About 2 years ago a friend of mine gave me a new potted plant, a nematanthus (they also call it "goldfish" flowers). I've already had an African violet since 2011, so I thought another potted plant couldn't be a problem.
You have to know, that before I had the African violet (which I will call Max, from now on, because that's his name, actually), plants just didn't want to survive around me. I've bought Max the day after I broke up with my boyfriend in 2011, and back then I was thinking that if this plant is going to survive, and it even going to bloom, I'm not that hopeless as a human being after all. My mother taught me that if you would like to buy a potted flower, you should buy the one that haven't yet open its flowerbuds, so I followed the instruction. I had done some research on how to take care of an African violet, also asked my mother (she's an expert in my eyes, when it comes to potted plants) and my grandmother (she has a lots of them at home) as well, gave him the name Max, and I was waiting what will happen after the flowerbuds open, and the flowers wither. I was expecting Max to die and was hoping for his survival at the same time, but he surpassed my expectations: instead of dying, not only he survived, he blooms like crazy whenever the time comes for blooming (mostly in spring, or whenever he's in the mood). Max brought me many nice memories with his flowers and made me proud (because of his flowers and my success, and it made me think "finally! I can keep at least a potted plant alive!"). He's still standing on my table enjoying scattered light, and next to Max there is the nematanthus.
In a way, it was completely different with the nematanthus. This little one almost prove my success with Max wrong, because in the first few days she spent in my room right next to Max, she dropped her buds. I did my research, like I had done when I bought Max (though neither my mother or my grandmother could help me, because they have never had a nematanthus before). I was looking at her dark green leafes and I didn't know what to do. It was clear she wasn't feeling comfortable in my room, though she didn't die right away, she just refused to bloom.
I had to realize that the nematanthus is more sensitive and more demanding than Max is. It was easy with Max: I just smiled at him proudly and he was happy, he felt at ease, and both of us were satisfied. So at a certain point, I literally told the nematanthus: I don't let you die. Made another vow as well, which brought a tiny vision along, but that's not something to share with the public (I have my secrets as well). The nematanthus arrived in November 2013, and around the first weeks of February 2014 a discovered she's growing a new sprout. Before that I was sure she would stay the way she were after dropping her flowerbuds (still hoping for some progress and growth, though I couldn't be 100% sure about the success), but more and more new sprouts appeared, and grew into new branches, aiming towards the window. I didn't do more than this during the whole time (ever since I made that vow): I was speaking to her, I was encouraging her and asked her not to give up, and I made her sure that I love her. She got the same treatment as Max always had, and kept talking to both of them. And then, in the end of August, last year, a flowerbud appeared on her, and though after blooming she didn't bring more flowers for a while, when I got back from Hungary in January two new flowerbuds apperared... and then again two more... and by now I discover every week a few new buds on the nematanthus.
The potted plant I was sure (regardless my bold vow, I don't let you die) I will only be able to keep in a vegetative state (without flowers) for a while, is now blooming, and I am grateful for every single little bud. This plant-experience reminds me to my grandfather (from my mother's side): the real plant and tree expert is him. He just smiles at his plants, flowers (especially his roses) and fruit trees in his garden and they are blooming, and the fruit trees are bringing delicious fruits, though the soil conditions in my hometown, Dévaványa is not a kind that a plant or a tree would wish for. And my grandfather also speaks to them, sometimes without speaking.
OK, why am I telling you about this gardening success of mine? In my opinion working together in an ensemble, working on your own development or your singing pupil's development is very much like gardening. And I am not talking about the botanical side of gardening, but taking care of a garden. I have never seen a good gardener whose garden would have been messy or filled with sick and dying plants, while taking care of others' gardens perfectly fine.
I obviously wanted to get better when I bought Max, and I wished for recovering when I saw the nematanthus dropping her flowers. I had to realize that not every potted plant needs the same treatment, just like not every individual is able to handle the same treatment when you teach them or work with them. It is essential that you stay calm and flexible at handling their problems, but above these you have to love them. Talent - doesn't matter if we are talking about a colleague's, a pupil's or your own - should be treated with love, and nothing more can inspire someone than knowing that he/she is being loved. Listen to them, look at them, pay attention to them, but never ever try to change them to be in a certain way on purpose, or force your way to the bottom of their heart. Be gentle, remain open and curious about the results they come up with: you never know what kind of and how many flowerbuds they'll show you. Just let them sing, guide them (based on what they need as an individual), comfort them when they are down, and never leave their side in crucial moments, just be their safety net. That's all they need.
