NB: Every teacher in our music faculty that gives private music lessons to students has their own studio, their own roster of students that they teach. Each week their studio meets for what we call master class, a formal time to come together for at least an hour and perform for each other the pieces that we are working on. I wrote this today in mine.
Masterclass is a time and a place where we have the privilege of playing for other piano students -- students who partake in this action, this art, this music-creating. When I practice, when I sit in a practice room for hours, why wouldn't I want to think about my listener?
Why wouldn't I want to play well -- to my capacity? Why would I want to fill the gas tank only half if I can fill it? Why would I just want to have half of the colours that are available on the palette? Why breathe in only half of the air that I need?
--No. There's more than that; it's a choice that we make as artists, to be apathetic, or not. Or to prioritize things over piano playing. I mean, I suppose much of what we do in life is like that.
What I love about music-making, about conducting, about piano playing, is there is always something that will challenge me, if I accept it. You know? There's always so much left to learn.
And it's a constantly humbling thing.
life + links
I'm not quite sure how to follow a post like that last one. It's true, it's a pretty crazy story. Life is happening, and if you're curious about an update about me, well, I am in the middle of working through some thoughts of figuring out what I really want, what I need, and who I am. Those are pretty important things to our lives, I reckon.
Perhaps on a more surface level I have some small yet potentially slightly interesting things to share.
I am really excited for Born Ruffians' album, Say It, to drop in June. They've released a single, Sole Brother, and man it is good. I like their music to begin with, and it's great to see them sticking with the awesomeness that works, but also to see them going in a different direction.
Sole Brother - Born Ruffians
Isn't it fun? It just makes me want to turn the lights off and shake my hips.
(Yes, that is a reference to the Unicorns' Tuff Luff.)
I'm also growing out my hair. (I buzzed it in September.) It's in an in-between stage. I found some shots of Tegan and Sara doing a photoshoot with Spin magazine. I've always thought they had pretty good hair but I am especially liking their latest look.
photo by Darren Ankenman
I also have been listening to the soundtrack that accompanied a book I began reading in Québec, but never finished, Eric-Emmanuel Schmitt's Ma Vie Avec Mozart, (My Life with Mozart). Schmitt's book is a memoir and homage to Mozart; how his music helped to transform him throughout his life, throughout emotional and artistic trials. It's a great soundtrack.
My last link to share is this video. It is the opening track of the album. I've never been an opera girl but this aria, from The Marriage of Figaro, is absolutely beautiful, breathtaking, exquisite. Best listened to on full speakers. Mozart is great to study and do work to.
Ahh, life.
a story.
He was disheveled and anxious when he came up to me on Friday, asking for money.
I was sitting in the London VIA Rail station when he came around the corner, asking other sitting people if they had any change to spare. He asked several people but they shook their heads and they disappeared behind their newspapers and their cellphones.
He had on a baseball cap with medium-brown hair trailing out from underneath it, grazing his shoulders. His eyes looked small behind his thick glasses. He carried a small duffel bag and his jeans were loose-fitting. He wrung his hands when he talked.
I saw him coming and I knew I was going to give him money. He stood before me and I listened to him. He asked me if I had any spare change to help him get a ticket to Stratford. I looked right at him asked him why, then realized it was none of my business, but he proceeded to say that he needed to see his girlfriend that night and had to catch the train at 6 o'clock. I asked him how much the ticket cost and he said "twenty-one fifty." I asked him his name and Chris watched me pull out my wallet and give him twenty dollars. My housemate had just paid me for her portion of the phone and internet bill that day.
I couldn't tell, I didn't know if he was lying or if he was telling the truth. He was filling the air with his words, telling me about a job he just lost and that he needed to find a new one once he went back to Stratford. I handed him the bill and said to him, "I hope you spend it well."
He left very quickly after I gave him the money, saying thank you as he walked away. I told Jesse about it when he picked me up and I had a feeling that he didn't end up using the money for a train ticket. That was on Friday the 19th.
I got into London tonight around 8pm and as I walked out of the station, to my surprise, I saw Chris again. I was walking out as he was walking in and he had with him the same duffel bag. The wordless thoughts that formed in my head knew that he had never gone to Stratford. I greeted him and he seemed equally surprised to see me. I asked him if he was able to make it to Stratford at all and he said no, but that he had gotten a job that would start April 6th. For a split second I considered asking him, "are you lying to me?" but I didn't. He remembered my name and said that he hardly ever remembered names and as I walked away I said, "I'm so happy for you, Chris." I heard him mention surprise that I had remembered his name and we parted ways.
He chased me and he found me and he talked to me. I was barely a block from the train station when he stopped me, huffing and puffing, saying in between gasps that he's been trying to stop lying and that he knew he saw me again for a reason and that I would know in a second why all of it made sense.
