Looking up at the night sky one can see several patches of darkness. These are the parts of the night-time blanket that haven’t been embellished with the twinkle of starlight. The cornea is at the mercy of this void so vast and so false. Perhaps I’m more aware of the stars out here in Kent.
It’s a luminous language foreign from that of the structured lighting of a city.
Here one can look up and see generous pointillism.
There is more that the eye can see when the ceiling is your torch.
I now find myself past the midway mark of my time at The Studio. I also find myself, along with the rest of the world* in a new calendar year. Salutations two-oh-one-nine. I think our world is a bit too myopic to consider this the eve of a year of ‘perfect vision’ (two-oh-two-oh), not synonymous with the brave new world that chilled the muses many. Although, the subtitles on the news of New Year’s Eve seemed to believe we were entering 20 AD. Which in some respects could be considered true considering certain policies and ideologies I need not explicitly state. Perhaps 2002 had even more of a ring to it (tragically memorable for more war and bloodshed). But it’s still a number so good the drunks of 2002 could read it backwards and forwards and still know the year they were in whilst quenching the thirst of the underlying human obsession with symmetry. Alas, there is a slight complication. Our fictional protagonist Anna, born in Ekalaka Lake in 2002 has long wondered why the word palindrome failed in itself to be a palindrome. Perhaps palinilap could usurp the word palindrome as a more appropriate term of fitting exactly what it serves to represent. But here’s a proposition for those who get inexplicably fascinated with symmetry: come find me in two-one-one-two and we can stare in the mirror and contemplate our own facial asymmetry in a symmetrical year. It will all be ok. Born of dust, back to dust. That’s symmetry right? Nevertheless, here we are in a new western calendar year and my endeavours are the same but fortified with perhaps what some call the new year’s resolution. V-I: alas even perfect resolutions find themselves challenged. However, the new year is empowering. Why? It’s a time where we look at a construct of closing and entering, perhaps one of the few times where we are encouraged to sit and reflect and meditate upon the internal and the external, achievements and mistakes, our actions and our own desires. However, it is not quite any of the above that serves as the catalyst for this entry to my blog. Instead I felt it was about time to break a rather self-imposed silence, a silence that I hope this entry will explain.
*For those who celebrate the New Year according to the Gregorian Calendar.
Also, I wrote this entry just before the new Lunar Calendar Year.
But now it’s the new Lunar year as well so 新年快樂 to all my Chinese family and friends!
monotony and memory
My week is structured around the days that I am at the flute studio. It’s a monotonous motion that I am certain is valuable to my flute playing and development, but perhaps not the most blog-inducing. We’ve ploughed through more repertoire than I ever did in my three years of undergraduate music studies and I am finding that I am learning pieces and concepts faster and that I have become more vigilant regarding my own playing and expectations. I’ve had the opportunity to play for some remarkable guest artists at the studio including Michael Cox (Principal Flute BBC Symphony Orchestra), Rachel Brown (historical flute and music specialist) and Juliet Edwards (accompanist and pianist). We’ve also attended master classes in London with Emily Beynon (Principal flute of the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra) and William Bennet (Professor at Royal Academy of Music) which have been equally enriching. But classes with Trevor are often the hardest and most rewarding. He is a erudite figure who can be simultaneously cruel and caring in character, and my time here at the flute studio has been undeniably beneficial. He speaks of a world of ghosts that seemingly still haunt the way flute is taught and institutionalised. These ghosts are his friends… from Marcel Moyse to Alain Marion and other remarkable figures who he worked with or taught and some that are still alive today. But most importantly, it is fully clear that he respects his friends and colleagues, and that they have imparted lessons regarding music and life onto him and that this equates to a large portion of his wisdom– a wisdom he shares with his students. It is far from an evangelical “church of flute” vibe, and despite many of my friends thinking I joined an obscure flute cult in the English countryside, this is a valuable opportunity to learn from one of the few remaining flutists and pedagogues of a time passing. While many of Trevor’s values and tones of teaching may be outdated, it can still be applied to a large portion of the flute repertory (being that it is mostly composed by dead white guys anyway!). But the sentiment of the rules, character and fundamentals of music transpires across the periods. Even in more anarchical approaches there are always shadows. So in some ways I came to the studio to understand more about the past, because so much of the music I have played in my musical studies is steeped in periods past, but because it helps