Thursday, February 19, 2015
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
Living in the world of extremes
It doesn't matter how I look at it I still think we are living in a world of extremes. What makes me say this? Well, take a look at the artworks and peformances of nowadays. Art has always served as a mirror to reflect what's happening and also exaggerate it a little so it would bat an eye (at least a little).
But now this mirror-effect is even stronger. I mean, if I take a look at how different music genre's (classical, ligh music and early music) vocal music sounds like, the difference in vibrato preference is almost abstract, if not extreme and insane. Once a guy said in the end of 19th-century that using a lot of vibrato is considered as bad taste, and now everyone (especially authenticity freaks among early musicians) thinks that music should lack vibrato (if you ask me, this is simply a misinterpretation of a source reading, but that only my humble opinion, or in other words: don't take everything you read literally). As for me, I don't mind vibrato on the voice at all (and I am a non-authenticity freak, and a graduated singer specialized on early music repertory), if it's elegant and natural. Those who prefer this laser-voice thingie (I'm sorry, but I don't have a better word for this) don't know anything about the physics behind producing a sound: when the air is vibrating, it becomes something audible (it depends on the vibratory if we are able to hear it or not), and if the vibration has a regular pattern, it's called a sound, but if this pattern is irregular it's called a noise.
On muscular level and if you don't know how to produce this non-vibrato laser thingie you just grab your own larynx and don't let it move on it's natural way. Ehm... I think I've written something earlier about manipulating the muscles and how damaging it can be if you do it longer than you should (in this context "longer than you should" means "any length", so just try not to do it), but here you go: if you don' let your body work for you, although your body knows much better than your brain how to produce a sound, you'll get problems. The larynx is supposed to move freely without any manipulation during singing. That's one of the edges of the extremes; the other one when you try to move your larynx in a certain way in order to create the vibration - I don't think I have to repeat myself, so just shortly put: since it's manipulated, controlled, therefore it's bad for your voice. In both cases, also the breathing is being controlled and is by no means free, so there's a huge possibility that there's other muscular tensions in the body while you're trying to either create one of them: the vibration or the non-vibration - instead of letting it happen.
But my point is... It is extreme how classical singers' vocal interpration is full of vibration, while early music is almost weirdly and unnaturally non-vibrato, and then you have the light music singers who mix the two a little, and they sound still more natural than any singer who uses bel canto. And it is weird, because bel canto is all about following the natural muscle movements of the body (especially the larynx), while for example belting (as far as I experienced) is doing the opposite but still in a good way so you wouldn't harm your larynx and the vocalchords.
Another extreme shows in how musicians treat improvisation nowadays. A few weeks ago a friend of mine shared and interesting article which says (already in the title) we are playing classical music all wrong, because composers wanted us to improvise. I remember how afraid I was from improvising simply because I've never done it before, but the moment I began to experiment with my voice and explore my limits, this fear turned into curiousity towards the unknown. Last year in November I had the luck to participate in a project based on vocal improvisation (for those whom are interested: check out the Klankconcerten or if you don't speak Dutch, just watch this video to get an idea). When I was preparing for the rehearsals (we've got a few instructions on the improvised pieces) a part of me, which was still afraid of making mistakes, was also afraid of improvisation. What if I do something wrong? But then I thought: there's no way I can make a mistake if I listen carefully to the other singers - and I was right.
Why don't classical musicians improvise? They are not used to it, and most of the teachers at the conservatories don't push them towards improvisation (except for those who actually teach improvisation). Early musicians are a bit better on this, because the earlier the repertory, the more improvisation is required (in those good old times in the 10th-14th-centuries the scribes just didn't write everything down). Yet again, we have the other edge of extreme: jazz, which is (comparing to classical music performances) full of improvisations.
So yes, we are living in a world of extremes. I'm just wondering could this Planet and the Humanity be saved, if every artist would try to balance the sharp and wounding difference between the edges of the extremes? Maybe even wars and terrorism could be stopped, but that's just an idea...
