Some people are naturally disciplined. I often confess to my students that I am an undisciplined person. Whenever I muster discipline, it is fueled by curiosity, then passion (a kind of falling in love), then devotion, in that order. And practice is all. My life has guided me deep into three fields, each organically blending into and building upon the other, complementing. In each field, I will dedicate myself to daily practice for two or three decades – not just years. The question is: can I keep learning, improving, transforming, contributing, discovering? To me practice means never-ending exploration. I keep developing skills and artistry in these three areas through thousands of hours of practice, study, and work. First in the Theater – via creating, choreographing, performing, writing, directing, designing, collaborating. At the core is my aspiration to grow as a human being. Secondly, in Filmmaking – via envisioning, directing, photographing, editing, producing, writing, interviewing, grant writing, volunteering. And thirdly, early in my twenties, Teaching becomes a calling – running parallel to all endeavors. I desire to grow and learn via guiding, healing, and passing on to others: dance, improvisation, creative expression, theater, voice, movement, somatic therapy, sound, breath, and T’ai Chi Ch’uan, for more than 47 years by now. All along, I feel both privilege and responsibility as artist and teacher. Only with my death might this mysterious process of devotion and curiosity stop. Or perhaps, I’ll take it on the journey beyond….
Life is Practice. As with many people, the cello’s female body with its curves and resonance speaks to me in mysterious ways. I perceive it as an instrument for god’s voice. In my understanding, the divine manifests in trees, flowers, music, poetry, art. At age ten, I beg my parents to allow me to study cello for free at my Gymnasium (German kind of high school). Daily I practice after school hours. Alone in the big building with its wide wooden staircases which I still can feel under my feet. It is sacred time – alone with god’s encouragement, the emptiness smiling at my efforts, I feel safe and held. My teacher, a round soft woman with a lazy eye, is an otherworldly cherubic angel (more about her). I am in love with her, the cello, the music. From here on music will inform my life in various ways. In almost all I do, daily practice is important to me, it’s time for discovery, growth and play. Small kids practice all day long to master walking, climbing, speaking etc. When twelve years old, Albert Camus and Pablo Casals become my heroes. Grasping that the great cellist Pablo Casals has a divine gift – which is his privilege and responsibility – devotion is audible to the ears of the world. The cello keeps weaving itself in and out of my life, across the continents, dormant at times, back into theater and onto stage. Then hidden in the closet for 30 years. At the end of 2020, I muster the courage to take it out again. Finally. And by accident I stumble across a wonderful cello teacher. He has played the cello for almost 70 years. I am in awe of his breadth of skills, patience, and wisdom – he is a treasure.
For the past three and half years, my daily cello practice and weekly lessons are confronting me with myself in expected, as well as sublimely unexpected ways. I am a beginner again, and the learning process is a long slow road at my age, asking for patience and humility. I love it. The hours of labor to get the notes of a new piece of music into my fingering and bowing. Then the process of memorizing, finding ease, navigating the landscape – how long it takes to make sense of it all, start hearing the music. Exploring Bach and Varsha. This late in my life, I am with my cello practice purely for myself. The endless process of learning and deepening reminds me constantly of my T’ai Chi practice of 42 years. An Art, so simple and therefore difficult.
The miracle and beauty of nature – which are mirrored in music, poetry, dance, art – are for me the essence of life. In T’ai Chi, I hear music, the wisdom of life, available to us if we take time to listen deeply. Whether flower or tree, carpenter or sales person, the question always is: What will we do with our unique gifts? Will we dare to be ourselves? Will we help and contribute just as trees and ordinary flowers simply do? I hope I can practice till my last breath and beyond….
A beautiful series of unveilings. Thank you!
ReplyDeleteSuch a lovely statement of your personal philosophy. I can only marvel at (and hope to learn to from) those like yourself who live with your dedication to "inner growth, cultivation, transformation, and healing, for the benefit of all"; a life of service. Your curiosity, passion and devotion - that lead to "practice is all" and "Life is practice" - make your professed lack of discipline a moot point, I must say with a smile! (If you'd like to see real lack of discipline just hang around me for a while, ha!) Thank you, Karina.
ReplyDelete:) Maybe that's why i shared this piece not just with my students. I live and work from inspiration, curiosity, discovery, and playfulness. Of course, a certain kind of vibrant discipline arises from there: where will it take me? what insights are waiting for me today? My garden is a practice, too. When I forgo the more rigid and strict mindset that the word "discipline" instills in many of us, I feel responsibility and gratitude for learning. It takes so little to be inspired!
DeleteThere is a strong faith in life that I feel when I read your words. I am deeply moved and sense how that has been cultivated by you in your various forms of devoted practice over a lifetime. Fed by a desire as you write to be/come fully human.
DeleteFor days I have thought about this entry of yours. I wonder how I measure up – if I am curious, if I am disciplined. For a long time I would sit down at the piano and ask myself to improvise, and only 12 bars would come out – then I would get up and congratulate myself on having at least touched the piano that day. Or I would play the same piece 3 times through, make the same mistakes each time, then be done with my “practice.” How can I learn to be curious?
ReplyDeleteIn my job, I practice in a different way. I work for a small government organization and am sometimes able to shift money and other resources towards small-scale immigrant farmers IF I can manage to stay down-to-earth while navigating government bureaucracies. And staying down-to-earth is no small task when all around me white people are speaking in acronyms about grant deliverables. I ask: what about Farmer M’s failing well? And Farmer A’s erosion problems? And the letter that Farmer E received threatening to fine him $40,000 for not complying with regulations, which he never learned about because all of the regulator’s outreach events were held in a language that he does not speak? I allow these questions to ring louder in my head than the questions about grant deliverables. I do this as an explicit practice to ward off bureaucratic complacency and dead-ness; I do this by listening, by not turning away when farmers share about difficult situations. There is curiosity here: how can I be of service to something greater than myself/my salary?
I’m not sure how this might translate back to piano. Maybe a similar question: how can I be of service to something greater than myself?