me to understand more about how we arrived at the sonic inventions of the present. It is also becoming increasingly clear to me just how much there is to consider when learning, performing and teaching music. But also how there is much (somewhat disregarded) simplicity. It is all a matter of understanding. I think after this course I will spend some time reading back through the notes I took from the studio classes. There’s just an incredible amount of information that I could probably compile it into a guidebook that I could use for the rest of my career and to help students and colleagues. I’ve also taken time to think more about the direction of my career. Not too long ago I was somewhat vehemently opposed to the idea of a career in orchestral playing. But I think this course has opened up realms of new possibilities that perhaps I had turned my attention away from. Whilst I gravitate most towards contemporary music, I now see my own musical identity broadening. That is not to say that I do not want to specialise, in fact I think I would eventually love to be a specialist in contemporary music. However, I am in love with delving through different styles and genres of music (and different modes of expression) and at this stage in my career I want to embrace that exploration further. After the conclusion of this course I am eager to explore a variety of opportunities in the various realms of musical expression.
time-travel, noise travel,
feet first into gravel
London is seductive. It’s this noisy and luminous magnet of activity that has abundance. Back in Australia one would sometimes have to wait months, if not several years for an artist, exhibition, program to come from overseas and grace our senses. We have such fine local artists in Australia and we are certainly never short of entertainment. But, envision this, you’re in Sydney for a night and there are three concerts happening simultaneously and you would like to be present at all of them. Omnipresence would border on delusional so you’d have to choose one. Cities are reminiscent of supermarkets, there’s choice, choice and more choice; choices to the point where you cannot choose whether or not you want to be dizzy because you already are. I am a sworn lover of nature and all places not suffocated by concrete but the magnetism of cities always draw my feet back into its streets. It’s no paradox, but more an acceptance that cities often house opportunities, culture, the arts and people to them. I am a victim to that magnetism. I’ve been into London a several times now, to listen to concerts and attend masterclasses. It’s about a 40 minute trip into London via South-Eastern rail that can cost up to £26 return, so I have to choose my visits wisely and sparingly. It certainly proves difficult when there is a worthwhile concert, exhibition or event happening EVERY SINGLE DAY. I’ve had the opportunity to see some incredible exhibitions particularly ‘The Clock’ by Christian Marclay at Tate Modern, a 24-hour film I have been wanting to see for years. I’ve also been to the National Gallery, The British Museum and the Victoria and Albert Museum. The V&A museum holds such an extensive collection (all the Rodin statues!) and I also went into an exhibition regarding the production and sustainability of fashion. I am yet to go and listen to the many wonderful orchestras in London. I tried purchasing tickets for a London Symphony Orchestra concert but the few remaining tickets were around £80. For most events there reasonable are student or youth fares for around £10, but for these you have to act fast. But I’ve been fortunate enough to hear Claire Chase, Bang On A Can All-Stars (selections from Field Recordings, Julia Wolfe’s Anthracite Fields), Frederic and Jan Rzewski and the London Improvisers Orchestra. On the weekend that Bang On a Can (BOAC) and Claire Chase were playing in London there was also a Ensemble Modern concert, but as I had booked for another concert I couldn’t make it to that. Alas, choices! King’s Place has an incredible series called ‘Venus Unwrapped‘ that shines the spotlight on the creative power of Women in music. The BOAC concerts I went to were a part of that series and as I was sitting in my seat I realised that 80% of the works programmed were by women. What was most intriguing was that the concert was not advertised as a ‘program of mostly women composers’. At times I find that organisations and artistic directors feel the need to highlight that they are making an incredible effort to program the music of women and this is fantastic. But it can also be mildly counter-productive and can perpetuate tokenism, exclusivity and marginalisation. I think it’s about constructing a program that is made up of great music and balance. But when there is an alarming under-representation (or no representation!) in concert programs excluding particular groups in society, that is when we must highlight existing imbalances. But most importantly the focus should be to forge a more inclusive future through providing platforms where these unique creative voices can be heard. So before I went to the BOAC concert I wasn’t aware of Venus Unwrapped nor was I aware of how many composers were women on the program. It was only when I sat down that I thought to myself– ‘damn, this music is good’, and that’s all that should matter.
