Composing a Life, Note by Note

between the strength of mid life and the frailty of old age

Recently I finished a new work for violin and piano, written for wonderful Hilary Hahn in thanks for her wonderful support of my work, including two recordings of my Blue Curve of the Earth (the most recent recording is on Hilary Hahn’s new recording, Retrospective).

My musical process is usually word driven, a new piece appears to me in the form of a title: a word or words that I am drawn to. My work then is to unravel the meaning in both spiritual and emotional theme. I write in my journal, I draw with my colored pencils or pastels, I take long walks. I often nap.

I am trying to understand my new piece I am writing—is it Hush or Shimmer?

I write, draw, compose what I know. This little island of time, so well carved out.

a home. warm rugs, comfortable chairs, back door open to the screened in porch so I can be both outside and in. filled with laughing children who sprawl on my back lawn between lessons, their feet in the creek. the evening alone. (how can I be so fortunate?)

I am home, I am here.

And, then the sands of time; this precious time between the strength of mid life and the frailty of old age.

What do I know? A spinning, both interior and exterior – energy arcing over the orb, light, glow.

A hush so I can be with life

A simmer of the great energy and love.

I am drawn to both.

(Journal, 8/17/17)

Listen to Blue Curve of the Earth performed by Hilary Hahn

the graceful fall to the earth

Ensemble Nordlys ask me to come to Denmark in the summer of 2016. They will perform several of my works over the two week festival, including a new work I will create for them. I consult my journal.

New music is brewing: Memory    Wild Fruit    (Wild Strawberries)

Remembering that day, now many years ago, when we picked strawberries in Sweden – the hot sun, the long row, and the dark, staining juice on my hands? Sweet and sticky.

A sliding between who I was and who I am. The pull of the earth, of time, of memory, and the pushing against it – trying to free myself but also loving the graceful fall to the earth. Ever earthwards. Gravity. The delicious rise and pull.

There is an untamed and wild quality to memory. Like gravity, it has its own pull – forward and back, upwards and downwards. The music in Memory (Wild Fruit) slides, relaxing, but at the same time, resisting.

to relinquish, surrender, turn over

Out of the blue I have a private commission from Susan Grant and Lawrence Maisel. I am delighted – this is very special. Usually I am commissioned by an ensemble or an organization who has applied for grant money. In this case, private individuals want to invest their own money in a composer and the creation of a new work. I am grateful and eager to engage them in the process.

We meet several times in NYC to get to know each other. As we talk, two ideas emerge. First they are excited to be my companion as I create this work, and secondly, they are interested in my idea to create an alternate version of the work (or “telescoping”) to include student performers. We agree that I will write a string quartet for the Cassatt Quartet with the premiere in the spring.

As I begin work my new piece, the word “render” keeps coming up for me. I don’t know why. It is the process by which one melts fat or lard in order to separate out impurities. It is also means to be, become, or make; from Old French, render means “to give back, deliver.” And in artistic terms, it is to add color or shade an image.

I draw and think, not knowing how or why I need to write a string quartet with this word in mind.

“to cede, cough up, deliver, give up, lay down, relinquish, surrender, turn over, yield.” (Merriam Dictionary)

Of course – to yield, surrender! This life process of letting go of control, separating out impurities through heat and sometimes by force, then shading and adding color.

I write a large one movement piece for string quartet with two bookends – short pieces that include student performers in addition to the string quartet. The work can be performed with or without the bookends.

My music evolves over time rather than in big leaps. I always push at the edges of my content – not so much to create something new, but to nudge it to the next place – wherever that may be. So I am in love with the section where the uppers strings fall and slip down only to start over, while the cello swims up stream. I wake in the middle of the night to this section playing in my head.

I meet with Susan and Larry often over the next six months. We go to concerts or spend long hours over dinner. I arrange for the Cassatt Quartet perform Render for them and their friends before the concert. A casual affair in their large living room, we lounge, listen and talk late into the night about the new piece, music and the creative arts.

The premiere performance is at the Tenri Cultual Institute in NewYork City the following week. I now have a new piece, a great performance, and also two new dear friends in Susan and Larry – an unexpected blessing.

LISTEN:

Ownership of music

My years of experience in community settings has brought me to understand that engaging the public, especially children, is much more than talking to or performing for them. It is about bringing them into the heart of musical experience and giving them ownership of music – a long and resounding affirmative. Yes, you can compose (without years of study). Yes, you can perform with professionals; I will write those pieces for you.

During a three-year residency at the I have my first opportunity to create a work that included students performing with professionals.

I write Paper, Glass, String & Wood for three quartets, one professional and two student quartets of different abilities.

I ‘telescope’ the piece – providing multiple performance possibilities: for professional quartet and two or three quartets, or for professional string quartet and student string orchestra.

The musicians rehearse the new work in the dark sanctuary space of the Fleisher Art Memorial. Eight students from area high schools join the professional performers made up of members from the Philadelphia Orchestra. The students are quiet and wide-eyed.

There is an ebb and flow to the rehearsal. The cellist lifts his head and cues the violinist with a smile. At an intonation problem, the quartet plays the offending section at a snail’s pace, checking the tuning. The first violinist leans back to the student quartet and asked them how they were rubbing the strings to produce a sound effect in their parts.

What is it when you share these moments? The total is always much more than the sum of the notes. It being able to be in the energy and joy of playing together while discovering a new work. It is being able to directly experience how musicians, like a magical school of fish, move through the music, bending and nodding at each other, smiling, adjusting, and pausing; both individuals and community at the same time.

The young musicians are rapt, shy and curious. They ask me questions, and wonder out loud. Being a professional musician is no longer an abstract concept; they now can feel and smell it. Standing close to me while the quartet practices alone, one of them whispers, “I never thought I would go into music as a profession, and now…” his voice trails off.

So many possibilities in that “and now.”

Paper, Glass, String & Wood is recorded by the Cassatt Quartet on Albany Records.

Tina Davidson: It Is My Heart Singing