Don't only practice your art, but force your way into its secrets

 “Don't only practice your art, but force your way into its secrets...”  - Beethoven

Music is a peculiar thing to study.  It is a subject that lingers so close to the heart of many, and is often considered a universal language.  Often I think this degree is downplayed and disregarded by much of the general public.  Despite the fact that Music is a simple passion, it is a complex dream.   This art form, one that I have found myself studying serioulsy for almost 4 years, began as a quest to seek out its secrets.   My intentions were honourable and my motivation unwavering.   I was un-phased by the realities that I saw in the distance, and quickly approaching.   

The problem with studying music is that it is so close to my heart.    My desire to sing initially overflowed, but those waters of passion seem to have dissipated drastically due the list of demands that music now has.  This reality is like little hits that slowly wear you down.  Perhaps it is my skewed perception of what to strive for.   I know that I expect excellence from myself; I strive for perfection, whatever "perfection" may mean that day.   I know and recognize that this is an unattainable trait that becomes like the carrot at the end of the stick.    I find myself walking to practice rooms to make attempts at a search for my art’s secrets, only to leave feeling as though the wind was taken out of my song.  

My question is when does beating out melodies and repeating phrasing relentlessly become more harm than good?  We are required as music students to spend hours locked inside a windowless practice room, to knock off the illusive 10,000 hours.  Pursuing perfection is a disease that affects us all, at least to a certain extent.   In a faculty of exceptional talent, I am ashamed to admit that the yardstick sneaks out from my back pocket to measure where I line up.  According to the standards I set for myself I rarely do.  

One thing that isn’t discussed is how to cope with the stresses of this career path.  I feel that this is vital to a healthy approach and the longevity of an art form as we just approach the trailhead.    What can be done when your love of your art, instrument or song fades?  Where can motivation and purpose be found again?   When you desire a lush passion, and not a dry desert void of desire, where do you go?  

September, what is up? Lets talk.

After an unwelcoming first week back in Winnipeg, where wet clouds overflowed in the heavens and spilled down onto the streets, the feeling of complacency cast a shadow on the bright mentally I had initially brought to the academic table.
The grey clouds that hover above seem to have the ability to suck up into them any sense of motivation, comfort and energy I might feel before prying opening my blinds first thing in the morning.
How those fluffy greyish, white puffs of matter have the ability to rid me of all these things is beyond me.
Trying to muster up the enthusiasm to exit my quaint little hamlet on a day like today is a task unto itself, without even considering the challenges that await me outside of my front door.
If I had my way, each day that threatened rain would be spent by a big brick wood burning fireplace, with a fabulous book, and a large glass of something red with my love near by.  
I think I am now of the opinion that grey days are best spent with the person you care most about, near something warm.

september

The commencement of the scholastic year typically is the calm before the storm.  As the academics,  slowly slide into our responsibilities a routine is established to help set the pace and rhythm of the year. This year however, looks on paper as the most intense semester yet. This realization has been intensified by my distaste for the changing season.  Left with a bitter taste in my mouth after saying goodbye to the most magical summer months, the feeling of fall is much like that of unwanted visitor.

Well...what was once a winter waste land has now been transformed into an oasis of green with leaves that cascade over blankets of grass. This green has come with gallons of unwanted rain that is uncharacteristic of Winnipeg.   The torrential downpours reminds me of the lower mainland in early winter. It makes me wish for a cozy sweater, a certain pair of tattooed arms to be wrapped around me and a cup of hot chocolate. (in no particular order)
Le sigh...
This weather is not conducive to a productive september.