Roving Reporter post: We return to Castelnuovo

I am sitting on the gazebo of Il Palazzetto at the Bertolanis' house, perhaps my favorite place in all of Italy. I am listening to the disorienting, but happy sound of a violin, a viola, and a cello all practicing different scales and etudes at the same time. We have brought two friends with us to the music festival this year, and though CZ and L have been practicing for two days, M has just picked up his rented cello. Once they get warmed up, they can start practicing together. (Which they did, after lunch, of course.)

This morning we walked down the hill and into town for a morning cappucino and a trip to buy groceries. But we couldn't find just the right kind of zucchini for tomorrow evening's dinner, so we came back empty-handed, thinking we'd try again tomorrow. When we got to the top of the hill, Sig.ra Bertolani was just walking around the corner of the house where she had been talking to the kids.

"Ecco la mamma," she said to me. "Here's the mama."

"Lentemente," I replied, smiling, because no matter how hard I try, I'm always about 25 yards behind the others when going back up the hill.

Sig.ra Bertolani had just delivered a gorgeous basket of vegetables, with just the zucchini we had been looking for, zucchini blossoms (which she told CZ how to fry); green, purple and white beans; a bit of basil; and two kinds of greens, one bitter (a type pf arugula, perhaps?) and the other sweet. With three days worth of four people carrying groceries up the hill, and now this gift, our small refrigerator is delightfully full. This year I'm cooking off the New York Times pasta section and a Mark Bittman cooking app, plus a few recipes from home. With no measuring devices in either English or metric, I'm improvising, but it works.


All the kids are very helpful, and after dinner they play cribbage, chess, and, last night, Settlers of Catan. When the sun goes down at 10 p.m., it gets cool enough to put on a jacket. Then the stars come out (so many more than in New York!) and we watch the town's lights glittering down below. It's so delightful that we can't seem to go to bed before midnight. Thank goodness for siesta!

Unfortunately, there are some things I can't do well from the iPad, and fixing photo margins and inserting links are among them, so I trust that if you have no idea what I'm talking about and somehow want to, you can find my posts from last year's music festival in Castelnuovo di Garfagnana.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Castelnuovo di Garfagnana, Toscana, Italy

Growing up in the Metropolitan Museum: Part II

The view from the balcony

As I mentioned in my last post, every Friday and Saturday night, a group of chamber musicians play on the balcony of the Metropolitan Museum lobby. Museum-goers can sit at little round tables along the balcony and enjoy an apertif while listening to the music.

When Bob and I first listened to the music, we would just sit across the balcony for a few minutes during our weekend evening trips to the museum. We didn't expect a four-year-old to be patient or quiet enough for us to sit down and order anything. But soon we started to wander timidly through the area, child in tow. (I've seen many, many parents doing this since.) Then one weekend Bob and I went there by ourselves and tried out the bar itself.

Eventually we ventured to take CZ in to sit with us. To keep her entertained Bob had her play "guess the century" with the music. CZ, age five, barely knew what a century was. But her friend from the Chinese Scholars' Court played violin, and it turned out CZ liked the music. It may have also helped that the first violinist was a woman. For the next year, CZ begged me for lessons until I decided she was serious.

CZ, age six, watching the pianist at the balcony bar

The balcony bar became a part of our Upper East Side weekend routine. You could tell the musicians had seen everything: One night someone's napkin caught fire right next to the musicians. At the same table, soon afterwards, a man fell flat on his back as he started to leave. Another time, still at the same table, a tipsy group of women clapped loudly, not only between movements, but every time the musicians played a whole note. The most reaction any of this got were some politely raised eyebrows for the applause--the first couple of times, at least. Bob's mother remains the only person I ever heard actually get shushed by the musicians. She was right up next to the velvet rope explaining something to CZ, because our table was rather far back that night, and she had insisted that they go closer. Her voice does carry.

Once by the end of the first year or so, the cellist leaned over to the violinist as we sat down and muttered, "Here comes your fan club," indicating CZ.

There were other regular listeners, too, including a man we called "the cormorant," because he always sat listening to the music with his head cocked up in the air. There was a disheveled man who always carried a bag of papers that looked like a long-awaited dissertation. And there were people we saw only once, but were memorable, like a little boy who'd busked with his fiddle for a train fare to the city; a Mennonite woman and her daughter; a Mary McFadden look-alike wearing a long, wrapped crepe dress; and a man in a long linen caftan with a mandarin collar whom we dubbed "The Future," because he looked like a character from a science fiction movie. But these are just a cross section of the typical crowd.

We learned a lot about chamber music while listening to the balcony bar musicians over the years. During this time, CZ's skill on the violin was growing, as was our collection of CDs. "Name the century" grew into "Name the composer," and then "analyze the music." I discovered Dvorak's kinship to Brahms, and that I liked Brahms' chamber pieces even better than Dvorak's.

At least for me, the experience of listening to the balcony bar musicians was always somewhat synesthetic. I was coming at this experience from many years of enjoying drawing and painting, so my understanding of the music was colored by what I had just seen in the galleries. And after we'd make our escape before the final flourish (the group had a habit of ending with a waltz, which we never liked as much as the previous piece), the colors in the galleries (especially the Degas pastels in their darkened rooms) seemed more vibrant from the music.

