Commitment vs. Dilettantism
Which one is your style?
This afternoon, I will attend a Viola Senior Concert performed by a graduating student at the Juilliard School of Music. Even though she is only eighteen, I'm excited by her lifetime commitment to learning. I can't begin to imagine how many hours she spent practicing. And her willingness to participate in this lifestyle was impressive.
Her grandmother and I were college roommates back in the day, so our relationship is practically familial. I've watched this girl and her mother zone in on any opportunity to advance her skills, including being accepted at Juilliard for the last few years, being taken to summer music camps, special performances, participating in various string quartets, and orchestras, always ready for the next challenge. I am in awe of her dedication and her mother's selfless ambition for her daughter's success; she is very accomplished, mature, and lovely.
Since I've dabbled in music and other art forms for almost ninety years, the contrast between her diligent style and my dilettante approach is startling.
I started dancing school at three years of age and continued until I was a high school senior. My mother was surprised that I hadn't wanted to apply to Bennington College, a school with a curriculum for dance. I had the opportunity during high school to take classes with Hanya Holm, one of the predominant figures in the modern dance world. I decided the world of dance backstage was dirtier than I could tolerate.
That was an excuse!
My disappointment was that I gave up dancing because of my body shape. I felt too busty, and my muscular legs were too short, but I loved to dance despite my self-image.
Moving my body to music gave my soul room to breathe and my heart freedom to soar.
In my early years, my mother took me by trolley to my dance lessons in the East Bronx. I was always given a candy treat at its conclusion. Yum!
Then, my teacher moved to upper Manhattan, close to where we lived, and my mother got busy with other things. So, she was no longer involved. By the time I was nine, I had traveled by bus to my lessons. No mom came along to treat me with candy.
Nevertheless, dancing was part of my life. But, by age nine, Mom started pushing me away from dance and into studying music. I wasn't eager to make this switch. However, I started taking piano lessons, my parents bought a baby grand piano, and I became a student at Music and Art High School as a music major. I played a second instrument in Music and Art, and since I didn't wear braces and my hands were small, I was placed in the brass department. I had to choose the trombone(too masculine), the tuba (heaven forbid), or the French Horn. I chose the French Horn but continued piano lessons, too. I needed to figure out which practice session to skip.
By the end of high school, I was nowhere. My hit-and-run style of dealing with the arts had no future. At one point, I became a painter and then a photographer. Until I was about fifty, the only person who ever acknowledged my talent was my children's piano teacher (from Juilliard), with whom I also studied. He suggested I consider increasing my practice time to four hours a day and plan for a concert series. It was too late for me, and rather than enjoying his faith in me, I became angry and stopped my lessons.
It had never occurred to me that I could have had a successful career with a commitment to either dance, piano, or French Horn. Performances, in general, made me tremble, so the thought of exposing myself to a lifetime of that kind of unveiling was a big taboo. And, of course, I didn't believe I had the skills or dedication.
So, I never got past my amateur status.
At sixty-five, I needed more music and decided to learn the flute. I called Juilliard for a teacher recommendation and found one who became my good friend. So, for the next twenty-five years, I studied the flute. My teacher's attitude about practicing was in sync with my viewpoint toward working on scales and etudes, and our lessons were fun. We played a lot of Telemann flute duets together. The pandemic interfered, and we stopped our studies as a result.
My flute is in the closet, and my piano is gone. I've taken up writing these weekly blogs. Today, I'm writing my 102nd blog, and I'm surprised by my commitment to this endeavor. It's the art form, writing, that I never expected to continue capturing my imagination.