My time here in Elmsted, Kent is almost solely dedicated to the flute and practice. The other day, I was asked by one of the neighbours (by neighbour I do not mean next door, but rather, across a field) what I do when I am not practicing or at the Studio. I stared into my cup of tea, a pause, for a moment of consideration before I gave an answer. You see, there is not much else to do here than practice, go for walks in the woods, and get creative with a limited diet. However, in this time away from the clamorous seduction of city living I have found gentle entertainment in my the machinations of my own mind. Being here has extended opportunities beyond the flute. I have found more time to compose music and experiment with musical ideas I have wanted to try for some time. During this course I started making composition part a regular practice through composing my own warm-ups and exercises for flute to some larger projects not directly involving the flute. In the last three and a half months I composed my first string quartet ‘A Waning Body‘ that was premiered at the Environmental Sound Art, Classical Music and Australian Female Composers concert at the Queensland Conservatorium of Music. Each note from this work is a sonic translation of data collected from Antarctic Mass Variation since 2002. It was a concept I’d wanted to explore for some time as a means to promote heightened awareness on the alarming rate of climate change. Consequently, it’s full of sounds that aren’t meant to make anyone feel terribly comfortable. I also wrote a piece for percussion/speaker and fixed media dedicated to my Brisbane duo partner, Joyce To for her solo recital at the Tilde New Music Week in Melbourne. I’ve been exploring spoken elements with vessels (glass, flutes) and wanted to create a piece that featured this idea as a central element. And thus ‘Ingrained/in-grains’ came into existence. There’s no recording as of yet but you can listen to the fixed media component here. There are other ideas and concepts that are still in an embryonic state but are slowly taking form. I am also beyond excited to announce that a ‘Noisy Women’ concert will be happening again this year for International Womens Day (8 March). Last year the concert received overwhelming support from the Brisbane community and beyond with an audience exceeding the capacity of the venue and many more watching nationally and internationally into the live-stream. As well as being a concert celebrating the valuable contributions of women throughout musical history it is also a space to promote established and new works by women. How can masterpieces be made if they are not heard? Hence, this year the concert is happening again, albeit under a new and very exciting name (with an equally exciting acronym): Women of Noise. This year I also have a talented team of young musicians (Courtney Lovell, Anna Rabinowicz, Sasha Walker, Elizabeth Shearon) on the creative and organising unit who are undoubtably the backbone of the project. More information regarding the program and musicians involved will be available on our Facebook and Instagram so be stay tuned to exclusive sneak peeks and exciting updates!
In the final months of my time here in Kent I’ll be up to my knees in pieces, practice and hopefully more snow! I am glad I took the time to write this entry as it has given me moments to reflect on time passed and the time that is passing. After my time in the United Kingdom I will travel to Germany where I will stay with one of my old flute teachers. I’ll be investigating opportunities including jobs, Masters degree options, maybe even going to a festival or two, getting some lessons and doing more performing. From one ambitious plan to another it seems! At this stage I anticipate that I’ll return to Australia late in the year. I’ll certainly be eager to perform, collaborate, catch up with friends and family and share what I learnt here at the studio. Here’s to the continuum of noise.
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