Sometimes it is easy to believe that God can't do the impossible. I believe this quite often and ironically, it takes faith for me to believe that God can't do certain things because I have seen him do amazing, miraculous things during my lifetime. Yet my memory is short and I forget to attribute so many blessings to Him. In times of need, I am like a whining, crying child.
In John 6, I relate to the character of Philip. When Jesus asks him how they could feed the crowd of 5000, he responds that even 8 months wages would not be enough to feed the entire crowd. To disprove Philip's cynicism, Jesus takes five loaves of bread and two small fish from a boy and feeds the entire crowd. And as for the leftovers, he tells his disciples to gather them up so that they will not be wasted.
God wastes nothing in our lives, even when it is things that flow out of his abundant provision. I have been seeing this happening in my own life lately and I am so incredibly grateful. In just a few weeks, I have seen him suddenly provide for my every need- from selling my car, to being able to pay my tuition, a summer job, and finding part-time teaching work for the fall.
I can't believe that there was a point where I forgot that our God is in the business of miracles- miracles that meet our every human need and waste absolutely nothing.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
For the hatred of money...
"For the love of money is the root of all kinds of evil..." -1 Timothy 6:10
I usually picture greedy people with money signs for eyeballs when I hear this, or imagine fast-talking Wall Street bankers from the 80's with big hair and mustaches, expensive suits, and rolls of $100 bills in their pockets.
But do you really have to be greedy to let money get the better of you?
It is tempting for anyone to believe that your income is reflective of your self-worth. And although our society pays engineers more than teachers, bankers more than artists, this should never be taken as an assessment of one's worth. It is much easier to measure an engineer's output and utility to society than a teacher's; however, the impact that a teacher can make is immeasurable and largely unknown to anyone but the student. A banker's profit can easily be counted, but the impact that art has on those who experience it can only be sensed within the heart and soul of the viewer or audience member.
I have never thought of myself as a greedy person, but sometimes I become so acutely aware of the "injustice" I see in artists' paychecks, or lack thereof, that the danger of loving money easily preys on me. But it takes a sort of opposite form, actually. I find myself hating money, its very concept, and the fact that I as a human being can be enslaved to it even if in my heart is not greed, but bitterness. Disguised in this bitterness is a multitude of ugly things that exist because I somehow deem them to be more acceptable than greed: pride due to an inflated sense of self-worth, jealousy that artists do not produce capital easily assigned value by society, and the allowance of money as a concept into the crevices of my heart and mind where I want only God to live.
The danger in the love of money lies largely in its control over one's thoughts and actions. Ironically, my own innocent attempts to be frugal can allow it to do the same thing.
Here is an excerpt from New York artist Makoto Fujimura's Refractions, a newsletter he sends out monthly that is chock-full of wisdom and beautiful writing:
"So, if Joshua Bell with his 3.5 million dollar Stradivarius cannot stop people, none of us who creates music, art or work in iambic pentameters should expect much. But then what good are the arts? Why would artists spend time collaborating, spending days working on something that would not be well paid, or pay nothing at all, without anyone to stop to take it in? But we should note that this wasteful excess is being exercised in many hidden places, in homes where a child protégé plays his violin, on the canvases of self-taught artists, or on a humble square table filled with poetry. They may or may not turn out to be Joshua Bells, or Grandma Moses or Emily Dickinsons, but the prerequisite for the arts never seem to be a guarantee of an audience, or income. Artists are clearly not driven by mere monetary capital, but they are driven by another form of capital - creative and relational capital, the discovery of new ideas and thoughts and cultural geography."
I usually picture greedy people with money signs for eyeballs when I hear this, or imagine fast-talking Wall Street bankers from the 80's with big hair and mustaches, expensive suits, and rolls of $100 bills in their pockets.
But do you really have to be greedy to let money get the better of you?
It is tempting for anyone to believe that your income is reflective of your self-worth. And although our society pays engineers more than teachers, bankers more than artists, this should never be taken as an assessment of one's worth. It is much easier to measure an engineer's output and utility to society than a teacher's; however, the impact that a teacher can make is immeasurable and largely unknown to anyone but the student. A banker's profit can easily be counted, but the impact that art has on those who experience it can only be sensed within the heart and soul of the viewer or audience member.
I have never thought of myself as a greedy person, but sometimes I become so acutely aware of the "injustice" I see in artists' paychecks, or lack thereof, that the danger of loving money easily preys on me. But it takes a sort of opposite form, actually. I find myself hating money, its very concept, and the fact that I as a human being can be enslaved to it even if in my heart is not greed, but bitterness. Disguised in this bitterness is a multitude of ugly things that exist because I somehow deem them to be more acceptable than greed: pride due to an inflated sense of self-worth, jealousy that artists do not produce capital easily assigned value by society, and the allowance of money as a concept into the crevices of my heart and mind where I want only God to live.
