Becca's visit

Becca Boelzner came to visit CU yesterday. She was here for maybe 36 hours. I picked her up from the airport at 9, Sunday evening. Unfortunately, I missed the split which leads to Boulder and instead stayed on 70 until I hit Golden. It was probably a good 20 miles out of the way.

We woke up early and after eggs for breakfast we went to Imig. I showed her around a bit and then let her into the practice rooms to warm up for her lesson with Erika. After orchestra, which she came to see, she said her lesson had gone really well. We had just enough time to go to The Sink for lunch before studio class. Rachel, Robbie, and I played again in cello class, and then I skipped the rest of violin class after walking into Chas' class accidentally, then finding the door to C191 locked.

Becca dropped her viola off at my place and we walked down to Boulder Tea House. She got a really cool tea with a flower in her glass. It opened up and bloomed when it was ready. Then we walked up and down Pearl Street and looked around the Boulder Bookstore.

We walked back to my car and met Ryan at Dark Horse Saloon at 8. JiHye and Tim showed up a bit later. We had a few drinks and played darts and it was a great time. Sadly, the weather was horrible and she barely got to see the mountains in the morning on the drive to the airport. Hopefully the weather will be much better when she comes back in Jan / Feb for her audition.

Ich weiß nicht

I had a fairly relaxing day, although I picked up my rehaired bow and cleaned the apartment. I am so excited for Becca to visit tomorrow! I'm actually not sure how many days she's staying; she told me but I forgot. She will probably spend two nights here. I have a bit more money than I had when Emma came and visited. I hope the weather will also be better; it was foggy and cold and Emma could barely see the mountains, though she was enthusiastic nonetheless. It has been a mild November and we have time I'm planning on going up Flagstaff road. We could hike a short way, or I could drive to one of the main panoramic spots. There are picnic tables in one spot so maybe we could take up lunch - perhaps Half Fast Subs.

Anyway, what I meant to say when I got back on my computer was how poor my German has become. While Emma was here she put a few random word magnets on my fridge. I just added 50 or so more, and I hope to make a few cogent sentences. I read one or two Grimm's fairy tales in Boulder Bookstore. I have yet to make time to practice my German and translate the Reclam books I brought with me. It's such slow work, and I'm so conditioned to follow the path of least resistance (a product of today's 'instant gratification' philosophy) that I haven't even started translating one tale.

In the morning hopefully I'll skype with Westrey! I am really hoping she comes back to Colorado in the spring at least, and we can hang out often. I miss her dearly. Not many people care enough to take the time to skype with me. I know I'm blessed to have several such friends.

Thanksgiving

It's been a relaxed Thanksgiving so far, today. I stayed up last night finding a satisfactory photo editor (GIMP 2 + UFRaw). Besides saturation tweaks, photo straightening, and noise reduction or sharpening, I mainly need software to combine my images for bracketed photos and panoramas. I spent the night learning all the controls for my camera, customizing the few buttons I can. Still trying to figure out if Depth-of-Field Preview is useful to me. I'm really enthusiastic about learning photography as an art. The Black Friday sales tempted me to purchase a bigger SDHC card as well as a wrist strap and lens brush. I'm sure I'll fill up my current 8 gig card in China.

I haven't been out at all yet today. Lina told me about a lady who has students over for holidays if they are in town (at least Thanksgiving). So I will head out to be picked up in a half hour. But so far I just ate and took a shower and then Mom called. We actually had a great conversation about creativity (she had commented on my recent status about my difficulties being creative) and I'm glad she called. We don't often connect and communicate so well anymore, which makes me disappointed in myself, particularly around holidays. Martha and Brian and the kids are in Mississippi for Thanksgiving, so Mom's home alone and is under the weather.