The Singer in Green, ca. 1884

Edgar Degas (French, 1834–1917)

Pastel on light blue laid paper

23 3/4 x 18 1/4 in. (60.3 x 46.4 cm)

Once we moved to Morningside Heights, though, the museum was too far away to visit every weekend. And once CZ started music school on Saturdays, our museum experience was almost eclipsed altogether. We'd mostly go once or twice during the summer. CZ was also becoming a teenager, and once while we were looking at Chinese ceramics, she confided, "This gallery reminds me of wanting to go home." It seemed we were moving on.

But this weekend, knowing that we'd be literally moving on soon, I asked to go back to the museum for one last Saturday evening. When we got there, CZ wanted to wander through the galleries by herself with a camera. Bob thought it might mean she didn't like us, but I understood that it meant she wanted one experience of the museum that was entirely her own. We agreed to meet at the balcony bar at 7:15.

When Bob and I got there, it was almost as though the musicians were waiting for us. We got a table very close to the group (minus the first violinist, who was on vacation), and they were just playing the first notes of my favorite Brahms piano quartet (No. 2). There were no noticeable patron antics that evening, and we simply sat and listened to the whole quartet while CZ took some photos.

As we left, I wanted CZ to go up and thank the musicians for introducing her to chamber music. "Otherwise we'll just disappear, and they'll never know why," I said. I didn't think it was my place to tell them for her, as I've spoken for CZ too long already and I think it's time for her to speak for herself. But she didn't want to, so we left without saying goodbye.

Maybe we'll go back one more time before we move to Italy. Maybe we'll move back here one day. Maybe CZ will move back by herself. Or maybe the years will roll by, everything in the museum will be remodeled, the balcony bar will be discontinued, and our ghosts will be exorcised altogether. But in my mind, the Metropolitan Museum will always be an important part of our family memories, one that spanned three apartments and may have, in the long run, been the place our daughter grew up.

Growing up in the Metropolitan Museum: Part I

CZ, age four, in the Venetian Rococo Bedroom at the Metropolitan Museum

If I had to pick my favorite place in New York City, I'd have to choose the Metropolitan Museum. The reason is partly that it's one of the best art museums in the world, but it's also because of personal history. When we first moved to the city, we lived on the Upper East Side, only a few blocks from the museum. I was a portrait artist who had never been in regular contact with master oil paintings, and besides, we lived in a one-bedroom apartment with a three-year-old. Almost immediately I bought a membership to the museum so that I could take CZ for a short visit whenever we wanted to see a bigger, grander space.

So that CZ wouldn't get bored, I used to let her take me by the hand and lead me where she wanted to go. I liked the whole museum, so it didn't matter to me where we went. Little CZ, on the other hand, had a clear favorite: The Venetian Rococo Bedroom. It featured a brocade bed that would have been the envy of any princess. Gentle afternoon light shone eternally through false windows, lending an appropriate sense of luxurious ennui. But the best part was the ceiling: It was supported by about a dozen painted wooden putti, holding up something that looked like an inverted soap dish over the bed, a painting over the antechamber, and some sort of shield that looked like a bit of insubstantial rococo exuberance in between. We called the room "Flying Babies." Naturally, CZ wanted one. We even found some in an antique shop once.

"They're $15,000, dear," said the gently smiling employee, to CZ's inquiry.

Bedroom from Sagredo Palace, Venice, 18th century (ca. 1718)

H. 25 ft. 2 in. (767.1 cm), W. 18 ft. 2 in. (553.7 cm), D. 13 ft. 2 in. (401.3 cm) Rogers Fund, 1906 (06.1335.1a-d)

Of course I had my favorite works, too, much appreciated after my own museum-free childhood: The five Vermeers, the Sargents, the Degas pastels of dancers and women bathers, the flat Manets, the Van Dycks, the Rubens painting of The Holy Family with Saints. All the Byzantine jewlery. The medieval manuscripts and a certain bejeweled gospel cover on loan from the Morgan Library. And a tender statuette of a Madonna and Child from 13th century Paris.

During this time I also discovered that I liked Asian ceramics and calligraphy. Sometimes we'd go to the Asian wing with a friend of CZ's who was adopted from China and the two girls would play in the Chinese Scholars' court. The friend was fond of playing "office," so they would use the railing to print out pretend documents under the skylights. They also liked to try to coax the oversized koi in the back of the fish pond out of hiding. Once a group of tourists came in and the girls scowled at them. They were willing to share the city playgrounds, apparently, but not the Chinese Scholars' Court.

After about two years of museum-wandering, one day CZ led me up a flight of stairs to a part of the museum I'd never seen before, a collection of Early Americana with a beamed Puritan meeting house ceiling in the main room. It was surrounded by a suite of period rooms, several of which no longer exist. By the time we started reading about American history, CZ was intimately acquainted with open hearths and iron spiders, crewel work, rugs on tables, and the old habit of carving one's name with a ring or penknife into the bedroom window. Not that she had any particular interest in history. She breathed it unnoticed, like 70 degree air.

And of course no Christmas season was complete without a visit to the Angel Tree.

But at some point within the first two years, CZ's focus at the museum began to shift to the balcony over the entrance lobby. There, every Friday and Saturday night, a group of chamber musicians would play from 5 until 8. Museum-goers could sit at little round tables along the balcony and enjoy an apertif while listening to the music. I remember having been mildly annoyed the first time I noticed the musicians because they were right in front of some of the best cases of Chinese ceramics. Little did I know how symbolic that displacement would become.

The balcony and lobby at the Metropolitan Museum from the grand staircase.

