This afternoon was the last day of the Christmas holidays, unexpectedly sunny, crisp and breezy. After the departure of some visitors, Robert and I were about to go out for a walk and some tea and cake, when he suddenly pointed to a patch of light on the wall behind me. The reflections from the garden of waving branches and the wrought iron of a clothes post were casting flickering shadows onto the wall in an astonishing fashion, almost like a silent movie. Robert grabbed his iPhone and captured some video. “You could use that for a poem-film, “ I remarked, thinking about the beautiful short videos some friends had made recently.

When we got home from our walk, I began improvising to the footage on the piano, while Robert listened and wrote.  Within twenty minutes we both had something. Remarkably, when Robert read his poem aloud, it was exactly the right length. He recorded it, synchronized it with the video, and then I recorded my part on top onto a different track so that we could experiment with individual volume and colour.

I’m not a recording engineer, but I know what works when I hear it. In this case, I knew we needed to take the ‘edge’ off the sound on both tracks. It took a little whole to find the right effect for the piano part. It wasn’t until Robert added a little reverb that it harmonized with the imagery. It sounded as if it had been recorded many years ago in a dusty, cavernous ballet studio on a slightly tinny upright. Perfect.

We both could hear that Robert’s voice was also cutting through the texture in a way that sounded too immediate, modern and dynamic. When he equalized it, using an effect called RCA Victor 1947, it all came together.

Result: a film-poem in one evening. If only making art could be this easy and graceful every time.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=LpROaNue9GM

Here are some of my questions: How did Hembrey give himself the permission to do something so audacious? How did he come up with so much high-quality work in different media and styles? Are the two related? How many voices are inside us waiting to speak, if we would only give them permission? How much have I unintentionally restricted myself in searching for my own “voice”? What would happen if I let myself expression 100 different ways? Would it be exhausting? Would I explode with energy? Would I even recognize myself by the end of the process?

And  you?

Vaslav Nijinsky

Last week, I saw an amazing article in the New York Times, describing the creative relationship between an experienced and adventurous choreographer and a young and talented actor with cerebral palsy. Tamar Rogoff, the choreographer, saw the actor, Gregg Mozgala, in a Shakespeare play and immediately knew that she wanted to work with him to create a dance piece. He, understandably, with muscular and neurological challenges, particularly in his legs, had not considered himself a dancer until this point, but was intrigued by her offer and agreed to the challenge.

The miraculous part of this experiment has been the changes they have wrought together in Gregg’s body- more dramatic changes in eight months than he had achieved in twelve years of physical therapy. For example, after walking on his toes his entire life, his heels now touch the ground, allowing him to walk normally. He is now aware of, and using, parts of his body that he had no relationship with before. And, most wonderfully, he is becoming a dancer, creating a piece called “Diagnosis of a Faun”. The first performance takes place on Dec. 3 at La MaMa Annex in the East Village, New York City.

I wrote to Gregg to congratulate him on this incredible achievement, and to ask whether he considered the creation of art to be part of the healing process, to which he replied emphatically, “Yes.” And this “yes” makes me curious about my own healing process. What if I could heal some of the old patterns of tension, contraction and pain, which prevent me from leading an active life and playing my beloved piano? What if I could do this through movement, through a creative process, so that rather than just repeating a series of mindless physical exercises, each movement had a purpose I believed in? It’s an intoxicating idea, one that speaks to me on a deep level. My next step is to contact the choreographer. Wish me luck!

Composition VII by Wassily Kandinsky

I’m pleased to announce that the article I wrote for American Music Teacher magazine, originally published in the winter of 2007, is now available on line here . It’s specifically targeted at music teachers who would like to venture into the world of creative improvisation and don’t know where to begin, but would also be useful for anyone who is feeling the urge to create their own music and knows a bit of basic theory.

For me, the key to learning how to improvise was allowing myself to approach the piano playfully, as a small child would, and not to weigh myself down with admonitions or expectations. In other words, to be free to create!

“There is no doubt that the process of facing one?s self is hugely difficult, especially if, like many artists, you have been hurt badly or are very sensitive. I would wager that most people will never do it because of the enormous effort required and pain of the task. It is an odyssey.”

I agree with Michelle. Ten years ago, I was obliged to give up my career as a successful professional pianist owing to an ongoing health challenge, and it has certainly been an odyssey, trying to come to terms with the loss of my ability to play the piano for more than 20-30 minutes. Many friends simply saw it as an opportunity to change career, and were not aware of the huge impact on my whole sense of identity. Playing the piano was not simply something I did as a career. It was part of the very substance of who I was– or so I thought. Disentangling the threads of vocation, personality, and sense of self took much hard work and courage over many years. And skilled assistance.