While on the phone with Mom, Dad called, and I called him back after Mom and I wrapped up our call. I told him about my recent obsession with photography and hopefully we'll get to go shooting together after my recital, assuming he can still come visit in February. I hadn't mentioned to him that Vanderbilt invited me to go to China with the orchestra over Christmas, so I told him all about that. It was really nice talking to my family (I'll call Martha in a minute) and I wish we were together today.

After what I hope is a feast (Mom suggested I bring my host flowers, but I don't have the money and I assume all the shops are closed) I'll relax for the rest of the day and listen to my new free (with trial) audiobook that I downloaded from Audibon. I decided to buy Don Quixote. I think I'll go read East of Eden and Les Miserables (eventually), but thought something a bit more fantastic would be the best option for listening. It'll be nice to fall asleep to something besides Rob Inglis reading LOTR, I think.

The Blue Horses

In the old days there were horses of many colors. They were happy living together in the fields and meadows of the wide lands, before men came to live there. They were free to roam the many hills, drink from swift streams, and run and play in the bright sun. One day men moved to the horses’ country and built a large house and many high fences all around. The kindly old men picked apples and the horses learned to come at the sound of their voices. And the men harvested hay and fed the horses during the cold winters. The old men loved the beautiful colors of the horses and they let them be free.

After a time the old men died and were buried, and their sons ran the farms. They said to themselves, “Look how strong and swift these horses are! If we could harness their strength surely our work would be much easier. Our fathers gave them apples and hay for nothing. What profit is there in that? ” Then they lured many horses into their barns with promises of apples and hay.

The men separated the horses according to their color. There was a barn for the brown horses, a barn for the red horses, a barn for the white horses, a barn for the black horses, a barn for the yellow horses, a barn for the grey horses, and a barn for the blue horses.

But soon the blue horses became restless, and they threw off their harnesses and called to the other horses, “Friends! Why are we still letting ourselves be confined by the fences of men? Let us roam the wild hills again and graze where we may in the meadows! Let us drink from fresh streams and play in the afternoon sun! We should not spend all our lives pulling the heavy plows of men!”

The other colored horses thought for a while and then answered, “But we are so comfortable here, being warm in the barns at night and eating the apples and hay the men bring us! The work is not so bad, and surely the men will let us go roam free for a time, if we promise to come back when they call.”

But the men had grown accustomed to the horses’ work and were afraid to let them go. They didn't feed any of the horses for punishment, and the brown, red, white, black, yellow, and grey horses resented the blue horses.

The blue horses were indignant and broke through their barn doors and tried to escape. But the men had built high fences and the horses could not jump over the gates. The next morning after the men had caught them, the blue horses were whipped in front of all the others. And from then on the others were afraid to talk with the blue horses, and they were shunned.

Time went on and as the horses multiplied, their pens seemed to shrink with overcrowding, and there was not enough hay for all the horses. Over time the other horses had worked so much that they slowly forgot how to talk. But the blue horses kept to themselves and waited for their chance to escape. The young colts and fillies never knew how to find food and water except from men. They were trained and ridden with saddles, and the men had so many horses they began to race them for sport. And the men also carried guns with them, riding in red coats, and with the help of many dogs they chased foxes and deer. The men took special delight in hunting and killing. The blue horses hated the saddles but feigned eagerness to join the hunt. They put up with the reins and spurs and whips until the men decided to ride through the countryside. When they rode into the forest, each blue horse threw off his rider and raced to freedom. The men swore, and those who had escaped injury shot their guns at the escaping horses. But all the blue horses escaped unharmed, and eventually they ripped the saddles off their backs by scraping against trees. 

The blue horses sped far away, but every open field they had once known was surrounded by high fences. Many trees in the forests had been hewn and taken away to new sawmills. There were houses and docks on the edges of lakes, and bridges ran over the streams. The land was not free, and the horses could find no home. They said to themselves, "How is it that man can claim the very hills and streams and forests by chaining the land with fences?" And they were at a loss as to where to go. Some desired to head north over the mountains, others west around the great lakes, and still others thought it best to follow the river through the valley. But no blue horses returned to the stables of men, and all sought peace in freedom. So they scattered to the four winds, and none now know where any blue horses dwell, or if any are still living their wild, free life.

