The Bear Went Over the Mountain: Set the Date---For a Performance, That Is

The best advice I ever received for getting the ponderous mechanism of serious violin practice underway is to set a date for a performance. Then everything organizes itself: daily practice starts, and then proceeds in a logical way until the day of the event. For me, this works perfectly.

On June 12, 2015, I retired from regular studio violin teaching. This was because I wanted to devote all possible time to my many interests. As it was summer, the garden demanded two to four hours of daily outdoor work. There was sewing, reading, socializing, cultural events, and travel plans to be fitted in to my schedule. Since I wasn’t teaching, or playing in any group, there was nothing at all I was expected to do with the violin. “Freedom!” This was my first thought, followed by feelings of guilt: how could I think this way when I had so many years of playing behind me, such a fine violin and bow, so many lessons in the past from so many eloquent teachers? Freedom and guilt were both useless ideas for me. I needed some other principles.

After pondering my relationship with the violin, I remembered the advice to set the date. Handily, my neighbor’s parents had recently located to Silver Spring from Connecticut, and resided in a beautiful retirement community not far away. When I suggested to the neighbor that I set up a recital for her parents and the other residents, she was very enthusiastic---not just because of her parents, but because of a performance I owed her. Seven years ago, she “won” a performance from me in a school silent auction, targeted for her son’s Bar Mitzvah. I was unable to give it because of severe tendonitis. A long memory served her well.

So, I called the activities director at Kensington Park Senior Living, and set that date. Action! I arranged to play with Grace, a good friend who plays violin and piano. Together we chose a 30-minute repertoire, set up a rehearsal, and for the next three weeks, I got back into shape to perform solos and duos in public after a long hiatus. Of course, as all performers know, this must involve consistent daily practice. (No! You may not skive off on Sunday!) Slow practice, spot practice, speeding up with the metronome, loathsome self-recording, practice run-throughs, and most importantly, trying to attain beautiful tone and phrasing.

Artistry: this is a term that is not frequently associated with average violin students under the age of 13. (Think instead: “nascent musicality.”) It wanted to escape my notice as well, since so much of my close-to-retirement practice consisted of exploring student repertoire. However, my friend and colleague Leonid Sushansky hinted to me that this could be a great “retirement focus.” He also recommended consistent practice as a key element of performance ability. These were powerful suggestions, which I took immediately.

And there was the date, September 13^th, first floating in the future, and then inexorably drawing closer and closer. My practice intensified. My recital partner and I were equally affected, protesting incompetence, mediocrity, lack of will and focus; and it was I who delivered the big winner of self-deprecation, “I’m not as good as I used to be, and I never was.”

But daily practice, that precious consistency, of course paid off. My tone developed, phrasing was a joy, and the nitty-gritty slow intonation practice, open-string bowing, playing in rhythms, and other practice room staples crept through my fingers and brain to help coax out elusive artistry---maybe in mere seconds--but it wanted out!

The day of a performance is always the worst for me. I awoke on September 13^th in a foul mood. Nasty illusions abounded. Life was not worth living. All my activities and interests pulled me into despondency. Ugh. Even putting on a pair of socks was awful. But I went through the morning, ate a big lunch, and then took a restorative nap. I did my last practice. I dressed and primped extravagantly, which was amusing.

Grace and I did a run-through at her house, and then we went to Kensington Park Senior Living, set up, and played the concert in two locations! They weren’t flawless performances, but for me, standing in front of people, focusing intently, pulling expression from the strings of my instrument, listening to Grace, and trying to have heartfelt collaboration---all this effort during the performance was the essence of the work of the previous weeks. This was the most exhilarating and enjoyable part of the entire process.

Immediately afterwards, and during the following day, I felt joy, a release, comfort and satisfaction.

Let’s do it again.