Segmented run through. Coming out of the den and practicing in the living room with a nice view (feeling fortunate). Preparing for three performances of Mozart’s “Turkish” Violin Concerto with Iris Orchestra and Naples Philharmonic, next week - a state of joy and on this day today, feeling especially at one with my body.
Grateful. Mr. Bear and Mr. Heifetz are also feeling quite blissful.
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Edvard Grieg’s Sonata no. 3, second movement: “Allegretto expression alla Romanza” - the title implies a song, with or without words.
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We oftentimes unnecessarily constrain ourselves when it comes to choice of bowings. Looking at the score, the beginning of this second movement contains few slurs, and when there are slurs, they often render our right hand movements physically uncomfortable / awkward. I’m trying to at this stage reconcile physical comfort with selective choice of bowings based on how I would speak and sing the phrases. Often enough, I find that certain parts call for a more speaking nature, and other parts more lyrical. I’ve come up with a temporary system of separating bows or using the parlando technique (drawing one full bow while making ever-so-slight “accents” along the way) when wishing to speak, and playing legato when wishing to sing.
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When speaking the music, one starts again realizing how connected poetry is with much of music. Groups of notes (pairs, triplets) resemble various metrical feet. So far, I’m resonating with many trochees, in different degrees.
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The parallel between poetry and music made me further think about how breathing impacts the body, which provides form to the music that we play. I often think that the right hand is in and of itself a living entity, thriving in inhales (up bows) and exhales (down bows). What can the body do to align itself with the right hand and therefore assist it?
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“Your body is a beautiful machine with many movable parts. If any part is made immobile, it affects the efficiency of the whole machine.” This quotation by D.C. Dounis grounded me as I plowed through this last variation in the third movement of Ysaÿe’s Solo Sonata. It was a mess yesterday in the sense that the notes were there, but I couldn’t grasp the structure, which is a permutation of the Dies Irae hymn. Frenzied mess...!
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Today I focused on letting the springiness of my joints guide me, while my mind became much more aware of certain impulses in the variation. Perpetual motion necessitates these impulses - it is easy to fixate on each note during slow practicing, but the second the tempo kicks up, the brain has no time (and no need) to think of each individual note. Rather, the notes are grouped, as manifested in the idea that each active impulse is automatically followed by a group of rebound, passive notes. One feels more comfortable physically and more lucid musically and structurally.
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