November so far

I realize I haven't been blogging nearly as much as I would like to be. Part of that is being limited to spotty internet at home. I couldn't find a practice room earlier so I've hung out in the library for a few hours today.

The 2nd Colorado Youth Sinfonia concert was kind of a mess. Mary and I left in a hurry after a Takacs concert (so worth it) and I left my music in my locker. I had to mark up clean copies before the concert and during intermission, which was flustering. Plus, I always feel awkward giving an A to the orchestra and I never know when Basil will walk out or when to stand. My Hindemith solo was solid, luckily, but I was not focused for the other pieces. I was less than pleased that Basil called me out with others who hadn't paid their dues. I was hoping they might start paying me. I don't have $70, much less the gas money it takes to drive there, even when I split it with Mary. We will be playing Dvorak's String Serenade (not next rotation, unfortunately) so I guess I'll stick it out until then. It has not been as much fun as I was hoping. Next year I'll definitely be too busy for something that doesn't pay to eat up my Tuesday nights.

The James Buswell masterclass went so well! I was very happy with how the Poulenc went, especially considering how quickly Hsiao-Ling and I put it together. The piano part is harder than the violin part, and she came ready to play. I really enjoyed working with her, and I hope she plays on all my pieces for my recital. Buswell liked my playing and really addressed my tension issues (making me aware that my headbanging also affects my upper back) and worked on adding color to the tender sections of the music. I also hadn't read that Poulenc made the work somewhat programmatic with the gunshot which killed Lorca and Neveu's plane crash. His comparison of Poulenc's sudden mood changes with the art of Marcel Marceau (particularly The Maskmaker) was wonderful.

Brune's birthday party after Tee's recital was a ton of fun. Someone deleted all my good pictures, but oh well. I suppose it was probably Brune, and she has that right. Ryan set up beer pong in his garage and taught us a game with dice. The rest of the night after cake was dancing until I passed out on the couch.

In orchestra we are playing Sibelius 2, Ravel Daphis et Chloe (suite 2), and Debussy Fetes. The Ravel is by far the most challenging. The Saint Saens Piano Trio is coming along, although we really need to get into the music now that we have the notes under our fingers. It has the potential to be excellent, and I think we'll get there. It was helpful to have a coaching with Judith and play in cello class.

Last night I was bored and didn't want to practice. I don't especially want to practice right now. So I went for a walk downtown with my camera. I like night photography, though I really needed to take the tripod. The Boulder Bookstore was still open, and I stepped in to warm up and read a fairy tale by Hesse. I didn't practice much when I got back, but got through half my scales. It was better than sitting in front of the computer all night.

Now I should try to find a practice room again and be productive until work at 4.

Photography

I've been obsessed over the past year or two with cameras. I love my Olympus PEN E-PL2, but I still rewatch reviews of cameras I could never afford. I'm thinking that if I save for a few years I could eventually upgrade to an OM-D E5. If it could drop under $800 during that time, I'd probably take the plunge, assuming I don't need the money for more important things.

While the lenses I would like to get which are made for the m4/3 line are prohibitively expensive (Panasonic's 20mm pancake and 45-200mm telephoto are within striking distance) I've learned that old legacy lenses are plentiful and cheap, and only need a $10 adapter. I should have the money when my next paycheck comes in for a Zuiko 35-70mm lens (70-140mm equivalent, with the m43 crop factor). It's not a far reaching zoom lens compared to Panasonic (400mm) but at a quarter of the price, I can afford it without cutting into my food budget. Plus, I'm curious and excited to try using a manual focus only lens.

