to my lovely conservatory people
Ahhh. The Hammies and the Senior Showcase were amazing! After each of the performances, I felt like standing up and just clapping every ounce of appreciation and passion out of myself for these lovely people who work so hard and put so much life into their art, their music, their acting and singing and BEING. These people are the ones who live.
The Man in the Piano
While Jason, a friend of mine, was performing, my eye caught the reflection of him in the piano. He was his performance, his song, his music. He was part of his instrument. Being a musician, this shiny relective wood made me look closer: And I realized -- There is something in every performance, something waiting to be released.
When I play oboe, I don't approach it with the same vigor and life as I do when I act or dance. When I dance, every moment there is a bit of me set free, every lift and turn is a bit of me shining through my klutzy exterior, my facade I wear when I'm not dancing. This bit is something graceful, and beautiful, every little thing I have inside of me; my internal beat shines through even though I'm moving in time to someone else's beat.
When I act, I am a facet of my character. I am that lonely wife who just wants to capture her husband's attention; I am Helena, literally throwing herself at Demetrius' feet, starved for attention, I am that silly old man who ties her hair to look like a beard. These are all part of me. These come through as bits and pieces and some tension, something inside of me is let free. My character is me.
When I play oboe, every muscle tenses up. Every bit of me is filled with fear -- And that is all that comes through in my performing. I'm afraid. My fear is something that isn't a facade, isn't something false or unimportant; at that moment, my fear is the thing that needs to be released. I don't release it as energy or passion, I release it as wrong notes and squeaks, tension of my lips, stomach lurches and quiverering limbs. I do not have anything. My man in my oboe is gone. I think, in order to become a better musician, I need to find my "man" in my "piano."
Thank you all of you -- I love you so much. From the techies to the divas, you are all unbelievable.
The Man in the Piano
While Jason, a friend of mine, was performing, my eye caught the reflection of him in the piano. He was his performance, his song, his music. He was part of his instrument. Being a musician, this shiny relective wood made me look closer: And I realized -- There is something in every performance, something waiting to be released.
When I play oboe, I don't approach it with the same vigor and life as I do when I act or dance. When I dance, every moment there is a bit of me set free, every lift and turn is a bit of me shining through my klutzy exterior, my facade I wear when I'm not dancing. This bit is something graceful, and beautiful, every little thing I have inside of me; my internal beat shines through even though I'm moving in time to someone else's beat.
When I act, I am a facet of my character. I am that lonely wife who just wants to capture her husband's attention; I am Helena, literally throwing herself at Demetrius' feet, starved for attention, I am that silly old man who ties her hair to look like a beard. These are all part of me. These come through as bits and pieces and some tension, something inside of me is let free. My character is me.
When I play oboe, every muscle tenses up. Every bit of me is filled with fear -- And that is all that comes through in my performing. I'm afraid. My fear is something that isn't a facade, isn't something false or unimportant; at that moment, my fear is the thing that needs to be released. I don't release it as energy or passion, I release it as wrong notes and squeaks, tension of my lips, stomach lurches and quiverering limbs. I do not have anything. My man in my oboe is gone. I think, in order to become a better musician, I need to find my "man" in my "piano."
Thank you all of you -- I love you so much. From the techies to the divas, you are all unbelievable.