August 27, 2005 at 5:20 AM

One thing I repeatedly find is that I am always, always amazed at how quickly I do improve and get right back into the swing of things when I have the right willpower, and an acceptable (read: not defeatist) attitude. I feel like I should take the fact that this has happened several times as a hint that things are not always as hard as they seem. After doing an hour of Flesch octaves as my technique warm up I did want to quit, but I've made a sort of pact with myself to keep plugging away whether it's a good day or a bad day, because of faith. And generally it actually works. I don't know why that surprises me, or why I keep forgetting that progress is possible, tangible. In a way the first time I worked hard for the long haul (and the longest haul of pure work to the best of my ability that I've had so far is about two straight months) it was easier because I didn't know what I could achieve. Now, there is always pressure for each performance to be better and more insightful than the last. My sophomore recital had to be more meaningful than my freshman recital, and it was; however, it was decidedly less in tune...

The most pleasantly surprising thing was that the first two pages of the Brahms actually started congealing. They are still in the preliminary stages, but I can tell I've laid the very first brick. I remember when learning this concerto before, again, I would psych myself out for the very first note, thinking that I couldn't crunch it, but then I wouldn't have enough power and sound to back it up. Now, I've simply taken to relaxing, imagining the tutti leading up to it in my mind, breathing out the beat before, and letting my arm weight do the work the minute the hair contacts the string. It's amazing what a simple mental change like that can do. I also see how before, there would be something dimly unsatisfying about a passage, but because of fear or whatever might be holding me back, I would let it slide. Now I see that facing it and actually telling myself, the sound is not right because you're just in the wrong part of the bow, I can really improve things. That sounds almost stupid, but it's true, and it goes with what people sometimes tell me: that I have a great ear, but don't always take advantage of it because I'd rather be comfortable. Intonation is an easy example: if we are to be really picky, everything's usually slightly out of tune, and the key to gradually improving one's intonation in general is to keep making that margin of error so slight that it is almost inaudible. A lot of intermediate students are at a level where everything's pretty in tune, and yet it's always slightly out of tune as well: listen closer and you'll hear that augmented seconds are not far enough apart, that fourth fingers especially when crossing strings are flat. It's just a matter of raising your bar to the next standard and jumping over the next hurdle. So, while I'm generally usually in tune, I know that I have to isolate dangerous shifts much, much more, as well as listen now for expressive, searing intonation rather than just bland, good intonation. It's exciting to think that intonation can be made personal and emotional, rather than just strictly "correct."

Overall I'm starting to catch myself more for those pesky excessive movements when I play. It's taken some time to click but now I do realize that the floweriness (I'm not sure if that's a word, but it works in this context so I'm going with it) of my bodily undulations during a long bow is pretty silly--it should just be a long, straight bow, plain and simple. I do think, however, that this has partially come from leading sections in orchestra. It is necessary to cue lots of notes, to make extra motions in the middle of a phrase to direct and guide people. However, in solo playing that type of thing need not occur, or it does very occasionally if I need to show a conductor. Likewise, the sublime E string moments, of which there are many in both Beethoven and Brahms, are much easier now when I remember to breathe and am still physically and mentally grounded. I guess I always thought that to stay so mentally still was to remove oneself from the emotional moment, but I'm starting to see that the opposite could be true. As with great spiritualists, the heights of enlightenment and ecstasy are only reached through an absolutely calm, peaceful, meditative mind.

August 27, 2005 at 5:20 AM

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