There are years that ask questions
“There are years that ask questions, and years that answer.”
_ Zora Neale Hurston
Tired of lying in the sunshine, staying home to watch the rain.
You are young and life is long, and there is time to kill today.
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you.
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun.
_ Pink Floyd, Time
And so, I found that ten years got behind me, literally, whilst I was busy teaching and running a music academy. The obsession with the pedagogy of the piano drove me to study and fret over method, which, I much later realized was not as significant as the process. My approach was never sound (Pun intended).
By way of explanation: years of studying piano pedagogy had me think that piano method books, for instance, must lead the way in teaching concepts, even if students struggled with some along the way. Having trouble understanding musical concepts, no problem - work harder, should make sense eventually. The logical sequence of concept introduction was prioritized over a developmental one. The method grew more important than the process of learning.
Many can argue that learning happens mostly at random, a kind of spiral process that eventually fits all pieces together somehow. Yet, as a teacher, there's joy in structuring ideas in a way that`s most beneficial and long-sighted for students.
When you set out to teach the same way that you had been taught, you`ve unquestioningly accepted a tradition that may or may not benefit your students in ways you desire. If true learning is to take place, new neural networks must be established; and this cannot happen via repetition. Obvious? And yet, we`re sent to the practice room with no teasing thoughts to raise our awareness of the music.
We teach day-in and day-out with the same aptitude, the same approach and the same resources. If this seems ridiculous, it is what I did on record for a couple of years. Until one fine academic year, I changed the way I taught and continued changing it. With the same schedule every day of every week, however, there is a dullness that overcomes, and a sense of constriction starts to seep in from all the responsibility you have undertaken - the responsibility to be available for all your students all the time. Perhaps this is not the healthiest way to maintain a work-life balance. But as a culture, we are always taught to strive, to work harder. Bullocks.
This is not to say that teaching seems a dull job. Far from. I had a great time arranging tunes with my students, teaching them musicianship and technique, preparing for concerts, for recitals, for competitions; trying new methods. But I still felt the dearth of something - perchance it was the lack of self-challenge. Perchance it equals not challenging your students. Hence, no new neural networks. And that equals, no real learning.
Thus, began attempts to break the glass ceiling.
So you run and you run to catch up with the sun, but it's sinking…
In desperation I tried to resume the same technical facility I had from years ago. I was rusty, but I tried to push myself to achieve what would ideally not happen even in a couple of years. I was gripped by the fear of missing out; I needed to stay afloat. Whether this was a terribly long panic attack, which lasted three years, more than I would care to admit, I do not know. What I can admit is, I had absolutely no idea what I was doing when I woke from suburban slumber, to a master`s degree in music.
Shaky foundations? Perhaps. A constant barrage of examinations and competitions in my past years did not help me build integrity into my music. Because I did not give myself the time to. Little did I realize that I was doing the same thing again, years later. What`s that thing they say about insanity? Oh yeah, doing the same thing over and over expecting different results.
I completed the master’s program with a gun to my own head in a year and a half with about sixty percent satisfaction with myself. Because something was still missing. The years of attending university, filling my head with information that did not make immediate sense to me, the long ruminating drives back, the incessant practicing, the “almost” Carpal-Tunnel syndrome, the diminished sense of self, gave me zero time to absorb and appreciate with a clear mind the wealth of information my professors were trying shove down my system.
Every drive back from university took an hour during which my mind would try to unravel, untangle everything from philosophy to musical insights that I had no wherewithal to completely understand and integrate into my practice. I thought my mind was disintegrating. At two months after the graduation recital, disillusioned with myself, I took thirty steps back, all the way to playing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" if I could. Just kidding. Back to technique, back to mini Clementi sonatinas, Bach inventions. Some jazz improvisations here and there. But mostly back to re-discovering music like I never had before. Exploring my voice by learning with a fabulous coach who`d trained from Juilliard. Correcting and truly understanding so many things I had always taken for granted.
Then came the Summer Kodály Symposium where I met fantastic tutors with whom communication would continue throughout the year. The method pried open my brain for all the missing pieces which were now slowly but surely, and might I add, very subtly falling together.
Because, music is a subtle process. It begins nowhere but in your mind like most brilliantly conceptualized art. It was my mind that was missing. Not that my practicing was mindless, but rather it went all the way left, as it was simply trying to handle the cognitive load. What could I have done different then? I could have been kind to myself. Kinder to myself for matters that I did not understand.
Things take time. This is a basic kindness I should have extended myself.
With a brilliant piano professor, but moreover a fantastic human being- Nicolas Constantinou, who from the first lesson understood me for who I was. I could not have asked for a more understanding coach, who knew exactly where I stood musically, but was kind, patient, and willing to share decades of knowledge with hopes that I would one day understand the depths of what he had shared. And it did. But it took time. A lot of time, a lot of patience, and a much deeper search for answers I knew I needed.
Now, as I rework the music I played for more finesse and facility, a number of golden nuggets the former had dropped started to make sense to me. I am nowhere near perfect, but I do now have a clearer vision of how to get there. To whoever reads this, especially my students, I hope you know what to take away from it. The more time you take to be with yourself and the more thoroughly you marinate your music will be well worth it. You will have gotten much farther than most if you just be kind enough to give yourself the time. It isn`t a luxury. It`s quite the necessity.