Cremona

The scene in this photo is what I was looking at when I realized I really liked Cremona. It's a park in the middle of the city. I liked the way the light filtered throught the trees. It might have also helped that I was eating lunch.

We'd stopped in Cremona as a side trip on our way from the Garfagnana region to Lake Como. We thought that since the city was famous for its violins, we'd see if anyone knew anything about CZ's violin. It's old, but no one knows who made it or where. It's kind of a fun mystery.

So we went straight to the Stradivarius Museum. We meant to go in, but we didn't get that far. We asked the lady behind the front desk if she knew of any shops where someone might be able to help us with our violin. She recommended someone right away, and American who restored the museum's violins.

The shop's address was only a couple of blocks from the museum, so we went there right away, met Mr. Carlson, left the violin with him, and went to get some lunch and have a look around.

You'll notice that there's a sort of bicycle motif in these photos and also in other ones throughout the trip. This is partly because Italy is so bicycle-friendly, and Cremona, being flat, was especially so. But it's also just because I liked all the different kinds of bikes. I think this rubber ducky one, above, was my all-time favorite, though. While we were having lunch, I also saw a baby squeezing a rubber ducky on his dad's bike. (Not the one above!)

When we returned to the violin shop, Mr. Carlson has some interesting things to say. First of all, our violin likely wasn't Florentine, as we had thought, but French. He gave us the name of a maker whose violins were similar, and an approximate year.

He told us the likely reason for the hole in the back of the scroll was not for a processional, as we had been told, but either just to hang it up, or because strings used to be really long and violinists would let the extra length poke out the back (somehow--I never quite understood completely).

He also said that the f-holes hadn't been so much repaired as purposely recut. The French maker's violins had a thin sound, which someone had tried to fix. And since most violins are identified by the cut of the f-holes, we had lost a big clue as to the maker. The conclusion: Our violin had a good sound and was probably worth what we paid for it, but it wasn't like we were sitting on a winning lottery ticket--an unidentified violin by a famous maker. Which was fine with us, because we bought it for CZ to play.

We got to talking about what it was like to be an American living in Italy year-round. Mr. Carlson said that Cremona was a beautiful city, but it had an unfortunate tendency to stay foggy and rainy in the winter, and to retain pollution, because of its location in the Po valley. "If Cremona were in Tuscany, everyone would be here!" So I guess Mr. Carlson choose his city for much the same reason as we chose our violin: For his own musical enjoyment.

Shostakovich chamber performance

Here's a link to CZ's chamber performance of the first movement of Shostakovich piano trio (No. 67) last weekend. This link comes with a lot of caveats, including:

• The link will take you, at least on my computer, to a screen with a media player, since Blogger doesn't have a player of its own.

• I cut out the cello harmonics which comprise the first part of the piece. That's because they are incredibly difficult, and the group has only been playing this piece two months. So it still sounds a little squeaky. The kids are very hopeful that they'll get put into the same configuration next year, with the same coach, and that they'll be able to learn and perfect all the movements next year. Then I'll post the whole thing ;-). As is, it's six minutes long.

• CZ's caveat: "I really messed up badly a couple of times!" They're fifteen and it's a work in progress, so perhaps you'll forgive them?

• It was my first time using my new handheld recorder. I set the recording volume too high and there's a bit of fuzz during the loudest parts of the piece, and some extraneous tapping at the end as I tried to turn the thing off.

• And I withhold all names and faces to protect CZ's friends, who have no idea I have a blog. And I don't have a photo anyway, because I goofily forgot to put the memory card in my camera. Oh, well! I got the music, and that's the important part.

This is not a light piece.The second movement of this trio was written in 1945 in memory of one of Shostakovich's closest friends. The fourth movement was supposedly written in the memory of the Holocaust victims, and thus includes bits of klezmer music. But the music throughout is compelling enough even without knowing the story behind it.

And one last thing: Being in a chamber group has been a very encouraging experience for CZ this year. It's hard to get a chamber group going that works and wants to keep playing together. These three high schoolers, two girls and a boy born in three different countries, clicked almost immediately because they all love music and want to play well. When they came out to perform, you could tell that they worked together very naturally. I'm really pleased that they've gelled and also that they were assigned an excellent coach.

Enjoy!

Recital today

We're going to hear our friend Nicole's senior recital at Juilliard today. Nicole's mom, Elaiza, was CZ's first violin teacher. Nicole began the Juilliard precollege program at age seven and is now graduating from the college. She immigrated from Venezuela for her music and has made many sacrifices along the way. She is a lovely young woman and, obviously, an excellent violinist! We're delighted to hear her play today.

If you click on the photo, you can see what she'll be playing.

The calm before the storm

Ah, it's so nice to have a moment to sit down and reflect again! Our family has just been through a logistical whirlwind. We've done so much that I've forgotten what all we did!

This weekend CZ performed in a "gala." It was the follow up to February's performance competition. Before Saturday night, I wasn't even entirely sure what a gala was--only that it seemed to involve a long, sparkly dress and a lot of drama in the presentation. But now I know!