The danger in the love of money lies largely in its control over one's thoughts and actions. Ironically, my own innocent attempts to be frugal can allow it to do the same thing.
Here is an excerpt from New York artist Makoto Fujimura's Refractions, a newsletter he sends out monthly that is chock-full of wisdom and beautiful writing:
"So, if Joshua Bell with his 3.5 million dollar Stradivarius cannot stop people, none of us who creates music, art or work in iambic pentameters should expect much. But then what good are the arts? Why would artists spend time collaborating, spending days working on something that would not be well paid, or pay nothing at all, without anyone to stop to take it in? But we should note that this wasteful excess is being exercised in many hidden places, in homes where a child protégé plays his violin, on the canvases of self-taught artists, or on a humble square table filled with poetry. They may or may not turn out to be Joshua Bells, or Grandma Moses or Emily Dickinsons, but the prerequisite for the arts never seem to be a guarantee of an audience, or income. Artists are clearly not driven by mere monetary capital, but they are driven by another form of capital - creative and relational capital, the discovery of new ideas and thoughts and cultural geography."
Monday, July 13, 2009
Judith Hill
You might recognize this gal from the Michael Jackson memorial- she was one of the Jackson's backup singers for his upcoming tour who was featured singing "Heal the World." I was struck by her because of the soul in her voice and the fact that she looked part Asian. I guess I wasn't alone in my curiosity because since the memorial, her website, myspace, and youtube videos have been getting a record amount of hits and comments. She's half black, half Japanese, and she loves Jesus. Prior to getting chosen to tour with Jackson, she was a local gigging studio musician like so many others here in LA. With over 30 million people watching the memorial and wondering who that girl was, I hope she'll be recognized for her talent and have no doubt that her career has now been launched. I think the world's ready for a new diva of mixed race. Here's Judith Hill singing "One Love Forever" at Temple Bar in Santa Monica.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
And I'm off!
The past month has been quite an exercise in discipline, obedience, and perseverance, and it's been fun to share about the progress I've made as a result of preparing for this competition. Yesterday, as I was running my program for the umpteenth time, I had a moment after I played a piece and said to myself, "Wow. That was fun!"
To be able to play something difficult without the burden of difficulty is one of the most joyous things I've ever experienced as a guitarist. I imagine it feels like being on the course of a marathon and not feeling fatigued, skipping and jumping to the finish line.
God continues to affirm me through this process. This morning, our pastor talked about David, a harpist whose skill, heart, and character led him to play music with healing power and be called "a man after God's own heart." I was reminded that with this investment in my skill, God will continue to open doors in my career, and that he is satisfied with me right here and right now, before I have even set foot onto the competition stage.
"Do you see a man skilled in his work? He will serve before kings; he will not serve before obscure men." -Proverbs 22:29
To be able to play something difficult without the burden of difficulty is one of the most joyous things I've ever experienced as a guitarist. I imagine it feels like being on the course of a marathon and not feeling fatigued, skipping and jumping to the finish line.
God continues to affirm me through this process. This morning, our pastor talked about David, a harpist whose skill, heart, and character led him to play music with healing power and be called "a man after God's own heart." I was reminded that with this investment in my skill, God will continue to open doors in my career, and that he is satisfied with me right here and right now, before I have even set foot onto the competition stage.
"Do you see a man skilled in his work? He will serve before kings; he will not serve before obscure men." -Proverbs 22:29
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
La Joia by Vicente Asencio
"La Joia" means "the joy" in Catalan, the native language of Vicente Asencio, an obscure Spanish composer whose music I have come to adore. His music is filled with rich French Impressionist harmonies (a la Debussy and Ravel) mixed with the valor and precision of Spanish flamenco rhythms. You can almost hear the castanets, imagine the dancers on stage, and feel as though you're observing a private moment of romantic tenderness in the melodic interludes. This is not a perfect take, but just wanted to share. It's the last piece on my preliminary round program.
When I first learned this movement I didn't feel much joy due to its difficulty. It seemed more to me like the joy that results at the conclusion of some sort of crucible, hard-earned and not flippant or happy-go-lucky at all. This has really made me reevaluate the real meaning of what joy is- that it is something that does not come easily, but is the result of one sacrifice that was made for us on a cross long ago. The result is a blissful freedom that is sweet and exhilarating all at once.
