Success

 I have been invited to the Rome Festival this summer as a section flute! Despite the fact that this means I will not be getting any solos and that I will be rotated on parts (a.k.a. I will not be playing on every piece) I could not be happier. This means that I will have more spare time to travel, work with chamber ensembles, hang out with fellow musicians/dancers/designers and just enjoy life! Now all there is to do is learn some Italian and keep on practicing!

I will get to combine my passion for music, history, and architecture with my very poorly developed passion for travel. I have wanted to go abroad for years now, and I'm glad I finally realized that I might have to combine my career with my vacations because here I am planning a trip to Italy in June. The chance to meet so many new people, to finally begin a real career in orchestral music while also working on expanding my skills into different musical fields, and just thoroughly enjoy myself (being selfish enough to only think about myself for a month or two) are just driving me crazy right now. 

Rome!!

Now is the time for me to focus on the mundane, but extremely important, elements of finances. Contributions to me for this festival are tax deductible and I can use all the help I can get, if anyone is interested leave me a note in the comments and I will get you more information. Perhaps I will set up a benefit concert, pick up a few more jobs, or just try to eat as little as possible for the next year in preparation for the costs of the trip. Regardless of how, I will be going to Italy this summer.

It still feels surreal. Excitement. 

All That Jazz

So with the gradual decline of professional level orchestras here in the states I have been thinking a lot about what I’m going to do with my life after I get my masters and possibly even my doctoral degrees. The main option seems to be trying to find one of the coveted jobs at a good college/university, teaching a studio, and forming an ensemble with some of my colleagues while hopefully being able to perform in a good symphony in the area. However, I find this option to leave too much to chance, just as the idea of auditioning for countless struggling orchestras and symphonies leaves me feeling anxious and out of control of my future.

Being a music performance major by definition leaves the future open ended and uncertain: one doesn’t necessarily have the goal of teaching in mind, but one also can’t be completely confident in the possibility of landing a job desired by countless others. Especially as a flutist where the possible jobs in each orchestra are only two—unless if you are also quite proficient on the piccolo, in which case the job options are three—and even then one has to be in the right place at the right time to even get an audition, much less a callback and a job offer.

So what does this mean? Did I simply pick the completely wrong field? Well, probably. But! I’m not in a place right now where I can just drop music and find a “real job,” like various well-meaning (and some not-so-well-meaning) people have advised. Instead I’m going to do what I think I need to do to secure a job in the future: I simply need to be the best player I can be in all aspects of the flute. That means working hard orchestral-ly (something that I’ve been trained to do for the last four years), as well as forming chamber ensembles, performing new music, different and strange music, and all sorts of genres which are suited for the flute—maybe even some that aren’t well suited for the flute. That means one thing for me right now: jazz.

Not only is jazz a wonderful thing to listen to, but also it has such a rich history and so many possibilities for the future. Obe has a “highlights of the jazz story in USA” poster in our living room and it’s one of those things where so much has happened and is happening now that one can’t help but want to hop on the bandwagon and see what the big deal is. The groove, the swing, jamming, improvisation; these are all things that are embodied in the pursuit of jazz.

Jazz is also slightly terrifying. Where does a flute fit in this world? Especially a flute that has been trained orchestrally—sure I can play most things put in front of me, but what will I do when I’m asked to play what’s inside of me, fitting it into what’s around me? Intense.

It’s only fitting that I’m writing my thesis paper on improvisation and the effects on creativity and performance (both in and out of the musical world) improv has on students. If I didn’t explore improvisation more in depth then I would have absolutely no credibility on the subject.

So jazz it is. 

Adventures With Apple Pie

I have really been wanting to bake a pie lately. It all started a few weekends ago when I had some of the other graduate students over to my apartment to carve pumpkins. I immediately wanted to make a homemade pumpkin pie (you know, steam the pumpkin to get the puree, mix in everything, make the crust from scratch etc. etc.). Since then I’ve decided that when Obe (my boyfriend) and I go to his grandmothers for Thanksgiving this year I will bring a pie—as well as the delicious pickle/cream cheese/meat roll ups that I make every year, yummy.

However, the problem is that Obe’s uncle Jason is a chef—a legitimate chef/cook person that makes delicious food, delicious appetizers and drinks, as well as super delicious deserts—I mean, this is only an issue when I decide that I want to bring a desert to a family function…which I do.

Despite the potential for a level of awkwardness (what if Jason makes an apple pie? Oh my gosh!) that would never really happen in my own family, I’ve decided that I’m going to bring a pie anyways! I’m excited about it and I’m not going to let possible awkwardness change that—insert maniacal laughter here.

Which brings us to today’s adventure. Sunday is the perfect day for baking and/or cooking adventures for me because, other than cleaning up the apartment, all I have to do is homework…something I tend to avoid at all costs anyways. Also Obe’s at work making this an even more appropriate time to dive into baking pies.