I dislike shopping so much that I almost waited too late to buy the dress, but finally CZ and I took a day off from studies and went to Macy's in Herald Square. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately) I didn't realize that school was out, that we were in high prom season, and that the store was having a one-day sale (on everything but prom dresses), and that they were also having a flower show. I never saw so many people in one store before! After three hours, we were standing in a long line of high school girls for a second round in the fitting room, listening to disco music that was so loud we could barely hear each other, and wilting under the harsh fluorescent lighting. CZ remarked, "When I've had it with shopping, my throats starts to hurt. It really hurts right now." But we persevered, and we came away with a long, blue, sparkly dress with a scarf thing in the back. And three others that will go back to the store. We got the job done.

The gala went well, and was even more pleasant that I expected, considering that the week leading up to it had been emotionally draining. CZ made all the Saint-Saens concerto's difficult runs and high notes, flung her bow around with an extra bit of flair, and got spontaneous applause at the end, which is exactly what you want to hear when you perform. And one of her friends showed up unannounced, with her mom, so it was a nice surprise to have that extra support.

The show itself was nothing like a conservatory style performance, but included a bit of everything--Broadway vocals, arias, a one act play, tap dancing to Sinatra, an appearance by a former Miss America finalist, and a hilariously campy spoof on Abba's "Money, Money, Money." The theater director MCed the show. Even the theater's dog made an appearance. It was indeed a gala!

Now we're fully into end-of-year recital season. CZ is at her accompanist's recital as we speak, in fact. We'll attend a family friend's graduation recital at Juilliard next week. And no doubt we'll go to other performances that I don't even know about yet. In the next few weeks, CZ herself will have performances for chamber music, composition, orchestra, and of course, her solo jury, which is like a violinist's final exam. We'll probably have another recording made as well.

Did I say it was a nice time to reflect? It's more like the calm before the storm!

Performance competition

CZ just finished her first performance competition outside of her music school. I thought I'd write a little about what the process was like, because at least one person has asked me to write from time to time about raising a musician counter-culturally. And I know there are a few other musician families out there, too.

We learned a lot by participating in the competition. CZ decided to enter it because some of her home-schooled friends participate in plays sponsored by the same organization, and they told her about it. Her violin teacher had also mentioned she was ready to try a competition or two.

One thing we learned right away from this experience is that there are different kinds of competitions, and this one wasn't typical of the ones violinists usually enter. To begin with, she was competing against various ages and genres of performers--actors, theatrical vocalists, and dancers, as well as various instrumentalists. Also, it was the first time the competition had been held, so there were ad hoc adjustments to the schedule. Since most of the performers had some connection with the theatre company, some of them were coached at the dress rehearsal, and even given special lighting. There was the phenomenon of a dress rehearsal itself--conservatory students don't have them, it was announced after the second round, and it was during CZ's music school day, which required some logistical manipulations of the first order to pull off. And then there was the fact that no one dressed for it, though one of the judges kept telling CZ to wear color (conservatory students always wear black). Needless to say, by the time of Sunday's final round, we were sort of laughing at ourselves for even entering. We seemed to have stepped into a completely different culture that didn't favor classical musicians at all.

But that brings me to the other thing we learned: If you roll with the punches, sometimes surprising and fun things happen! From the beginning, CZ took the whole competition as an occasion to practice stage presence. To fully appreciate her final performance, you'd have to know that CZ is very reserved by natural temperament. But she kept saying, "I'm going out there to make them smile!" And she did! When she couldn't make eye contact with the audience like the other performers did (violinists are taught from the first recital to look at their hands), she still developed a way of communicating visually through movement and subtle facial expression, without compromising her correct position. When one of the girls complained to her about the officially disallowed, but unofficially present, on-the-spot coaching for some of the contestants, CZ replied, "Yeah, but we're just going to be better than they are!"

I wasn't at any of the early rounds, since parents and teachers weren't allowed, so I only saw the "Showcase" at the end. I was really surprised to see the final production. I liked all of the performers, though I didn't really know how to judge the more theatrical ones. I picked the last contestant, a Broadway-style vocalist, for the win. After all, one of the judges was the director of the musical In the Heights. (We didn't know at the time that one of the others was the assistant conductor of the Met Opera. That's probably a good thing!) CZ's performance wasn't perfect, but she did come out there and play loudly and clearly, with expression. Her stage presence was palpable. We had thought that perhaps the piece she was playing, an unaccompanied Bach Partita, might not be theatrical enough next to the other performances. But it rang out very suitably in the uncarpeted hall.

The fifteen minutes for the judges' decision turned into thirty, and then they brought everyone back on stage to announce the runners up and winners, Miss America-style. It was nothing like anything we'd ever seen! But it was delightful to see CZ's expression color when she suddenly realized that she had tied for first place--with an actor. It would have been a valiant effort no matter what, and we would have been proud no matter where she placed. Competitions, by nature, always have more runners up than winners, and she knows enough talented and hard-working musicians not to become overconfident. But it was a nice confidence-builder that she won.

Her prize is that she gets to play one more time, in April. She's hoping to play her concerto this time. And maybe she'll even wear some color.

A musical request, in good form

Yesterday I sat down at the computer to find this request from CZ. This is a very CZ thing to do, in several different ways. But even I didn't understand the full significance of it at first. Any guesses, musicians?

She got a further laugh when Bob came home, asked, "What's this?" and absent-mindedly tried to point to the sticky note with the mouse. We've really come to depend on that Mac note widget.

The concertmaster and one of the flutists in this orchestra are very supportive musical friends, by the way. I suspect that Arvo Part and the Vaughan Williams violin solo also have something to do with the urgency of the request.

