Truth and beauty emanate from “inclement weather,” where obstruction of the self-evident becomes intentional and expressive. Often in artmaking, there are nodal points at which statements are received; moments after which a once-in-a-generation artist is heard in concert, or one leaves a museum in deafening silence. It is in these nodal moments that one is left completely limp. In some works of art, it is the obstruction of absolute clarity that emerges as its most salient communicative essence; through visual haze, or varying gradations of phrasal coloratura. This is where the decision of the artist is to tastefully obstruct the written page, should it serve its thesis. In periods where clarity is looked upon admirably, it may come down to the inflection of timing, while in others, it may reside in the choices to blur certain textures. Humans emote via two primary modes: the songful and syllabic - often in tandem. In the early Germanic repertoire, it is the punctuation of sentential moments that provides their heft. In romantic works, it is the coloration of sustain and the interjection of the ego that emboldens meaning. In the impressionist musical works, it is the unbridled natural atmosphere devoid of man’s presence that dominates the communicative landscape. What I have discovered in my time with music is that while all of these mechanisms may vary in their modus operandi, they ultimately spellbind in similar ways.
Half the battle of playing the piano is reaching a point where the infinity of worldly sounds can be produced - none of which should be of the instrument itself. I first truly “heard” Schumann’s Op. 17 in San Francisco at Alamo Square. Karl the Fog was rolling overhead, and these were the ideal conditions to realize this masterpiece for later study. This work served as a vehicle to realize many further things - what music is and can be. My friends from high school nicknamed me the weatherman. It took time, but in due course this title became one that I wore facetiously. My observations were never about the meteorology, but the “weather” that brought forth the boundless palette of human emotions of every season and its vesture.
In an era saturated with clinical perfection, we quarrel with a certain sterility. From the intrusion of artificial intelligence into photography to self-professed and non-exclusive musical success timelines, the contemporary landscape suffers from a singular ailment: it has been scrubbed clean of its humanity and honesty. Our musical institutions, especially those shy of higher education, have attempted to disembowel art, repackaging it as a predictable commodity. Every pupil is driven by different catalysts, and it is the teacher who must adapt in order to provide the highest chances of success. This teacher’s duty is all-encompassing and must never undermine the so-called drudgery required to reach such a point; rather, it is to present it as a noble quest.
In a culture and economic framework that mistake uniform optimization for success, we systematically discard the very elements that make innate human expression so vital. The tragedy of these structures is that young students, and all too often the “pedagogues” working under their auspices, fail to grasp the gravity of how these systems are not teaching a craft, but promoting a certain handi-cap on learning. From money, and the ostentatious businessman who knows of its alluring toxicity, comes deceit, where the parent is hopeful, yet ignorant. Alas -
True artistry exists only because of a sensitive proclivity innately expressed by nature. For a child, healthy technique cannot be mandated outright, but only developed through time. Technique tends to blossom when a sense of wonder and a genuine love for the sound are first inculcated - this serves as groundwork for a pupil in years forthcoming. A good teacher who has known these truisms will not burden a student with their abstractions, but present the information in a way that the pupil can digest. This said, a teacher must be able to play and think at a high level, for without it, their blindness is their most hubristic lead. This impervious insurance model of music “education” (business venture) might function on the printed page, but such is the irony that the party most hurt from these patterns is first and foremost the student at the bench.
Human life is felt through the blurred edges of our deepest emotions - through the moments of transition. The sweeping grief of a breakup, the sudden gravity of a career shift, or one’s health are never defined by the decisive moments alone. These undulations are identifiable in time, though their actual effects tend to perpetually saturate the periphery long thereafter. Any photographer worth their salt will tell you that detail is pervasive in the grain and the mysteries within the shadows. In music, if every single note is enunciated with a blinding luminosity, accompanied by extraneous motions engineered for none other than vapid showmanship* and parental awe, the plot is lost. Imagine a world where teachers with advanced degrees in this field are “trained” to promote extraneous motions for bravado*… I fear; I do not imagine.
The human spirit is meant to wander, and wander it must. Wandering does not overtly seek, but finds its destination with proper guidance. To wander is a gift; few are born, let alone confide in and maintain this through their life. The soul must come first; thereafter, the teacher may guide. If one exists merely within a construct - a curriculum (currere, “to run,” tethered to -culum, “the track”) - they wander eternally on a manufactured racecourse that offers very little. To teach well is to tame the beast, the wild stallion, but the inverse is not equally true… Apologies, this offers very much: the student’s fallout from monetary greed… All people are born pure, some with tremendous gifts, but it is the acting world that chooses for that individual what might happen…
Artmaking is the eternal, delicate interplay between physical instrumental limitations and the limitless pursuit of sound. In artmaking, beauty might also be un-beautiful… As we must choose in life when to adopt a certain posture, we must also recognize the profound moments that require us to blur the edges and leave things unsaid. What is unspoken rarely goes unheard. In this world, truth often cloaks itself, but by Mother Nature, it shall never fall silent, for silence is the loudest thing of all.
Pardon my triteness:
The music is not in the notes, but in the silence between.
- W.A. Mozart
Truth heals even those most broken by pervasive deceit, for in its presence, and with real thought, we are free.
J.W.M.