This is the reason why I have not posted it yet. I am trying to figure out the words to politely say, but there is a dark cloud hanging over my head that I have to address before I can say anything just yet.
So I have to write this. I have to tell you, that the last two years of my life has been one of the biggest struggles with my own self-worth, my confidence, my desire to continue in the arts at all.
In short: Graduate school killed my love of music.
Don't go anywhere just yet - this is an overarching statement that I need to address in pieces.
First: I am aware that love comes from within. No one can take away your passion. Something inside me died and I allowed it to, and that is my own fault.
Secondly: Academia didn't single-handedly destroy it. It just helped along a feeling that I was already growing before I came to Seattle.
Thirdly: I still love music. But differently now.
To understand how this happens, you need context. I can't remember a time in which I was not passionate about new music - music written by living composers, that crossed boundaries and pushed the limits of my instrument. I remember my senior year of HIGH SCHOOL, where I competed in the Nebraska Solo and Ensemble: I played a piece that included timbral trills and multiphonics. I didn't even come close to "placing" - the judges thought my piece was too avant-guard. But I didn't care. I wanted to play it anyway, and was thrilled that most of my classmates came to my performance, and that I got to share this cool music with them.
When I auditioned to graduate school, when the teachers would ask me: "Do you have any questions?" I would always ask: "Can you tell me a little bit about your modern ensemble program?" I wanted to be involved. I wanted to focus on new music. When I arrived to UW, I contacted programs, I told them I was there. I contacted the composition department too, telling them I'd workshop their student's pieces. I practically threw myself at the modern ensemble saying: "Please - I don't even need to play flute, just let me be a part of this."
But they never did.
Not one single time at my time at UW did I play in the university modern ensemble.
It didn't stop me. I became involved in local professional modern ensembles - but they already had their own musicians, and I rarely got to play. I contacted composer students on my own: and made great relationships which resulted in great pieces. I joined the Harry Partch Ensemble, where I learned Bass Marimba and Harmonic Cannons, and sometimes microtonal flute. But I wanted to be recognized in this at the university. I wanted to be the "go-to" girl for modern flute. But every time I offered to play, I was told that someone else would do it instead.
I tried to work on Voice by Takemitsu, and was told to work on Ibert instead. I tried to work on a new piece involving flute and electronics, and had to play Muczynski instead. Every time I presented to work on something new and exciting, I was questioned about the worth of the piece, whether it would add to my career or detract, whether I should even bother.
And slowly, I kept getting pushed down in every turn. I began to feel like it didn't matter what I believed in, I was not good enough as a player to be involved in the world I loved.
So I practiced. I played standard works. I drilled patterns over and over and over to make my technical skills better. I spent hours in the practice room working on pieces that I didn't care for but knew I needed to learn to better myself. I had to be GOOD ENOUGH. I had to be BETTER THAN GOOD ENOUGH. I needed to show that I can do it, and I deserve it. And I began to hate.
In the meantime, I did shows with my flute/guitar duo. I traveled to Chicago, Phoenix, Denver, and even Canada. I presented strange new works at each show and felt accomplished. But I would bring this information back to the university and no one would bat an eye. No one cared. I wasn't winning national/international competitions on Nielson flute concerto or playing in extremely expensive summer orchestra festivals. I may as well have been taking a vacation on all those days as far as they cared. And so I sank further into depression. I sought out opportunities to play on my own. I pushed my way into playing Ferneyhough. I went behind the flute studio's back to play with SO Percussion.
I spent days in bed, questioning how badly I wanted to be here. Did I even deserve to do what I love? I wasn't good enough anyway. I should just quit and do something else with my life.
I made small victories. I got to play a piece with multiphonics in my spring recital. I got to play Berio in my Master's recital. But my studies always made it seem like these were just bonuses for me - I was allowed to play them, not that I should. Apathy took over in my practice and my attitude towards my flute.
But there was one thing that kept me going.
Taiko.
Twice a week, I would put down my flute, regardless of how much I felt like I needed to practice. I would grab my bachi (drumsticks), and go to taiko.
I was not good. I understood when I needed to hit the drum, but not how. I heard the rhythms but was unable to accomplish it with my untrained hands.
But not once did the team say: "Sorry, you can't play." I played on every song I could. I hit the practice drums when they played songs I didn't know. I kept working to get better, but no matter how bad I was - I could make music.
I felt the energy of the group. I found joy in our music, in being a part of a ensemble that is more like a family.
Every single weekend, I learned how to love music again. It was a lesson that I needed to learn over and over. Some days was harder than others. Sometime I would come to practice feeling as if I couldn't play music anymore, but not an hour later I'd realize how wrong I was.
I remembered that music could be fun.
Taiko is the reason why I stayed. Without it, there's absolutely no way I'd have my Master of Music degree now.
Now that I've graduated, I want to re-learn how to love the flute. I want to become passionate about new music again. I have to re-learn how to love myself, and to truly believe that I am worth it. I know how I'm going to do it. I'm going to take my attitude towards taiko and apply it to my flute. I am so excited to be able to work on myself and get rid of my self-loathing.
And of course, I'm going to taiko practice.
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