When I first learned this movement I didn't feel much joy due to its difficulty. It seemed more to me like the joy that results at the conclusion of some sort of crucible, hard-earned and not flippant or happy-go-lucky at all. This has really made me reevaluate the real meaning of what joy is- that it is something that does not come easily, but is the result of one sacrifice that was made for us on a cross long ago. The result is a blissful freedom that is sweet and exhilarating all at once.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
An exercise in tenacity
I suppose there is no point in setting a goal for yourself if you don't really go for it and do everything that you can think of to get yourself there. I read the pianist Lang Lang's autobiography earlier this year, and the determination that he exhibited to get himself into the best conservatory in China, albeit forced by his obsessive and domineering father, included practicing into the wee hours of the night with no heat, living in poverty to pay for piano lessons, and being separated from his beloved mother from early childhood to live in Beijing near better teachers. I found it hard to fathom wanting anything that badly in life. Some consider me a pretty hard worker, but my work ethic is nothing compared to his story and the story of so many other determined musicians out there.
With less than two weeks left until my competition, I am struggling with staying motivated and inspired. It comes and goes, varying with factors as arbitrary as my mood, the weather, the condition of my nails, and what I ate for breakfast. For the time being, I'm making my own efforts to do prepare my best, which includes slow practice, mental practice, small sections, running the pieces in their entirety, videorecording and critiquing myself, and scheduling extra lessons with my teacher, who was kind enough to see me all the way until next week. This week, I'm giving a few informal performances to friends who are willing to sit through 12 minutes of guitar music and hopefully make me a little nervous so I know what to expect when the pressure is on.
Undoubtedly one of the harder things about this competition is that the preliminary round is in front of a jury of about 5 judges in a normal classroom where you can see their faces and expressions and hear them writing stuff while you play. This can be really nerve-racking for me. Ironically, I'd much rather play for an audience of 1000 people where you are alone on a stage, there is physical space to separate you from the audience, the world can disappear, and the crowd at least appreciates your effort even if you make mistakes. With competitions, there is very little grace in that regard and it is harder to focus on simply expressing yourself through the music because you know that their only job is to critique you and determine whether you deserve to get to the next round.
So today I did a funny exercise. I turned the iMovie camera on, and staged my entrance into the room 7 or 8 times. I imagined how I would feel right before walking into the room and tried to make myself a little nervous. This actually worked as I felt a little more tense and noticed my heart beating slightly faster. I walked to my chair, sat down, got settled, closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I started the first piece and stopped after about 10 seconds. With an instrument as naked as the guitar, any tension caused by nervousness in your hands can really alter the sound of your playing. Tensed right hand fingertips will lead to a harsher, thinner sound and less accuracy in plucking the correct strings at the right time. Tension in the left hand can make you buzz, slide off a string by accident, make your stretches less flexible, or cause you to completely forget where you are going. These are things that have all happened to me before, and the goal of this exercise was to help train my body to deal with it better. Though I felt silly imagining the judges sitting in my living room and giving a fake hello and smile to them, by the last time I went through with the exercise, I felt a good rhythm and played the first 10 seconds with much more ease than I did the first time. My dog found this whole shenanigan to be very curious, lifting her head and perking up her ears whenever I would walk out of the room, and going back to her nap on the couch whenever I started playing.
I will probably never run a marathon during my lifetime, nor do I have the desire to do so, but this certainly feels like a marathon- and right now I feel like walking. Which is perfectly fine, right? Maybe for just one mile?
With less than two weeks left until my competition, I am struggling with staying motivated and inspired. It comes and goes, varying with factors as arbitrary as my mood, the weather, the condition of my nails, and what I ate for breakfast. For the time being, I'm making my own efforts to do prepare my best, which includes slow practice, mental practice, small sections, running the pieces in their entirety, videorecording and critiquing myself, and scheduling extra lessons with my teacher, who was kind enough to see me all the way until next week. This week, I'm giving a few informal performances to friends who are willing to sit through 12 minutes of guitar music and hopefully make me a little nervous so I know what to expect when the pressure is on.
Undoubtedly one of the harder things about this competition is that the preliminary round is in front of a jury of about 5 judges in a normal classroom where you can see their faces and expressions and hear them writing stuff while you play. This can be really nerve-racking for me. Ironically, I'd much rather play for an audience of 1000 people where you are alone on a stage, there is physical space to separate you from the audience, the world can disappear, and the crowd at least appreciates your effort even if you make mistakes. With competitions, there is very little grace in that regard and it is harder to focus on simply expressing yourself through the music because you know that their only job is to critique you and determine whether you deserve to get to the next round.