But now this mirror-effect is even stronger. I mean, if I take a look at how different music genre's (classical, ligh music and early music) vocal music sounds like, the difference in vibrato preference is almost abstract, if not extreme and insane. Once a guy said in the end of 19th-century that using a lot of vibrato is considered as bad taste, and now everyone (especially authenticity freaks among early musicians) thinks that music should lack vibrato (if you ask me, this is simply a misinterpretation of a source reading, but that only my humble opinion, or in other words: don't take everything you read literally). As for me, I don't mind vibrato on the voice at all (and I am a non-authenticity freak, and a graduated singer specialized on early music repertory), if it's elegant and natural. Those who prefer this laser-voice thingie (I'm sorry, but I don't have a better word for this) don't know anything about the physics behind producing a sound: when the air is vibrating, it becomes something audible (it depends on the vibratory if we are able to hear it or not), and if the vibration has a regular pattern, it's called a sound, but if this pattern is irregular it's called a noise.
On muscular level and if you don't know how to produce this non-vibrato laser thingie you just grab your own larynx and don't let it move on it's natural way. Ehm... I think I've written something earlier about manipulating the muscles and how damaging it can be if you do it longer than you should (in this context "longer than you should" means "any length", so just try not to do it), but here you go: if you don' let your body work for you, although your body knows much better than your brain how to produce a sound, you'll get problems. The larynx is supposed to move freely without any manipulation during singing. That's one of the edges of the extremes; the other one when you try to move your larynx in a certain way in order to create the vibration - I don't think I have to repeat myself, so just shortly put: since it's manipulated, controlled, therefore it's bad for your voice. In both cases, also the breathing is being controlled and is by no means free, so there's a huge possibility that there's other muscular tensions in the body while you're trying to either create one of them: the vibration or the non-vibration - instead of letting it happen.
But my point is... It is extreme how classical singers' vocal interpration is full of vibration, while early music is almost weirdly and unnaturally non-vibrato, and then you have the light music singers who mix the two a little, and they sound still more natural than any singer who uses bel canto. And it is weird, because bel canto is all about following the natural muscle movements of the body (especially the larynx), while for example belting (as far as I experienced) is doing the opposite but still in a good way so you wouldn't harm your larynx and the vocalchords.
Another extreme shows in how musicians treat improvisation nowadays. A few weeks ago a friend of mine shared and interesting article which says (already in the title) we are playing classical music all wrong, because composers wanted us to improvise. I remember how afraid I was from improvising simply because I've never done it before, but the moment I began to experiment with my voice and explore my limits, this fear turned into curiousity towards the unknown. Last year in November I had the luck to participate in a project based on vocal improvisation (for those whom are interested: check out the Klankconcerten or if you don't speak Dutch, just watch this video to get an idea). When I was preparing for the rehearsals (we've got a few instructions on the improvised pieces) a part of me, which was still afraid of making mistakes, was also afraid of improvisation. What if I do something wrong? But then I thought: there's no way I can make a mistake if I listen carefully to the other singers - and I was right.
Why don't classical musicians improvise? They are not used to it, and most of the teachers at the conservatories don't push them towards improvisation (except for those who actually teach improvisation). Early musicians are a bit better on this, because the earlier the repertory, the more improvisation is required (in those good old times in the 10th-14th-centuries the scribes just didn't write everything down). Yet again, we have the other edge of extreme: jazz, which is (comparing to classical music performances) full of improvisations.
So yes, we are living in a world of extremes. I'm just wondering could this Planet and the Humanity be saved, if every artist would try to balance the sharp and wounding difference between the edges of the extremes? Maybe even wars and terrorism could be stopped, but that's just an idea...
Friday, February 6, 2015
Everything is possible (part 2)
I don't know why's that, but I am fond of paradoxons, just like this motto of mine: Everything is possible.
And now let me explain to you, what this sentence means to me: I believe that everything is possible, that I am able to sing literally anything regardless genre, style, range (obviously within the ambitus of my voice), because from an anatomic point of view, it is possible. Every fear, and limit we draw is actually between our ears, and by that I mean, that if you are open minded enough, there is no such thing as "too low" or "too high", or even "too middle" (some singers are afraid of their middle register - someone has to explain this to me what is the reason behind that).
If you think about it, singing is just muscle work and like every muscle, you can train these muscles, and if it is muscle work, you can think about singing also as a vocal work-out. The more muscle mass you have, the stronger your voice get. On the other hand, by remaining open-minded in every situation results a better access to the resonance, and also the "hidden reserves" of your instrument.
