect/insufficient practice? What if I forever doom a potential concert violinist to a life of weddings and Friday gigs at the local coffee shop because I didn't equip them with the tools they needed to become the musician they were meant to be? O horrors! Sometimes, I just want a sign, some concrete proof, some connection to the outside world that shows me where I stand as a teacher. And sometimes, my kids need a pat on the back from someone other than myself.

So, my Shane got a scholarship to Interlochen. He got it on a simple Bach gavotte, played well. On my way out, I caught him as he was rounding up his stuff to go snow machining. "You should be darn proud of yourself, Shane."

I am.

From Tom Holzman
Posted on March 28, 2007 at 12:13 PM

Congrats! Keep up the good work.

From Scott 68
Posted on March 28, 2007 at 1:56 PM

there are few things in this world more rewarding i think

From Karin Lin
Posted on March 28, 2007 at 4:20 PM

Congratulations, Emily!

From Miwa Smyrnova
Posted on March 29, 2007 at 3:59 AM

oh, that almost made me cry.

From Emily Grossman
Posted on March 29, 2007 at 8:24 AM

It was certainly rewarding. :)

From Gabriel Kastelle
Posted on March 30, 2007 at 7:38 AM

What a shape note singer said to me on a big travel, each syllable emphatically emphasized, I repeat for your trenchant observations and the great landmark for your student and yourself reported here: "EX-CEL-LENT!" I didn't experience Interlochen myself, but I have treasured colleagues whose lives have been changed in every way by Interlochen... :-)

From Emily Grossman
Posted on March 30, 2007 at 9:08 AM

Gabriel, your big travel didn't happen to be in a phone booth, did it?

We don't use the shape notes. We do, however, use the shape hands. They are so fun! Shane's sister was the one who pointed out to me that do-re-mi looks like a moose getting up after lying down. The visual imagery is powerful.

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