Michelle was lucky enough to find a good therapist. I also worked with one for a number of years and still have my prized mentors whom I can turn to. Sometimes therapy is definitely the best choice.

However, many of the ongoing themes in Michelle’s life are ones which every music student faces. For example: How do I deal with constant competition, rejection, anxiety, jealousy? Negative self-talk when I’m performing? I’m feeling so stressed out that I’m not sleeping…. I’m not even sure I want to be a professional musician any more. Or, I have a great career, but somehow I feel numb, disenchanted, disillusioned…I’m not sure what my goals are any more.

When I was coaching and advising students at the Guildhall School of Music and Drama in London, often these issues were so present and all-consuming that they were interfering with practice, auditions, exams, professional successes. Yet, many of the students didn’t feel comfortable, for a variety of reasons, with approaching and confiding in their principal study teachers.

I became so concerned about these students, and so inspired to pass on the principles I had been discovering in personal development work that I decided to take a Masters in Psychology. I felt that I needed coaching and counseling skills in addition to my musical ones, in order to truly be able to serve these sensitive and gifted people.

These days, my focus in my life coaching practice is to first of all provide a listening ear, a safe, non-judgmental place for musicians to be able to share their thoughts, feelings and experiences, and secondly a box of tools to assist clients in getting in touch with their deepest values, clarifying their goals, daring to dream, and developing new practices, thought patterns and behaviors which move them where they want to go. It is truly possible to change limiting beliefs, eliminate negative mind chatter, become more self-accepting.

So I’ve moved from being in a state of shock and grief over my ‘lost career’ to a place of experiencing a new and fulfilling one. And Michelle, by her own account, is happier and more focused and motivated than ever and well on her way to a successful career. Thanks, Michelle for inspiring us all!

I discussed this with my husband and decided to do some free-form writing as a way of getting in touch with myself. Almost immediately what I ended up realizing was that I wanted this evening was to be truly free to create, and that what that entailed was permission to let out the child within. But what is needed to give permission? Gentleness, lack of judgment, forgiveness, spontaneity,courage, permssion to have fun, to have a blast. To go with the moment. Here I was, imposing some kind of task on myself, and what I needed was to tune into that child-like energy and freedom which is always available to me if I know where to look.

Have you ever watched a child at play? Children are totally wrapped up in what they are doing… and then they are done. No sense of obligation, of having to be consistent, of having to finish what they started. Could I give myself that? Be really process-oriented? Immediately I felt a rush of energy, a buzz, as the child part of me became excited.”Sounds great! You mean I can do what I like?”

I looked at the art supplies I had felt drawn to put out on the table. Ooh, crayons, a new box, 96 colors… those were what I wanted to use. A new sketch book, perfect! I began to draw, using any color I felt attracted to, doodles, shapes, stars, squiggles. This felt good!

I decided to stay aware of my focus and energy- to tune in to that small child part of myself that remembers that quality of rapt concentration which is effortless and has its own flow, its own beginning and ending. When I felt my concentration waning, I checked inside… “Do I want to carry on with this drawing, or is something else pulling my energy?” If my energy was moving me towards something else, I allowed myself to follow and see what was next. I knew instinctively when a drawing was finished, and/or when I was finished with it! As a result, I continued to experience a relaxed concentration which felt almost blissful.

Coincidentally (or maybe it is not), this process seemed to act as a stimulus to other seemingly unrelated ideas and thoughts which I jotted down on a separate piece of paper- a kind of unblocking was going on. I have had this experience when playing the piano also. Somehow it’s very satisfying and not distracting. So long as the thoughts are on paper, I feel content to let them be until I can come back to them.

After an hour or so, I felt complete. The drawings pleased me and felt honest- in other words, a true and free expression of what was inside me this evening. That was all that mattered.

Another voice inside me is asking- “But what about discipline, what about consistency? If you just drop what you are doing in the middle, how are you going to achieve anything?” I’m not sure how to answer this voice this evening. I just know I had a very free and creative experience- much more so than many other experiences I have had in my life- by following my intuition and honoring my spirit. Since our recent bereavement, I have felt an increasing desire to be impeccably honest. I am unwilling to indulge any longer in false modesty or fake cheerfulness or stoicism (part of my British conditioning). My commitment to greater emotional honesty and spontaneity feels like something worthwhile is coming out of a major life challenge. It’s therefore no surprise that my relationship with my creative expression is shifting too. I want to celebrate James, and one way is to let my joy in creativity be a tribute to him.