What do you do all day?
If you're like many, you either have a job to be able to pay for the necessities of life - or perhaps you are a student, spending time preparing to have a job to pay for the necessities of life.
Or maybe you're both.
Then, there's the element of your life that gives it meaning - that special something that keeps you going - the motivation to get up in the morning, the light that gives hope to a weary soul, the passion that stirs the fires within.
Perhaps, for you, this element is being a spouse or parent. Perhaps it is a hobby - like customizing classic cars. Perhaps it is an athletic activity - like golf, or cycling, or a team sport.
Now, imagine that whatever you do all day and the thing that makes life worthwhile were the same thing.
Maybe for some of you, it already is. If so, good for you! It seems that many people simply put in time at their chosen profession during the week, so they can get to the weekend to get to do what they truly enjoy doing. For the sake of our argument, however, let's assume that your work and your passion are one and the same.
However, let's take this scenario a step further. What if your daily work and your passion was judged on a regular basis in a very public forum. Let's say someone videotaped examples of your parenting skills, and aired them on YouTube - and then asked for discussion and evaluation of your work. Or, someone toured your classic car around from town to town, and then asked for feedback on your craftsmanship, and aired the response on a new reality show.
Keep in mind - those evaluating your work may or may not have experience or training in your area of expertise. They may not know how many hours you spent honing the skills you have, and how many more you currently spend refining your skills. They may not relate to the emotions tied up in what you do - that every action you take reflects the dedication. They may not even value what you do at all, perceiving it as a whim that has no real productive function in our "bottom-line" driven world.
Which brings me to my point.
The aforementioned scenario is my life. I'm a musician - and being a musician isn't something I "do", it's something I "am". And yes, I do consider myself fortunate. I am fortunate enough to genuinely love what I do, and wouldn't do anything else.
But - that doesn't mean that it is easy to put my heart and soul on the line daily to be able to earn a living. It would almost be easier to be a musician if I didn't love it so much - if I could look at what I do dispassionately, and matter-of-factly move through my day, thinking rationally and logically about every interaction, every artistic choice.
But it wouldn't be art then, would it? It might take on the shell of "art", but the shell would be a dispassionate coating only catering to what others consider to be "art".
However, if one wants to make a living doing something, there has to be demand for the service, as well as value placed upon it. And the value is rarely defined by those providing the service - it is defined by those consuming it.
Therin lies the rub. Can art support life - and maybe more importantly, can life in today's society support true art?
Monday, March 19, 2012
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Home is Where the Heart Is
I am sitting at the back of a crowded stage, Indian-style, curled up in a chair with a book in my lap, waiting for my first entrance in Rachmaninoff's Second Symphony.
My section-mate is sitting next to me studying his iPad, and sounds swirl around me as I glance up into a sea of red seats that paint a backdrop behind our conductor on the podium. There is a slight chill on stage, as there always is in the Victory Theater. The stage lights shine down, dancing as random beams shimmer and bounce off the lacquer of a violin, the silver keys of a clarinet, or the brass of a French horn bell. Pencils click on the music stands as violinists mark their parts. The third trumpet player rustles his newspaper as he folds it in his lap to pick up his trumpet for his next entrance.
I have been in this place on stage for longer than I have been a teacher, wife, or mother. These sights, sounds and experiences have permeated my senses since I was a child, and have been the one constant in my life - the core around which all else has formed. The roots of my identity can be found here, as can evidence of my growth.
This chair. This place.
I am home.
My section-mate is sitting next to me studying his iPad, and sounds swirl around me as I glance up into a sea of red seats that paint a backdrop behind our conductor on the podium. There is a slight chill on stage, as there always is in the Victory Theater. The stage lights shine down, dancing as random beams shimmer and bounce off the lacquer of a violin, the silver keys of a clarinet, or the brass of a French horn bell. Pencils click on the music stands as violinists mark their parts. The third trumpet player rustles his newspaper as he folds it in his lap to pick up his trumpet for his next entrance.
I have been in this place on stage for longer than I have been a teacher, wife, or mother. These sights, sounds and experiences have permeated my senses since I was a child, and have been the one constant in my life - the core around which all else has formed. The roots of my identity can be found here, as can evidence of my growth.
This chair. This place.
I am home.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Practice What You Teach.
We've been having a bit of a rough week.
The bands currently are in the "we're learning new music phase". For this particular group, learning music does not come easily. They are a very hard working group - however, many of them came to these ensembles without some basic skills necessary.
However, they are wonderful students, and work very hard to learn, however at a very slow pace.
Two days ago, I became frustrated. To sum it up, the day went like this:
(To an individual musician): "Play the note you have on the downbeat. OK - that's too high, try again, a bit lower. OK, that's too low, try again. OK - now you have it, but make sure you support the air to keep the pitch centered."
Multiply this by 14. And then multiply this by every note in the piece. And we haven't addressed rhythm yet.
