Monday, May 29, 2017

tomorrow is another day.

A week has flown by since...well, since a week ago, when the last of my obligations were done and I could spend time starting on the new obligations. Namely, the four extremely lovely and difficult pieces I have to learn for camp in seven or eight weeks. This music is hard. Did I mention it's hard? I don't have the first idea how to go about learning the pieces. I've spent time listening to them so I know how they go. I have a pretty good idea of the exposed/difficult bits, and there are many - so many that if I decided to focus on just one each day, I wouldn't come back around until the following week. I don't even know if it's a good idea to focus on just one piece each day because what if I forget during the intervening three days? And what about integrating those hard bits into the whole? Someone on suggests playing through so slowly you can hardly stand it; this is supposed to get the music in your fingers and keep you from learning bad habits.One night last week I stretched a 10-minute piece into almost 20. It was neither easy nor all that fun.

Whole thing, bits and pieces, extracurricular drills...I don't know what to do, really. Today I had my last lesson with the teacher who goes away for the summer. He gave me a cliff-notes version of the Brahms which will be very helpful, but after a night of fruitless practice I realize there were more questions I should have asked. Meanwhile I fight with my viola and spend 30+ minutes on two bars. I have waking anxiety dreams about not being prepared. My teacher says I should try to enjoy this (I think he means both camp and the prep for it), and he's right, but yowza. I sound so bad right now, and I can't seem to get organized.

Friday, May 19, 2017

the summer will not be long enough.

Music assignments for camp came out today. I was assigned a Brahms sextet and a Borodin quartet, one of which I know, both of which are beautiful and waaaaaaay over my head. My first thought was that they mixed up my videos with someone else's. I know both cellists in the Brahms and they are just amazing. Some more sleuthing turned up a conservatory grad and some (high school and college) people who seemed to be very serious musicians. And they will be stuck with me.

Oh, god. What were the camp people thinking? Whose videos were they watching, thinking it was me? I wish I could ask my teacher to write and tell them: "Look, she plays out of a children's etude book; her recital piece is very simple and she can't even play it properly." One report card like that would right things.

I was really expecting simpler stuff: a concerto grosso, or something with a tacet viola part, or some quirky minimalist modern music, or maybe an early Mozart or Haydn quartet. And I realize that had I been assigned really simple stuff, I wouldn't have been all that satisfied. But these's not that I don't want to work on them. It's just that I don't know if I can pull it off. The reason this camp publishes music assignments 2-3 months in advance is that they expect you to learn the pieces so well that you can handle whatever the coach wants you to do to make it musical. I don't know if I can even learn these by late July. The other people will find out, but they will be stuck with me.

Sunday, May 7, 2017

this strange and mournful day.

Today is the birthday of my dearest friend ever, the one who jumped off a bridge in 2006. He would have been 52 years old. I think about him every day.

Today France voted for the non-fascist Macron and against the fascists Le Pen. Some hope, finally, this year.

Today marks a just-about-a-week since my dearest (living) friend's husband died. There will be a memorial service on Friday. I hate memorial services with multimedia slideshows meant to commemorate the dead. To me, these presentations seem as manipulative as tv commercials, and what's worse, they are public. The slides summon memories, but you don't get to savor them at your own pace. You're at the mercy of the showrunner, the curator of grief, and if you're not careful, you're liable to find yourself bawling in a room full of acquaintances. I wish I felt differently about this.

Today I had a good music lesson with the teacher who comes to my house. He liked the etude I picked (from Palaschko Op.55) and made some suggestions that a) were really good and b) were within my reach. I really needed a lesson like that.

Later today I worked on some stuff for my other lesson tomorrow. That teacher has me in a children's etude book which - I discovered to my great dismay - is too hard for me. I spent part of the evening on this stupid maddening Frere Jacques derivative, and the rest of the evening wondering what the fuck I've been doing for the past eight years, how ridiculous I must have looked, how that teacher must be laughing at me. Or cringing. He lowers the bar; I sink to that level, or just below it. I dread tomorrow's lesson because I'm afraid I will lose my shit.

Today I received an email out of the blue from someone I never knew well but who developed a big dislike for me around 25 years ago when we were young. The email was basically an acknowledgement and an apology, and it came as a big surprise, really the least-expected thing I can think of.

Saturday, May 6, 2017

it's not about me.

My dearest friend's husband died this week after a brief illness. Rather, after a few months of mysterious, worsening symptoms, he was diagnosed with cancer and died ten or so days later. It was a shock and yet not a shock, but yes, a shock. My friend is heartbroken. I can do nothing for her.

Another friend's longtime partner/boyfriend/etc up and left this week. He was a hoarder, and his hoarding was at least part of the reason for his leaving. My friend, who would never ask anyone for anything unless she really, really needed it, asked her friends to help clean up/dispose of decades' worth of junk and trash so the city won't fine her. Today about a half-dozen of us went to her house and carried, shoveled, broke down, swept, dragged several truckloads of crap. It felt like picking through the life of someone who had died. I thought about their life together (which I know almost nothing about) and wondered how my friend felt about it all. I thought about my other friend whose husband just died.

None of this is about me, but I am incredibly sad.

Wednesday, May 3, 2017

solitary confinement.

I have started practicing in the back room, away from the computer, phone mostly ignored except for the stopwatch function. The climate is yucky (hot/humid+hyperactive window AC) and the floor is sloped enough to make standing uncomfortable after a while. The windows are covered by heavy curtains. I love it. It's my prison cell, my solitary confinement. I go back there with my glass of water and my cup of tea and my viola and just work and work and work. None of this work has manifested itself in my "public" viola playing but it might someday.