Recording session

One of the things we did last week was to record C.Z.'s jury pieces, a Bach Partita and the first movement of Mozart's Violin Concerto No. 3. I'm posting the Partita below. (Thanks, Rick, for helping me upload this music file!)

The Partita is spare, unaccompanied, and lasts about four-and-a-half minutes. The recording isn't perfect, but it's a good first try for a student, and shows what kind of quality recording is available in New York City for young violinists.

The make-up jury seemed to go well, and C.Z. got some nice compliments, though she probably won't get her jury score for a week or two. It's a really nice way to mark the passage from last year's injury setbacks to what we hope will be smoother sailing this year. We'll still be going to physical therapy for a while, but I'm glad to see C.Z. practicing again, because that's what she likes to do.

Oh, yes, and there was an orchestra concert, too! Nutcracker, Merry Wives of Windsor, and Weber's Konzertstucke with the solo performed by last year's piano concerto competition winner. Bob's mother came up from Georgia, we had some family friends in attendance, and we invited C.Z.'s stand partner's mother to sit with us as well. They just moved here from China two months ago and speak almost no English, but luckily, our friends spoke Mandarin and were able to translate. Great fun!

Busy fall post

Little Blue Heron

Things are really picking up this week, with a bike ride across the Brooklyn Bridge for pizza, another heron day at Jamaica Bay, the beginning of co-op, Bob's birthday (today), and music school starting up this Saturday.

We've really enjoyed the heron survey, and if the weather is decent and we have an ounce of energy left over at the end of the day, we usually walk around to see what other birds we can spot. Fall migration has definitely begun, because we saw lots of warblers in semi-fall plumage on Tuesday. We had our Peterson "Confusing Fall Warbler" page bookmarked for easy access, and I was pleased when I spotted a juvenile Chestnut-sided Warbler, which looks quite different from the distinctive adult male of spring.

But our favorite new (for us) finds were a Little Blue Heron and a Wilson's Phalarope. They look a lot like other shorebirds, except that they spend more time floating in the water to look for food rather than walking along in shallow water. Phalaropes are known for spinning around in the water to draw prey to the surface. The one we saw kept flying around in circles above the pond, chasing a larger Lesser Yellowlegs.

I particularly enjoy walking gingerly along the tiny plants of a quiet mudflat in the late afternoon, with Least Sandpipers scattering in front of my feet almost like little crabs. It feels almost like an open, though extremely scaled-down, tundra, flat and deserted. I can just hear someone saying, "What do you mean, tundra? This spit is about 30 feet long, smells like low tide, is surrounded by marsh grass, and besides, it's 80 degrees out!" I don't know; it just does! I don't even mind my shoes getting muddy.

This Wilson's Phalarope is in non-breeding plumage, like the one we saw

***

This morning was the first fallish weather day of the year. I walked up to the Columbia Farmer's Market, as I hear it might be raining too hard tomorrow to make the trip down to the one at 97th St. And besides, I was on a birthday cake mission--I needed beets. Beets and ice cream.

The wind was whipping up bits of leaves and swirling them in circles. No colorful, whole leaves yet, of course. I think this wind is from a storm offshore. Still, it was all I could do not to buy pumpkins and butternut squash. I need to see what turns up in my vegetable share first. But beets are fallish enough for now.

This afternoon we've been baking the cake. During our time in the kitchen, we've been listening to the American Quartet and the Cello Concerto, and C.Z. does a running commentary. "The violins don't even play here for six whole minutes...Ooh, listen to that trill. Don't you like that part? I would never have thought of putting a trill there...Oh, don't worry about trying to heroically scrape all the batter into the pan before the end of the movement. This cadence material lasts forever. He tacked it on at the end of composing...You like that part? That's an oboe. See, don't you want to rent me an oboe? I promise I'll learn that part for you!...And this part is really hard! Dvorak isn't always fun for strings to play, but he's so perky you don't care." During breaks, C.Z. sight reads Dvorak. I guess she's trying to get all this extra sight-reading energy out of her system because she has her first regular lesson this afternoon, and she knows she has to whip her old pieces back into shape for her make-up jury.

The cake is in the oven. Spaghetti prep time, and then the lesson!

***

If I'm not back for a while, it's because we're starting school. I do have more to say. I always do!

(All images from Wikipedia Commons.)

Parenting is its own reward

Julie Bogart of Bravewriter posted an excellent article this morning on "Parenting principles that foster happiness."  I've been thinking specifically on this idea for the past week and half or so, so the post was timely.  

Perhaps you too have noticed that sometimes we Christian parents ignore the question of happiness, just because we know that joy does not always equal happiness (which we equate with the easy way out) and because we know that God often sharpens us through suffering. That's true, of course.  But it's a pity when we ignore our need to enjoy our children, because when we do, we lose perspective, and if it goes on for long enough, we risk losing our children's hearts as well. 

Nothing that Julie is talking about in this article is anti-Christian, or "hedonistic," as she says. Nor is she saying to let the kids run the show altogether.  What this article is suggesting is similar to what Charlotte Mason suggested, that children are born persons.  Sure, it's harder sometimes dealing with children minute by minute than implementing a perfect system, but in the long run, creative and individual consideration is what makes kids thrive.

Here's a related quote that I've had in my files for years, and revisit from time to time.  

Are we doing what the Bible commands when we force our children to do something they hate when, with a little creativity, we could make it enjoyable to them?