I teach at a community college - this fact overloaded the voices in my head that were comparing what the students were able to do, versus what I expected them to be able to do.
I was exhausted, and at my wit's end. As much as I tried to not lose my temper, my temper perhaps flared a bit. Students left with their shoulders slumped over, staring at the ground as if the burden of their perceived ineptitude was weighing them down.
Then, the next day, a student came to visit my office.
"Mrs. Downes...maybe I shouldn't be in jazz band - I don't want to bring the rest of the band down because I can't learn the notes as fast."
This student didn't seem to realize that the other 13 students in the group were having the same trouble. All he understood was that despite all of his hard work, he wasn't "cutting it".
He and I talked for quite awhile, and I assured him that indeed, he did belong, and that his contributions were essential to the success of the group. I also reminded him how much he had improved since the beginning of the semester. I told him how important it was that he came and talked to me, because I valued his contributions, not only musically, but as a model of work ethic to the other students.
He left seeming to feel a bit better about the situation, but not completely convinced.
At this time, I realized something essential.
It is my job to do whatever it takes to give the students the tools they need to be successful. This also means that I need to be able to accurately assess all of their needs - musically, educationally, and personally - and be able to present material in a way that encourages them to grow and develop holistically as musicians. If I am not providing an environment in which students feel they can be successful, musicianship will never happen.
As a result of this interaction, today's rehearsal was different. The goal was to focus on their strengths as tools to use to bolster their weaknesses, crafting a lesson that was more about building on their skills towards the goal of overall musicianship, rather than "playing right notes".
And, without delving into a boring overview of my lesson plan, I'll simply say, this approach left students smiling, and excited about our "jam fest" we have planned for the last rehearsal before Thanksgiving. We listened to music, we played expressively through improvisation development, and we managed to conquer some "musical demons" that gave students fits the other day. We probably got more done towards the goal of overall musicianship than we had in quite awhile.
I often tell student musicians not to get bogged down in notes and rhythms - to play the music, and the notes will find their way. I realized today that if I expect that from students, I need to model how to do it by teaching with that concept at the center of my educational focus. Sure - they have to be able to play the notes to play the music. But if they don't feel comfortable playing music, why play the notes at all?
The bands currently are in the "we're learning new music phase". For this particular group, learning music does not come easily. They are a very hard working group - however, many of them came to these ensembles without some basic skills necessary.
However, they are wonderful students, and work very hard to learn, however at a very slow pace.
Two days ago, I became frustrated. To sum it up, the day went like this:
(To an individual musician): "Play the note you have on the downbeat. OK - that's too high, try again, a bit lower. OK, that's too low, try again. OK - now you have it, but make sure you support the air to keep the pitch centered."
Multiply this by 14. And then multiply this by every note in the piece. And we haven't addressed rhythm yet.
I teach at a community college - this fact overloaded the voices in my head that were comparing what the students were able to do, versus what I expected them to be able to do.
I was exhausted, and at my wit's end. As much as I tried to not lose my temper, my temper perhaps flared a bit. Students left with their shoulders slumped over, staring at the ground as if the burden of their perceived ineptitude was weighing them down.
Then, the next day, a student came to visit my office.
"Mrs. Downes...maybe I shouldn't be in jazz band - I don't want to bring the rest of the band down because I can't learn the notes as fast."
This student didn't seem to realize that the other 13 students in the group were having the same trouble. All he understood was that despite all of his hard work, he wasn't "cutting it".
He and I talked for quite awhile, and I assured him that indeed, he did belong, and that his contributions were essential to the success of the group. I also reminded him how much he had improved since the beginning of the semester. I told him how important it was that he came and talked to me, because I valued his contributions, not only musically, but as a model of work ethic to the other students.
He left seeming to feel a bit better about the situation, but not completely convinced.
At this time, I realized something essential.
It is my job to do whatever it takes to give the students the tools they need to be successful. This also means that I need to be able to accurately assess all of their needs - musically, educationally, and personally - and be able to present material in a way that encourages them to grow and develop holistically as musicians. If I am not providing an environment in which students feel they can be successful, musicianship will never happen.
As a result of this interaction, today's rehearsal was different. The goal was to focus on their strengths as tools to use to bolster their weaknesses, crafting a lesson that was more about building on their skills towards the goal of overall musicianship, rather than "playing right notes".
And, without delving into a boring overview of my lesson plan, I'll simply say, this approach left students smiling, and excited about our "jam fest" we have planned for the last rehearsal before Thanksgiving. We listened to music, we played expressively through improvisation development, and we managed to conquer some "musical demons" that gave students fits the other day. We probably got more done towards the goal of overall musicianship than we had in quite awhile.
I often tell student musicians not to get bogged down in notes and rhythms - to play the music, and the notes will find their way. I realized today that if I expect that from students, I need to model how to do it by teaching with that concept at the center of my educational focus. Sure - they have to be able to play the notes to play the music. But if they don't feel comfortable playing music, why play the notes at all?
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