He talked a mile a minute, he told me that when I gave him twenty dollars on Friday that he did use it to buy opiates and he apologized for lying, that there was something about the way I talked to him that made him feel 'careable.' He told me that he was surprised by the the guilt he felt even after he hit up after talking to me because the opiates normally numb all of his negative feelings. He told me that opiates aren't like any other drugs - he said he's been addicted to morphine, to crystal meth (a cheap hit that lasts a long time, he says) LSD, PSP, but he could never get addicted to crack-cocaine. It's an expensive habit.
Chris said that he asked me for money because he refuses to steal for his addiction and that he cops have been coming down hard on panhandling. He apologized over and over for lying. I listened, earnestly. He told me that opiates are different than all other drugs because they are physically addicting and that there is only one place in all of Ontario that has a treatment centre capable of handling it, because there is only a 1% rate of people successfully coming clean to opiates without the help of medication. You need medication to come off of opiates.
He talked a mile a minute, telling me that withdrawal from opiates is unlike any other drug, similar to what you see in the movie Trainspotting, minus the hallucinations of babies crawling on ceilings. He described things I don't even know how to type in here. He told me that he had to lie so that I would give him money but that it's something that his body literally needs now to survive. His body on opiates is now normal. He didn't want me to feel that my twenty dollars went to nothing. He said so much, about how rampant crystal meth is in the city of Stratford and how he's going back there after finally getting into this 10-day treatment centre in Toronto, because there he has support and he emphasized that he will be able to find a job there.
Chris said that he is 31. He is intelligent. In him I see a human with loads of potential, a human who has been a character in a story, doing the best with what he has, living the best story possible that he knows for himself. I asked him if he knows God and he used many words to respond, talking about metaphysics and physics, a God that isn't 'he', a form of religion that he has come up with himself. I told him I would keep him in my prayers.
He is going to Toronto's CAMH 10-day medical withdrawal program on April 6th. He hopes to go to Stratford after that and find a job. He says he fears being surrounded by the crystal meth but also doesn't crave it, either. Early in the conversation I offered for us to sit down and talk but he said he was already late for the nightly curfew at the shelter.
I don't know why we saw each other again tonight but I am really glad that he chased me and that he found me and that he talked to me. I am glad that he confessed what he felt like he needed to confess; our words have much meaning. As were saying goodbye to each other he told me there was something about the fact that I said, "I hope you spend it well." I can't ever know what will become of him, but I pray that he is pulled into a better story. A story that allows him to fully live, because he said himself that his addictions and the drugs depress him. A story that realizes this one human being to their potential, because this one human life is so worth it.
I was sitting in the London VIA Rail station when he came around the corner, asking other sitting people if they had any change to spare. He asked several people but they shook their heads and they disappeared behind their newspapers and their cellphones.
He had on a baseball cap with medium-brown hair trailing out from underneath it, grazing his shoulders. His eyes looked small behind his thick glasses. He carried a small duffel bag and his jeans were loose-fitting. He wrung his hands when he talked.
I saw him coming and I knew I was going to give him money. He stood before me and I listened to him. He asked me if I had any spare change to help him get a ticket to Stratford. I looked right at him asked him why, then realized it was none of my business, but he proceeded to say that he needed to see his girlfriend that night and had to catch the train at 6 o'clock. I asked him how much the ticket cost and he said "twenty-one fifty." I asked him his name and Chris watched me pull out my wallet and give him twenty dollars. My housemate had just paid me for her portion of the phone and internet bill that day.
I couldn't tell, I didn't know if he was lying or if he was telling the truth. He was filling the air with his words, telling me about a job he just lost and that he needed to find a new one once he went back to Stratford. I handed him the bill and said to him, "I hope you spend it well."
He left very quickly after I gave him the money, saying thank you as he walked away. I told Jesse about it when he picked me up and I had a feeling that he didn't end up using the money for a train ticket. That was on Friday the 19th.
I got into London tonight around 8pm and as I walked out of the station, to my surprise, I saw Chris again. I was walking out as he was walking in and he had with him the same duffel bag. The wordless thoughts that formed in my head knew that he had never gone to Stratford. I greeted him and he seemed equally surprised to see me. I asked him if he was able to make it to Stratford at all and he said no, but that he had gotten a job that would start April 6th. For a split second I considered asking him, "are you lying to me?" but I didn't. He remembered my name and said that he hardly ever remembered names and as I walked away I said, "I'm so happy for you, Chris." I heard him mention surprise that I had remembered his name and we parted ways.
He chased me and he found me and he talked to me. I was barely a block from the train station when he stopped me, huffing and puffing, saying in between gasps that he's been trying to stop lying and that he knew he saw me again for a reason and that I would know in a second why all of it made sense.