I'm not really sure why I got so caught up in cameras. I'm looking forward to whenever I can go shooting with my Dad. I think of myself as an artistic person. Music is my specialty but I'm not a 100% music-all-the-time musician. Which makes me nervous, practically, when I have to go out and win a job, competing against more dedicated and more talented players. I guess I dabble. I don't like to be pinned down. I'll write a bit of poetry or draw when the mood takes me. Photography is another creative activity I'm learning to enjoy more seriously.

I hope I'll be happy as a musician, if I can make it professionally. I think that the music changes enough (if not too quickly!) to keep the job from becoming repetitive. Chas brought up a good point in one of my lessons, though, about why musicians might get burned out or disillusioned in orchestra.

"We're taught all our lives to be individuals, to make creative choices, and to think for ourselves. Then after 20 some years of that, we get into an orchestra where we have no creative voice. Unless you're the concertmaster or section leader, you don't even get to make your own bowings or fingerings. Someone else tells you how to play. You might think that a certain phrase should be interpreted this way. But it doesn't matter, because it's not up to you."
 

Back to photography, I think if I pursue it as an artform, it'll become part of who I am. It'll be something that defines me. I'm always thinking about traditions and how I wish I were known for something unique. "As I always say..." For some reason I believe that repetition develops substantive meaning, as long as it's not a result of superficial planning. I suppose all that matters is what an action means to me. If I want to consider my habit of falling asleep to LOTR something special, that's my right.

Emma takes lots of pictures of birds. I like taking pictures of wildlife, which is a main reason I want a telephoto lens. I don't think of myself as a street photographer. I'm not confident enough to bother people taking their picture. I love architecture, but I'd really like to do something special with landscape photography. What I like about photography is how it changes my perspective of my surroundings. But most of all, it's part of my love of travel. There's nothing I'd rather do than explore new places, and every great photo brings me back to a special place.

Poulenc

I'm playing the first movement of the Poulenc Violin Sonata for the masterclass given by James Buswell on Thursday. I've been working very hard on it for the past week or so, but only just met with my pianist Hsiao-Ling Lin this morning in a lesson with Lina. I've been listening and practicing with recordings so I felt that the first run through was much better than my usual collaborations. Hsiao-Ling was Nicole's accompanist and I played the Eric Whitacre 5 Hebrew Songs with them for her recital. I hope Hsiao-Ling can play with me for my entire recital. She's a fantastic pianist.

It was a wise decision on my part to do research on the piece. I don't think my dissertation that had analysis ever came through InterLibrary Loan... But I have learned about the context of the piece. It was commissioned by Ginette Neveu and was completed in 1943. Poulenc dedicated the sonata to Spanish poet Federico Garcia Lorca, who was murdered during the Spanish Civil War. The second movement is supposed to be evocative of guitar playing, based on a poem called The Six Strings.

http://www.nytimes.com/books/99/09/12/specials/lorca-poet.html

The guitar
makes dreams weep.
The sobbing of lost
souls
escapes through its round
mouth.
And like the tarantula
it spins a large star
to trap the sighs
floating in its black,
wooden water tank.

Though Poulenc later revealed in at interview with Claude Rostand that he felt that the Violin Sonata was a failure because of it's artificial pathos, I've really embraced the work and am especially looking forward to playing the last two movements. The second movement is so gorgeous.

It's been great learning the background of the composition, yet I still am having difficulty deciding how to integrate that information into an intelligent interpretation. This piece was not only a medium (solo string writing) that Poulenc disliked, it's mood is vastly different from his better known chamber works for winds. This is obviously due in part to being written in Paris during the German occupation of WWII. So it's less witty and tongue-in-cheek writing, influenced by Parisian cafe music. And he clearly believed that "the bow is the furthest thing from the breath." Poulenc, known for spinning out tuneful melodies, provides very little for the violin.

I enjoyed reading about French music and while the Poulenc is, in my view, much angrier with sorrowful overtones than typical French music, it's still French at its core. It's almost a defiantly French piece. I love playing it and I hope it goes very well on Thursday.