It's from one of the first homeschooling sites I ever read, back when my teen was a toddler, called "Thoughts on Homeschooling" by Jim Muncy. The article, and Muncy's approach, are refreshingly low tech. We do well to revisit old homeschooling articles now and then, the ones that were written before homeschooling got as competitive and busy as any private school.  They are written by people who have now finished the homeschooling course, and so they help to bring perspective.  

I'm thinking about happiness in the home partly because with the end of this year we only have four more official years of homeschooling left.  And Julie's principles have always resonated in our home.  Here are a few ways we've followed them that I quickly jotted down:

Affirm you child's quirky voice: I kept a journal of things C.Z. said when she was little.  I'd do it still, but I think it would embarrass her! Now I just laugh at her jokes.  And I've looked for years for ways to bring out the creative writer that I know lurks inside.  These two things are both aspects of affirming your child for who she is.  

Pay attention to pain: I wish I could say that I was always attentive to C.Z.'s cries of academic pain, but I've always at least considered alternatives.  I guess this one is a balancing act of having them stick with something for long enough to see if they get over a hump, and finally acknowledging that something just isn't working.  

Discipline is not done to a person: We've always acknowledged the phrase "standing up on the inside" where it applies to discipline, and have tried to reach the heart, not merely modify the behavior.  

Eye contact and physical touch matter:  I'm delighted to still have an affectionate teen!  

Create opportunities for fun: When the going gets dull, we go outside, go to a museum, or cook something.  And we've never been sticklers about using anything for its intended purpose!

***

Today, happiness in our home consists of a big new box of sheet music.  We had a busy weekend, with two final concerts, some class parties, and a visit from Bob's mother.  It was a comfort to C.Z. and me, as we helped Grandmommy into a cab and turned back to an empty home, to be able to bring next year's music out for perusal. So for the next hour, C.Z. sight read Bruch, Kreisler, and Sarasate. 

Apparently five hours of playing on Saturday didn't flare up C.Z.'s shoulder, so it looks like we're going to get to go back to one-hour lessons for her make ups during June. I'm really looking forward to hearing more music, and spending less time in the physical therapist's office. A proper reward for a music well played is, of course, more and better music.  And it looks like C.Z. will be enjoying her reward.

A violinist's point of view

C.Z. is taking a photography class at co-op. The assignment was "something I like." She was trying to show what playing violin looks like from her perspective.  

She's now able to practice again--fifteen minutes, twice each day. Hurrah!

It's partita time!

The concerto competition went just fine today, and C.Z.'s performance was quite respectable, which is what you hope for in a first competition. This is not false modesty, but just an acknowledgement of that the general level of playing is quite high. I enjoyed listening from the balcony, and was probably able to stick around for about half the contestants, including the eventual winner.  Wow!

I hope this doesn't sound ungrateful, but do you know what I'm looking forward to?  After three Mozart concertos in two years, C.Z.'s next solo piece will be a Bach partita.  (There's a link to the Grumiaux version on the right, along with her Dvorak chamber piece.)  We're all looking forward to something new, even C.Z.'s teacher.  Another nice thing about Bach partitas is that they're unaccompanied, so you can take them along anywhere without having to hire a pianist. 

Though it's hard work and I've occasionally wondered what our lives would be like if C.Z. didn't play violin for hours every day and attend a music program every Saturday, when I listen to the students play on a day like today, and realize what a wonderful opportunity she has to get first rate training and listen to top notch performers in the city, I'm extremely thankful.  Even if she doesn't become a professional musician, our lives have been changed by so much exposure to good music and the pursuit of excellence.  And that is its own reward.  

Last Night's Concert

C.Z. tuning her orchestra

Last night's orchestra concert went well.  C.Z. had a row of neighborhood kids in the audience. How sweet of them to come!  

We're off to Georgia tomorrow.  After days of rain, snow and sleet, icy lake-like puddles to navigate on every corner, a malfunctioning carbon monoxide detector (at least we hope it's malfunctioning), and periods without heat in our building, I'm really looking forward to those 50 and 60-degree highs.  I am also, of course, looking forward to seeing all the grandparents, siblings, nieces and nephews.  My poor mother-in-law's trip was a victim of Fridays' snowstorm; her flight never made it up here and she had to stay home.  But we'll hopefully we'll see her before midnight tomorrow.  

Merry Christmas!  I look forward to reading your blogs in 2009!

Of birds and boom boxes

A Red-Breasted Merganser in breeding plumage.  The ones we saw still had brownish heads, but in just this kind of late-afternoon light, they looked coppery.  

On a lark (as it were), C.Z. and I decided this week to take an afternoon off to visit Jamaica Bay Wildlife Refuge.  

Part of the fun of this trip is the juxtaposition of the most urban of environments (the A train) with saltmarsh waterfowl.  The ride through Manhattan, Brooklyn and Queens takes between an hour and a half and two hours, depending on how long you have to wait for a Far Rockaway A train. The A subway line is the longest in New York City, and possibly the dirtiest, because it has some of the oldest trains in the system.  

When we got to the train platform to wait, we noticed right away that there was a subway musician performing.  She didn't look particularly noticeable--black-leather jacket, T-shirt, bandana, middle-aged--but she definitely sounded noticeable.  She carried the entire platform with the force of her voice as she sang a variety of blues-y and soul tunes. Most I didn't know, but I recognized at least one as Aretha Franklin. Most subway musicians get ignored, but not this one.  People were smiling, doing little dance steps, nodding heads to the music, and clapping at the end of each song.  The way she talked between the songs kept people interested, too.  I thought at first that the only accompaniment she had was a boom box, but C.Z. told me that there was a man playing a keyboard too (I couldn't see because of a sign). The fact that she looked so ordinary made her stage presence all the more striking.  And the city is full of buskers like this, none of them famous, but some with remarkable talent nonetheless, and all with a certain amount of grit.