He talked a mile a minute, he told me that when I gave him twenty dollars on Friday that he did use it to buy opiates and he apologized for lying, that there was something about the way I talked to him that made him feel 'careable.' He told me that he was surprised by the the guilt he felt even after he hit up after talking to me because the opiates normally numb all of his negative feelings. He told me that opiates aren't like any other drugs - he said he's been addicted to morphine, to crystal meth (a cheap hit that lasts a long time, he says) LSD, PSP, but he could never get addicted to crack-cocaine. It's an expensive habit.
Chris said that he asked me for money because he refuses to steal for his addiction and that he cops have been coming down hard on panhandling. He apologized over and over for lying. I listened, earnestly. He told me that opiates are different than all other drugs because they are physically addicting and that there is only one place in all of Ontario that has a treatment centre capable of handling it, because there is only a 1% rate of people successfully coming clean to opiates without the help of medication. You need medication to come off of opiates.
He talked a mile a minute, telling me that withdrawal from opiates is unlike any other drug, similar to what you see in the movie Trainspotting, minus the hallucinations of babies crawling on ceilings. He described things I don't even know how to type in here. He told me that he had to lie so that I would give him money but that it's something that his body literally needs now to survive. His body on opiates is now normal. He didn't want me to feel that my twenty dollars went to nothing. He said so much, about how rampant crystal meth is in the city of Stratford and how he's going back there after finally getting into this 10-day treatment centre in Toronto, because there he has support and he emphasized that he will be able to find a job there.
Chris said that he is 31. He is intelligent. In him I see a human with loads of potential, a human who has been a character in a story, doing the best with what he has, living the best story possible that he knows for himself. I asked him if he knows God and he used many words to respond, talking about metaphysics and physics, a God that isn't 'he', a form of religion that he has come up with himself. I told him I would keep him in my prayers.
He is going to Toronto's CAMH 10-day medical withdrawal program on April 6th. He hopes to go to Stratford after that and find a job. He says he fears being surrounded by the crystal meth but also doesn't crave it, either. Early in the conversation I offered for us to sit down and talk but he said he was already late for the nightly curfew at the shelter.
I don't know why we saw each other again tonight but I am really glad that he chased me and that he found me and that he talked to me. I am glad that he confessed what he felt like he needed to confess; our words have much meaning. As were saying goodbye to each other he told me there was something about the fact that I said, "I hope you spend it well." I can't ever know what will become of him, but I pray that he is pulled into a better story. A story that allows him to fully live, because he said himself that his addictions and the drugs depress him. A story that realizes this one human being to their potential, because this one human life is so worth it.
better
There's no more snow around here, anymore.Things are coming alive again, after being asleep for what feels like a long time.
With each day from now on we are gaining about 2 minutes and 52 seconds more daylight time, and I think that is pretty cool.
I like that the number is exact, it is perfect.
There's never been a better time than now for renewal, for change. For yawning and stretching and things being broken and then fixed again, in completely unexpected, yet better ways.
no clean / clean
Another shot of some dead fish, similar to one I took in Vancouver. These ones have teeth.
I found them in Toronto.
I like them.
between
I guess we feel alone some days and others, not.
I haven't felt particularly surrounded by community as of late but I know it's just for now, it won't always feel like this. Catch me this time tomorrow night and I'm sure I'll feel better.
I've been thinking a lot lately, about my future, about this life we live, being small fragments in a pretty big world, (music) education and its purpose, how I dress myself and what this means for my identity (and whether or not it really matters), me & Jesse, how I would really like to spend more time reading and creating art, what it means to be constantly renewed and transforming, all of that.
One of the things I've been realizing and simultaneously mourning is the fact that moving into my 20s requires me to mature. My life thus far has included all-knowing and all-powerful adults who do the decision-making, who teach, who guide. They know what food to buy, who does what and at what time everything in life happens.
I am simply realizing that I am becoming one of those adults.
It's up to me to make decisions, to teach, to guide. To shape the futures of others around me.
What I mourn is the loss of a sense of self, an old self, a younger self. A self that doesn't mind being given expectations and instructions. Now, I am challenged to give them to others myself. And I want to do things well. The end product will be worth it but the transition into that has proven ... challenging.
but, it's cool, because the point is the process, you know?
I haven't felt particularly surrounded by community as of late but I know it's just for now, it won't always feel like this. Catch me this time tomorrow night and I'm sure I'll feel better.
I've been thinking a lot lately, about my future, about this life we live, being small fragments in a pretty big world, (music) education and its purpose, how I dress myself and what this means for my identity (and whether or not it really matters), me & Jesse, how I would really like to spend more time reading and creating art, what it means to be constantly renewed and transforming, all of that.