This kind of mindset also requires daring to take risks. Take the risk of failure, because if everything is possible, it is possible that it is impossible.
It is a little bit like Schrödinger's cat, which is just as alive as it is dead in that box, but you will never find out the truth unless you open the box. After all, what can you possibly loose? Will you die or will it do any harm to you if you fail at something in singing? I have never seen a singer making a mistake while making music and got hit by lightning (yes, I am exaggerating it, and I am doing it on purpose).
Of course we would like to choose for the safest and easiest solutions (except for me: there's nothing exciting and challenging about safe and easy...), because we are aftraid of getting hurt in any way, and we were taught to be careful in any circumstances (when we cross the road, ride the bike, etc.). But don't tell me, you have never enjoyed the divine mix of excitement and fear, which causes an adrenalin-rush in your body... It is just fun... So why not taking the risk and saying: everything is possible?
Interestingly enough, all those phrases that leaves a singer's lips regarding range, style and genre, those phrases are rather reflecting on their own fears. When they say - for example - "I'm a soprano, and singing below C' is too low for me", that is not showing something that this particular singer capable of, but her decision that she doesn't want to sing below C' (sad, but true, and truth can be pretty ugly sometimes). Therefore I am not really fond of putting a stamp on my forehead which shouts which voicetype I am. It is true, that I don't like to peep too high, but if I have to, I can do it, because I know my organs and muscles are able to get those high notes. Also it depends on my mood sometimes: sometimes I enjoy going all the way to my chest voice and enjoy the vibration behind my collarbone and eyes, but there are days when I am in the mood of discovering the upper limits of my voice.
This doesn't mean I don't use certain registers from time to time when I practise. I always explore my whole range, it is just how I feel about it at that very moment, and that can change from morning to afternoon.
So just like Mark Twain said: Explore. Dream. Discover. You never know what is waiting for you beyond the limits you drew for yourself. If you keep your mind open and flexible, this mindset will keep your body open and flexible.
And now let me explain to you, what this sentence means to me: I believe that everything is possible, that I am able to sing literally anything regardless genre, style, range (obviously within the ambitus of my voice), because from an anatomic point of view, it is possible. Every fear, and limit we draw is actually between our ears, and by that I mean, that if you are open minded enough, there is no such thing as "too low" or "too high", or even "too middle" (some singers are afraid of their middle register - someone has to explain this to me what is the reason behind that).
If you think about it, singing is just muscle work and like every muscle, you can train these muscles, and if it is muscle work, you can think about singing also as a vocal work-out. The more muscle mass you have, the stronger your voice get. On the other hand, by remaining open-minded in every situation results a better access to the resonance, and also the "hidden reserves" of your instrument.
This kind of mindset also requires daring to take risks. Take the risk of failure, because if everything is possible, it is possible that it is impossible.
Of course we would like to choose for the safest and easiest solutions (except for me: there's nothing exciting and challenging about safe and easy...), because we are aftraid of getting hurt in any way, and we were taught to be careful in any circumstances (when we cross the road, ride the bike, etc.). But don't tell me, you have never enjoyed the divine mix of excitement and fear, which causes an adrenalin-rush in your body... It is just fun... So why not taking the risk and saying: everything is possible?
Interestingly enough, all those phrases that leaves a singer's lips regarding range, style and genre, those phrases are rather reflecting on their own fears. When they say - for example - "I'm a soprano, and singing below C' is too low for me", that is not showing something that this particular singer capable of, but her decision that she doesn't want to sing below C' (sad, but true, and truth can be pretty ugly sometimes). Therefore I am not really fond of putting a stamp on my forehead which shouts which voicetype I am. It is true, that I don't like to peep too high, but if I have to, I can do it, because I know my organs and muscles are able to get those high notes. Also it depends on my mood sometimes: sometimes I enjoy going all the way to my chest voice and enjoy the vibration behind my collarbone and eyes, but there are days when I am in the mood of discovering the upper limits of my voice.
This doesn't mean I don't use certain registers from time to time when I practise. I always explore my whole range, it is just how I feel about it at that very moment, and that can change from morning to afternoon.
So just like Mark Twain said: Explore. Dream. Discover. You never know what is waiting for you beyond the limits you drew for yourself. If you keep your mind open and flexible, this mindset will keep your body open and flexible.
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