The A train came, as usual bearing signs for both Far Rockaway and Lefferts. Not knowing which it really was, but seeing more Rockaways than Leffertses, we got on, only to hear an announcement after the doors closed that we had chosen the wrong A after all.  No matter. We got off at the next stop and waited for the real thing.  

Once on the Rockaway, we settled in for the ride.  C.Z. had her iPod filled with music theory lectures she had gotten for her birthday, and she offered me an earplug.  We listened to Robert Greenberg explain duple and triple meter as the train clacked along under the East River to Brooklyn.  I'm not thrilled with the iPod phenomenon, and we have some pretty strict rules about not using it to avoid social contact, but let's face it, the iPod is a fixture of the rail commute. There are some excellent reasons not to start a cocktail social hour on a New York City subway, and we only talk to other riders on rare occasions. Professor Greenberg had just launched into a Brandenburg Concerto when several teenage boys with typical street clothes entered the train and started yelling something.  I did my best imitation of a jaded subway rider who's seen everything already and is only interested in what's on my iPod, while at the same time listening with my free ear and watching out of the corner of my eye, just in case I need to take action.  (I've only decided that I really needed to once in ten years, thankfully.)  Sometimes there's a fight, or a crazy person yelling threatening things, but usually you can ignore it.

Soon loud dance music in the unplugged ear began to clash with Bach in the iPod ear.  Another boom box (or whatever you call them now). And...breakdancing! Oh, yeah, I had seen this before, on the same train. The oldest boys were probably almost adults, but the youngest was about seven.  They were amazing--really.   I suddenly had the urge to laugh.  If only they knew what we were listening to!  We are such squares, but we are perfectly happy in our squareness.  C.Z. and I looked at each other, grinned, and mouthed, "Duple meter!"  

The boys left, and soon the train surfaced into lovely afternoon sunlight.  We listened to examples of pop songs from the 1890s, all results of the waltz (triple meter) craze of the late 19th Century.  "Take Me Out to the Ballgame," is obviously one, and "The Sidewalks of New York" was appropriate enough for our ride, if a bit old-fashioned, but did you know that "Rockabye Baby" was only written in 1896 (I may have that off by a year or two), and did you know that "Happy Birthday," written at about the same time by two women in Kentucky, was a waltz?  Funny how I've never even really considered where some of the most iconic songs of childhood come from.  But I guess they were still new in our grandmothers' times.  

As we floated over the bay to (meterless) Gregorian chant, I felt that my musical transformation from urban grit to the solitude and peace of nature was complete.  Since it was already afternoon and the sun sets early in November, we actually had less time for our visit than it took for our total commute, but we enjoyed it immensely.  The weather was still warm enough not to feel raw even in the wind, and the late-afternoon sun warmed the long autumn saltgrass to gold and burnished the brownish feathers of the migrating waterfowl to a coppery red. C.Z. noted that the iridescent pink and purple clouds were stretched out flat and turned down at the corners as though they were painted on a cove ceiling.  I joked that she would notice that, because she had spent more time looking at Museum of Natural History dioramas than real open skies, but we both knew that I was only joking, because this very afternoon was one of many occasions when we had taken a fair amount of trouble to make sure we saw the real thing now and then. We walked out to the end of the terrapin trail, now past nesting season and open, where we sat watching hundreds of brant geese silhouetted, felt-like, in sparkling sunlight on water.  To the other side, in the distance, we could see the skyline of Manhattan, and especially the Empire State Building, hazily reflecting the setting sun and looking much more like the Emerald City in a field of poppies than our very concrete, utterly real home.  

C.Z. left with three new birds for her burgeoning Cornell eBird list, and more importantly, we had that prized feeling of having been somewhere else.  That's important when you live on an island, without a car.  We shared the last two pieces of chocolate birthday cake on the walk back to the train.  Back over the water, now bright red, back underground, and back through Brooklyn and Manhattan, picking up more and more commuters until the train was packed.  Before it got too crowded to move, I read Gladys Taber's Stillmeadow Daybook, of all things. She used to live in my neighborhood. Reading Gladys Taber, on a crowded A train, after an short urban jaunt, made me feel that in every circumstance, there are pockets of air, room for family, and chances for joy.  

The Red-breasted Mergansers we saw were not fully molted yet, so they looked more like this than they looked like the one above.  C.Z. says they look like they're always having a bad hair day.

An American Wigeon.  We've seen these before, but they're still a treat.

 Northern Pintails!  Ours didn't have fully extended tails yet, but the neck pattern was unmistakeable.  

And Black Brant.  You'd think we'd have seen Brant before, but we just hadn't.  Last time we came in winter, it was all Snow Geese.  The Refuge can have very different kinds of birds, depending on the time of year.  

All images from Wikipedia Commons.

Prokofiev's Romeo and Juliet

Stuart Davis (American, 1892–1964) Report from Rockport, 1940
Oil on canvas; H. 24, W. 30 in. (61 x 76.2 cm)
Edith and Milton Lowenthal Collection, Bequest of Edith Abrahamson Lowenthal, 1991 (1992.24.1) ©Estate of Stuart Davis/Licensed by VAGA, New York, NY

Used with permission of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  Click link for more information.