So today I did a funny exercise. I turned the iMovie camera on, and staged my entrance into the room 7 or 8 times. I imagined how I would feel right before walking into the room and tried to make myself a little nervous. This actually worked as I felt a little more tense and noticed my heart beating slightly faster. I walked to my chair, sat down, got settled, closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I started the first piece and stopped after about 10 seconds. With an instrument as naked as the guitar, any tension caused by nervousness in your hands can really alter the sound of your playing. Tensed right hand fingertips will lead to a harsher, thinner sound and less accuracy in plucking the correct strings at the right time. Tension in the left hand can make you buzz, slide off a string by accident, make your stretches less flexible, or cause you to completely forget where you are going. These are things that have all happened to me before, and the goal of this exercise was to help train my body to deal with it better. Though I felt silly imagining the judges sitting in my living room and giving a fake hello and smile to them, by the last time I went through with the exercise, I felt a good rhythm and played the first 10 seconds with much more ease than I did the first time. My dog found this whole shenanigan to be very curious, lifting her head and perking up her ears whenever I would walk out of the room, and going back to her nap on the couch whenever I started playing.
I will probably never run a marathon during my lifetime, nor do I have the desire to do so, but this certainly feels like a marathon- and right now I feel like walking. Which is perfectly fine, right? Maybe for just one mile?
Friday, May 22, 2009
Segovia Therapy
On a particularly hot day in Los Angeles, the air is stuffy in our small apartment, the dog restless from being cooped up with me all day as I sit on my red stool practicing the day away. I keep the windows closed to keep her from barking and the neighbors from hearing the tedium of my daily routine. Every so often I open them while I rehearse a score mentally or file my nails, enjoying the breeze and the sounds of the neighborhood. And sometimes when I just don't care, I open them and let my practicing flow out the window to whoever passes by and let the dog bark if she feels like it.
At around 2 o'clock every day, it gets too hot to stay at my seat near the window even with the fan on, so in several trips I move all my things into our tiny bedroom, shut all the doors, and turn on the AC unit. A new wave of concentration develops, only to turn into a wave of lethargy, the temptation of lying down too great to bear. I grab my score and study it lying on my back on the bed, inevitably falling asleep. Awaking with a start after about twenty minutes, I return to my seat and get back to work. I've practiced nearly five hours total and my fingers are fatigued and sore, the callouses peeling off on my left hand and the nails on my right hand starting to chip.
At 6:30pm, I've not accomplished anything close to what I had hoped for at the beginning of the day. I'm starting to doubt myself and wonder if I'm in over my head. I take a break and shift my energy into making dinner, taking care to make it taste exactly so, as if preparing something satisfying for my stomach will somehow make up for what I have not been able to create for my ears to hear.
After a long dinner break, I put in a recording of Segovia and lie down on the floor with the windows open once again, enjoying the cool breeze of the summer evening. A sound that I haven't heard for awhile overwhelms my ears: the round, sweet sound of the guitar as I once fell in love with it. I've been so wrapped up in my details that my insides nearly hurt from craving this sound for such a long time.
Lying there on the floor, with the breeze flowing in from outside and the soft sound of Segovia's guitar washing over me, I remember again why I started all this in the first place. I remind myself not to stop loving this process, despite the occasional day in which the labor of love is merely just labor.
At around 2 o'clock every day, it gets too hot to stay at my seat near the window even with the fan on, so in several trips I move all my things into our tiny bedroom, shut all the doors, and turn on the AC unit. A new wave of concentration develops, only to turn into a wave of lethargy, the temptation of lying down too great to bear. I grab my score and study it lying on my back on the bed, inevitably falling asleep. Awaking with a start after about twenty minutes, I return to my seat and get back to work. I've practiced nearly five hours total and my fingers are fatigued and sore, the callouses peeling off on my left hand and the nails on my right hand starting to chip.
At 6:30pm, I've not accomplished anything close to what I had hoped for at the beginning of the day. I'm starting to doubt myself and wonder if I'm in over my head. I take a break and shift my energy into making dinner, taking care to make it taste exactly so, as if preparing something satisfying for my stomach will somehow make up for what I have not been able to create for my ears to hear.
After a long dinner break, I put in a recording of Segovia and lie down on the floor with the windows open once again, enjoying the cool breeze of the summer evening. A sound that I haven't heard for awhile overwhelms my ears: the round, sweet sound of the guitar as I once fell in love with it. I've been so wrapped up in my details that my insides nearly hurt from craving this sound for such a long time.
Lying there on the floor, with the breeze flowing in from outside and the soft sound of Segovia's guitar washing over me, I remember again why I started all this in the first place. I remind myself not to stop loving this process, despite the occasional day in which the labor of love is merely just labor.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)