_ Zora Neale Hurston
Tired of lying in the sunshine, staying home to watch the rain.
You are young and life is long, and there is time to kill today.
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you.
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun.
_ Pink Floyd, Time
And so, I found that ten years got behind me, literally, whilst I was busy teaching and running a music academy. The obsession with the pedagogy of the piano drove me to study and fret over method, which, I much later realized was not as significant as the process. My approach was never sound (Pun intended).
By way of explanation: years of studying piano pedagogy had me think that piano method books, for instance, must lead the way in teaching concepts, even if students struggled with some along the way. Having trouble understanding musical concepts, no problem - work harder, should make sense eventually. The logical sequence of concept introduction was prioritized over a developmental one. The method grew more important than the process of learning.
Many can argue that learning happens mostly at random, a kind of spiral process that eventually fits all pieces together somehow. Yet, as a teacher, there's joy in structuring ideas in a way that`s most beneficial and long-sighted for students.
When you set out to teach the same way that you had been taught, you`ve unquestioningly accepted a tradition that may or may not benefit your students in ways you desire. If true learning is to take place, new neural networks must be established; and this cannot happen via repetition. Obvious? And yet, we`re sent to the practice room with no teasing thoughts to raise our awareness of the music.
We teach day-in and day-out with the same aptitude, the same approach and the same resources. If this seems ridiculous, it is what I did on record for a couple of years. Until one fine academic year, I changed the way I taught and continued changing it. With the same schedule every day of every week, however, there is a dullness that overcomes, and a sense of constriction starts to seep in from all the responsibility you have undertaken - the responsibility to be available for all your students all the time. Perhaps this is not the healthiest way to maintain a work-life balance. But as a culture, we are always taught to strive, to work harder. Bullocks.
This is not to say that teaching seems a dull job. Far from. I had a great time arranging tunes with my students, teaching them musicianship and technique, preparing for concerts, for recitals, for competitions; trying new methods. But I still felt the dearth of something - perchance it was the lack of self-challenge. Perchance it equals not challenging your students. Hence, no new neural networks. And that equals, no real learning.
Thus, began attempts to break the glass ceiling.
So you run and you run to catch up with the sun, but it's sinking…
In desperation I tried to resume the same technical facility I had from years ago. I was rusty, but I tried to push myself to achieve what would ideally not happen even in a couple of years. I was gripped by the fear of missing out; I needed to stay afloat. Whether this was a terribly long panic attack, which lasted three years, more than I would care to admit, I do not know. What I can admit is, I had absolutely no idea what I was doing when I woke from suburban slumber, to a master`s degree in music.
Shaky foundations? Perhaps. A constant barrage of examinations and competitions in my past years did not help me build integrity into my music. Because I did not give myself the time to. Little did I realize that I was doing the same thing again, years later. What`s that thing they say about insanity? Oh yeah, doing the same thing over and over expecting different results.
I completed the master’s program with a gun to my own head in a year and a half with about sixty percent satisfaction with myself. Because something was still missing. The years of attending university, filling my head with information that did not make immediate sense to me, the long ruminating drives back, the incessant practicing, the “almost” Carpal-Tunnel syndrome, the diminished sense of self, gave me zero time to absorb and appreciate with a clear mind the wealth of information my professors were trying shove down my system.
Every drive back from university took an hour during which my mind would try to unravel, untangle everything from philosophy to musical insights that I had no wherewithal to completely understand and integrate into my practice. I thought my mind was disintegrating. At two months after the graduation recital, disillusioned with myself, I took thirty steps back, all the way to playing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" if I could. Just kidding. Back to technique, back to mini Clementi sonatinas, Bach inventions. Some jazz improvisations here and there. But mostly back to re-discovering music like I never had before. Exploring my voice by learning with a fabulous coach who`d trained from Juilliard. Correcting and truly understanding so many things I had always taken for granted.
Then came the Summer Kodály Symposium where I met fantastic tutors with whom communication would continue throughout the year. The method pried open my brain for all the missing pieces which were now slowly but surely, and might I add, very subtly falling together.
Because, music is a subtle process. It begins nowhere but in your mind like most brilliantly conceptualized art. It was my mind that was missing. Not that my practicing was mindless, but rather it went all the way left, as it was simply trying to handle the cognitive load. What could I have done different then? I could have been kind to myself. Kinder to myself for matters that I did not understand.
Things take time. This is a basic kindness I should have extended myself.
With a brilliant piano professor, but moreover a fantastic human being- Nicolas Constantinou, who from the first lesson understood me for who I was. I could not have asked for a more understanding coach, who knew exactly where I stood musically, but was kind, patient, and willing to share decades of knowledge with hopes that I would one day understand the depths of what he had shared. And it did. But it took time. A lot of time, a lot of patience, and a much deeper search for answers I knew I needed.
Now, as I rework the music I played for more finesse and facility, a number of golden nuggets the former had dropped started to make sense to me. I am nowhere near perfect, but I do now have a clearer vision of how to get there. To whoever reads this, especially my students, I hope you know what to take away from it. The more time you take to be with yourself and the more thoroughly you marinate your music will be well worth it. You will have gotten much farther than most if you just be kind enough to give yourself the time. It isn`t a luxury. It`s quite the necessity.
Comments
Post a Comment