"With my wife to the King's House to see The Virgin Martyr; and it is mighty pleasant...But that which did please me beyond anything in the whole world was the wind musick when the angel comes down, which is so sweet that it ravished me and indeed, in a word, did wrap up my soul so that it made me really sick, just as I have formerly been when in love with my wife...and makes me resolve to practice wind musick and to make my wife do the like. (27 February 1668)"

--Pepys's Diary, as quote by C.S. Lewis in "Transposition"

Like Pepys, I am moved by music to try to figure out how it works, and that's why I'm writing this. But I always smile when I read that Pepys made his wife practice, too.  So if you get sleepy at the thought of orchestra music, you may move on now, with my blessings.  And if you do read my tentative notes, keep in mind that I am a very, very amateur music listener, so you'll have to bear with my butchering of technical terms, and even outright errors. 

On Monday night Bob, C.Z. and I went to hear the Kirov orchestra play Prokofiev's Romeo and Juliet, with Valery Gergiev conducting.  The Kirov is the original company for which the score was written in the late 1930s.  Prokofiev wrote Romeo and Juliet as a ballet with a happy ending, but he had to revise his original work for fear of Soviet reprisal during the Stalin era.  Supposedly he disliked the revised version (I think he said, "Dead people don't dance."), but since it's all I know, I'm pleased enough with it.  In fact, it's one of my favorite pieces of music ever.  My only caveat is that by comparison to the bold drama of Mercutio's death at the end of Act II, the music does almost fade away at the end of the two-and-a-half hours of orchestration.  

Prokofiev is a decidedly modern composer, and his music contains what I would call half-dissonances.  That is, the notes do unexpected things that are not at all melodious in the classical sense (as in Mozart), but they are still very pleasant to listen to.  I would compare his music to Cezanne's early Cubism, or to Matisse's and Stuart Davis' "collage" paintings, even though I know those are based on jazz and Prokofiev is not jazz.   

Like a jazz musician, though, Prokofiev does use a lot of brass.  I don't usually care for brass in an orchestra.  If the musicians aren't very skilled, it sounds dreadful, unintentionally off key from the rest of the orchestra, like some understudy actor who can't create the illusion of reality and ends up sticking out like a sore thumb.  Also, brass reminds me of military music and marching bands at football games, which just aren't my favorites.  (My apologies if you were in a marching band and loved it.)  But brass by Prokofiev, played well, is another matter.  By the end of the second act, I wanted to cheer the trumpet soloist and throw roses.  There was something heroic about his efforts, something clear, melodious and brave, like a voice that calls out above the din and says, "This way!  Rally for the cause of good!"  (Not that Prokofiev was necessarily thinking that when he wrote the music, of course.  I dramatize easily, too easily perhaps.)

Prokofiev also makes interesting use of his clarinets, as in the "Dance of the Mandolins" when two clarinets play a dissonant arpeggio that climbs and winds all through and around the sometimes-inverted waltzing trumpet notes, which in turn dance to a different tune than the strumming mandolins (which are really the first violins), which are eventually joined by an off-beat bass and cello pizzicato.  It comes out sounding very much like a folk dance should look, like colorful costumes weaving in and out, almost looking chaotic at times, but somehow getting back to where they started.  The clarinet is almost like a Maypole ribbon.  I was thinking about this while writing, and suddenly realized, "Oh, duh!  That's because it's a ballet!"  But I leave it in because it represents a discovery on my part, however naive.

The cellos look like they're having the most fun in the whole string section.  They have to play so athletically that they sway.  There's something clicky and sputtery that they do in "Mercutio" that I've been wondering about for years, and during the performance I saw them hitting their bows against the strings to make this sound.  C.Z. called it col legno.  (The link, unfortunately, omits the effect I am talking about.)

The whole score is full of admirable solos:  Solos for trumpet, for clarinet, for the flute, and for the violinist concertmaster (of course), but also for tenor saxophone, for viola, and for second violins.   And there are short parts for two and three of an instrument scattered all throughout.  Who knew that gruff trombones could add so much to an orchestra?  Or a lone tuba?

All this bold instrumentation is why two-and-a-half hours of a ballet score with no dancing was not the least bit sleep-inducing to me.  It helps to know the plot, of course, but this Romeo and Juliet is not smarmy, overwrought Romantic drama that limits the melody to first violins, at fever pitch.  This music has texture!  It makes me want to dance!  (If I could still dance.)  I wonder if I'll ever see it performed live again.  I wonder if I'll ever, ever see the ballet...**

Henri Matisse (French, 1869–1954)

Nasturtiums with the Painting "Dance", (1912)

Oil on canvas; H. 75-1/2, W. 45-3/8 in. (191.8 x 115.3 cm)

Bequest of Scofield Thayer, 1982 (1984.433.16)

©1999 Succession H. Matisse, Paris/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York

Used with permission of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, click link for more information.

*The link is to a recording by the Kirov, but unfortunately it has no clips, so the ones in this post are from the Maazel recording. 

**I learned while writing this post that there actually is a ballet, based on the original score, by Mark Morris, to be performed at Lincoln Center next May.  I listened to an interview, however, and Morris was so giggly about transgendered roles that I'm not quite sure I'm up to it. We'll see.