One of the things I've been realizing and simultaneously mourning is the fact that moving into my 20s requires me to mature. My life thus far has included all-knowing and all-powerful adults who do the decision-making, who teach, who guide. They know what food to buy, who does what and at what time everything in life happens.
I am simply realizing that I am becoming one of those adults.
It's up to me to make decisions, to teach, to guide. To shape the futures of others around me.
What I mourn is the loss of a sense of self, an old self, a younger self. A self that doesn't mind being given expectations and instructions. Now, I am challenged to give them to others myself. And I want to do things well. The end product will be worth it but the transition into that has proven ... challenging.
but, it's cool, because the point is the process, you know?
March 6 pt. ii
I went home over spring break and my mom had some leftover quiche that was pretty dang good. So, I have been inspired ever since and I've been hankering to make my own!
I found an excellent recipe online and I approached Leanne in choir this past week and told her that we needed to make quiche together sometime very soon! So, we did, with Janessa, too.
I made the mistake of buying graham cracker crust - simply because that was the only kind of pre-made pie crust the store had - and it ended up cracking. But we made it work...
I was cracking the eggs when....
I found THIS EGG. WEIRD. (see video below for behind the scenes action)
Spinach, sun-dried tomato, parsley.... yum.
Some Pillsbury mini-croissants for appetizers.
This is our quiche, pre-cooked.
Did I mention that we ended up eating at around 11:30pm? We were so hungry we completely forgot to take pictures of our completed work. But it was good, man. And quiche makes great leftovers. I recommend it, especially with good company, good music and good conversation.
I found an excellent recipe online and I approached Leanne in choir this past week and told her that we needed to make quiche together sometime very soon! So, we did, with Janessa, too.
I made the mistake of buying graham cracker crust - simply because that was the only kind of pre-made pie crust the store had - and it ended up cracking. But we made it work...
"ACTION SHOT!" Leanne caramelized those shallots.
I was cracking the eggs when....
I found THIS EGG. WEIRD. (see video below for behind the scenes action)
Spinach, sun-dried tomato, parsley.... yum.
Some Pillsbury mini-croissants for appetizers.
This is our quiche, pre-cooked.
Did I mention that we ended up eating at around 11:30pm? We were so hungry we completely forgot to take pictures of our completed work. But it was good, man. And quiche makes great leftovers. I recommend it, especially with good company, good music and good conversation.
nothin' to do
I've always loved this song.
Since I first heard it, of course.
No Bold Villain - Timber Timbre
oh, hey! It's Jesse, with some Jam Jams. My friend Leanne makes them and they're really good.
I am really thankful for the three things mentioned in the two sentences that precede this one.
Since I first heard it, of course.
No Bold Villain - Timber Timbre
oh, hey! It's Jesse, with some Jam Jams. My friend Leanne makes them and they're really good.
I am really thankful for the three things mentioned in the two sentences that precede this one.
pretty weird, I guess
feels like it's been a while since I wrote in here.
I've had an idea or two, but none that I deemed worth the effort and time to sit down and share. this one today, though, is particularly noteworthy.
Thank you to the sidebar on tumblr for this one.
it's called:
50 Incredibly Weird Facts About the Human Body
my commentary:
Number 8 is of particular interest considering the fact that my boyfriend, Jesse, seems to be able to remember anything and everything. This gives me hope.
Number 13 and 14 are dang true! I can remember smells of shampoos and perfume like no other. Maybe not 50 000, though.
Number 17 is kind of weird.
Not too sure about number 20....... and number 34 is just too cliche.
Number 39 is sad, because, well, I think toes are okay.
to, Jesse, re: body hair. (see number 42) OKAY YOU'RE RIGHT.
ah, and number 50. One of many things that separates us from animals. Some would say 'we are all one', but I don't see any animals cooking with recipes or questioning the meaning of life or shedding tears over any reason beyond physiological ones.
hooray for being alive and for being human!
I've had an idea or two, but none that I deemed worth the effort and time to sit down and share. this one today, though, is particularly noteworthy.
Thank you to the sidebar on tumblr for this one.
it's called:
50 Incredibly Weird Facts About the Human Body
my commentary:
Number 8 is of particular interest considering the fact that my boyfriend, Jesse, seems to be able to remember anything and everything. This gives me hope.
Number 13 and 14 are dang true! I can remember smells of shampoos and perfume like no other. Maybe not 50 000, though.
Number 17 is kind of weird.
Not too sure about number 20....... and number 34 is just too cliche.
Number 39 is sad, because, well, I think toes are okay.
to, Jesse, re: body hair. (see number 42) OKAY YOU'RE RIGHT.
ah, and number 50. One of many things that separates us from animals. Some would say 'we are all one', but I don't see any animals cooking with recipes or questioning the meaning of life or shedding tears over any reason beyond physiological ones.
hooray for being alive and for being human!
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