(2) I so did not want to do this practice session. It’s late, it’s been a full day, and I caught myself telling myself in my head, “Throw in the towel for today and pick things up again tomorrow morning.” And then a minute later, “100 days! I can’t skip!”
(3) What to do? I’ll resent pretty much anything I *have to* do when I’m worn out. I remembered that there’s a video to prep about the Rautavaara, but I didn’t know where the music was to practice parts of it. I haven’t played it since the sessions.
(4) I found the music on my shelf immediately. Opening the first page, I was hit as if by a ton of bricks by the word “posthumously” in the credits. There is so much responsibility and honor in being deeply connected to a composer’s last work.
(5) I brought the music to my stand and started practicing it, reading my scribbled notes from coachings with Mikko and concert prep. It took me back. I haven’t processed all of my feelings around this experience. It was humbling and moving. In a way, where do you go from there?
(6) I’m struck by how much more natural this piece feels now that time has passed. I really know how I play the Sérénades and what my role is within this music, so I don’t question my interpretation’s framework like I did when I first received the score.
(7) Now, I can see clearly how it was written for me.
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I’m at the studio today making a video, but I woke up this morning deep in my feelings.
(2) I talk about this a lot in masterclasses, but I don’t think I’ve ever shown it: For me, music is where I put my feelings. I bring my day with me into practice and performance. Especially performance. It’s one reason the pandemic has been soul wrenching for me.
(3) I clear myself out onstage, to a good end; that’s my outlet, that’s where I dive into the humanity of artistic connection. If I’m going through something, someone in the audience is going through it too, and I know the performance will connect with them.