I’ve been away from the piano for the first time in a long time this week and it’s given me a bit of brain space to think about a quote of Glenn Gould‘s that I stumbled across recently.
”The purpose of art is the lifelong construction of a state of wonder and serenity.”
Here are couple of definitions…
WONDER def.
- a feeling of amazement and admiration, caused by something beautiful, remarkable or unfamiliar.
- a desire to know something, feeling of curiosity.
SERENITY def.
-the state of being calm, peaceful, and untroubled.
Constructing a state of wonder is a process which surely starts in the lesson room. There exists a unique and precious opportunity to open the eyes of a student to the treasures within the music they are studying.
Despite the fact that teachers can have hugely differing approaches, priorities and ultimately influence, my most inspiring teachers have had two things in common.
The first has been a striking capacity to notice- to bring out details, or indeed larger structures (often lessons really help me to zoom in or out and to offer a new sense of perspective.) These details can be revelations found in the score, or aurally- subtle shifts in harmony or hints foreshadowing a theme which will be heard later in the work. Sometimes they are epiphanies about the structure of a piece which reveal its adherence to the golden ratio and sometimes they are explanations of melodic fragments encoding secret words.
The second has been a genuine sense that this new depth of understanding is of great importance. I don’t think it’s really possible for this to be feigned- but when someone has a real love and fascination with the subject they are inviting you to explore with them it’s completely infectious. I remember many a conversation with my parents on the way home from Juniors at the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland on a Saturday afternoon (over the course of seven years) where, exhausted after an 8.30-5.00 packed day of lessons, rehearsals and classes I was still bursting to tell them about the nuggets of golden musical knowledge I’d discovered that day.
However, it is not solely in my own lessons that I experience new discoveries in the music concerned. My students are constantly noticing things in the score that I wouldn’t ever have realised or thought about in the same way (one of them once recounted a detailed story that the piece had made her think of about a farm, which involved ‘27 bars of laughing chickens,’ heard in staccato notes, which has stuck with me!)
I’m now touching the borders of a topic which probably needs a post of its own- the subjectivity of reception of music. But for now, I’ll say this.
Our own life experiences and unique inner worlds allow us to appreciate things in different lights.
Maybe this is what makes it so interesting to study the same piece with many different musicians. Of course there are certain boundaries which must be adhered to in order to preserve the integrity of a work, but any music student will tell you that approaches can vary significantly between teachers (and students!)
I remember a pianist who has sat on many competitions panels once saying in a masterclass that when different players perform the same work, faithfully realising the score and not trying to have a ‘unique interpretation,’ the resulting interpretations are, without fail, distinct in each performance.
I diverge, however I do think that when considering ‘wonder’ in musical terms it is important to acknowledge and to celebrate the fact that if a work is ‘white light’, then interpreters are the ‘prism’ which refract it into their own unique colours- realisations which often highlight different aspects of the work itself.
Do I allow wonder to be an element in my daily practice? I’d like to think so, and in a certain sense it comes very naturally when you encounter such rich and beautiful repertoire every day, however I do think it’s easy to allow apathy to creep in when there are a plethora of notes to be learned and deadlines to be met are looming.
I think wonder is something that comes easier to children. They are naturally so musical and receptive to sound and emotions. My friend and wonderful cellist, Eryna Kisumba, recently conducted a project where she brought Classical music to a toddler group, with different ensembles over the course of four weeks. We performed excerpts of Brahms Op. 8 Trio in B major for them and their reactions were pure and priceless (it was admittedly the only of our performances of the work where a member of the audience danced for joy!) Unburdened by technical concerns or analytical thinking (both of which obviously are essential in their places) the exuberance of the radiant opening melody reached them in a very direct way.
Serenity, I confess, is not something I associate immediately with the life of a musician! However it is undeniable that being able to process the beauties and complexities of life in such a personal art form is hugely comforting and this can, at times, have a calming effect. In the context of our equally crucial role as listeners though, serenity might be something which seems to come more naturally. I was trying to think of pieces that I immediately associate with serenity. There are so many but I’ll give you links to the first three which came to my mind here…
Finzi: Eclogue for Piano and Strings Op. 10 (played here by Peter Donohoe and the Royal Northern Sinfonia)
If you aren’t familiar with this piece by Finzi, please listen to it. I can promise it will be 11 minutes extremely well spent.
Aria from Bach’s Goldberg Variations (played by Beatrice Rana)
Ravel: Adagio assai, the second movement from his Concerto in G (Martha, of course)
When Gould says a ‘state,’ I don’t think that he is referring only to music. Wouldn’t it be something if we could take the appreciation for detail and beauty that music has given us and apply it to our lives beyond the instrument?
Thank goodness he says it is a construction which is lifelong!
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