After finding a decent looking recipe online I biked to the store to pick up some apples and Crisco, which was all I needed for the pie that I didn’t already have. This in itself was probably the best choice I could have made all day as the weather was beautiful, sure it was windy (when isn’t it?), but that made the ride all the more refreshing. I had been hoping to surprise Obe with a brief hello, but the Starbucks line was about ten people line and I decided it wasn’t worth it. Instead I just picked up the apples and Crisco and was on my way.

Multi-purpose beer bottle!

Prior to baking the pie I had to clean the kitchen, which was on my to-do list anyways so huzzah!. The first thing I did was mix up the dough for the crust. I’m not going to lie to you, baking with a homemade pie crust was probably the most stressful aspect of baking my own pie. Especially when I realized, after mixing together the flour and etc. needed for the crust, that I did not have a rolling pan! How was I supposed to roll out the dough? Well, never fear for my ingenuity kicked in and, despite the fact that it was about ten o clock in the morning, I cracked open a good old Odell Myrcenary IPA and poured a glass. I then used the bottle to roll out the dough! Classy, I know, but hey I got a good beer out of the deal. It’s funny to watch in the pictures as the beer level gets lower and lower as the pie comes closer to completion.

Jenky crust... don't judge!

Well, rolling out a piecrust is more difficult than I had imagined, for some reason mine turned out quite lopsided and uneven in thickness. After attempting to even it out a little bit I threw it onto the pie pan. Keep in mind, this is my first experience at making pies, so don’t laugh at the pictures.

Delicious apples and great beer

Butter, mm. Paula Deen smiles today!

The recipe that I had found called for six to seven apples, but after cutting up five of them I decided that the bowl was full enough and that more apples would not equal a better pie. Look at me, digressing from the recipes already… hopefully this ingenuity won’t work against me in the long run. It was quite fun mixing the apple slices up with the white and brown sugars. After this I added in the flour (why do you need flour? I’m not really sure…) and through some cinnamon on top. This concoction began looking super delicious: gooey, cinnamoney, appley, what more do you need? I unceremoniously dumped the delicious apples into the pan took a few pictures and then added the butter. At this point I felt a lot like Paula Deen, putting lots of butter squares throughout the pie, but hey-butter can be a good thing, right? After this I got to work on the top layer of the pie.

Complete pie, empty beer...perfect!

After my initial flop with the bottom layer of crust, I thought I’d try out a new technique with the top layer. Rather than rolling the beer bottle up and down, and then side to side, I tried this modified circular rolling style: keeping one side of the beer bottle in the middle I just rotated the outer part of it around the dough. This turned out quite a bit better than the original crust I had done! Look at that, the beer is working—I’m coming up with good ideas already! Alcohol should be a necessary part of all baking experiences!

Action shot!

After putting a little bit of butter on top of the crust—another one of my recipe improvisations—and sprinkling some cinnamon/sugar mixture onto it as well, I placed some tinfoil on the sides (the recipe claimed that this would prevent the sides from burning as the pie baked) and threw the pie in the oven!

Post-tinfoil removal pie..

Twenty-five minutes later I took the tinfoil off and put the pie back in.

At this point things got a little more shady…the recipe said another twenty to twenty five minutes would suffice, adding that the pie should be golden brown when finished. Unfortunately for me, perhaps because of the additional butter glaze I had spread on top of the pie, the pie was just not turning golden brown!! What do I do? Well…I Just kept leaving the pie in the oven, ultimately adding an extra twenty-five minutes of bake time onto the pie. Who knows the devastation I have wrought onto this poor, helpless pie!

Eventually the pie became golden brown. It looks and smells beautiful, and I can’t wait to share it with Obe when he gets off work! Plus now my entire apartment smells like fresh bake apple pie, what could be more indicative of Autumn, my new favorite season?

Successful first pie!

When in Rome

Well today I finally recorded my audition CD for the Rome Festival this summer. If all goes well they will give me money and I will fly to Italy this summer. While there I would perform in multiple symphony concerts, be a part of a fully staged opera and ballet, and I would have the chance to perform in master-classes and in chamber ensembles with other members of the festival. Ages vary from pre-pubescent to octogenarians and members come from all over the globe.

Did I mention it’s in Italy? Yeah. So I’m definitely crossing my fingers on that one.

Which brings me to a thought: is it a good thing to keep ones expectations low, in order to not be let down? As I’m preparing my audition CD and thinking about the festival I can’t help but get excited (I mean, I’ve been wanting to travel abroad for years now, and this is finally the time and place for it). But then I also think that maybe I should keep this application to myself, not talk about the possibility of being accepted, and just in general pretend that nothing exciting is happening. If I do that and don’t get accepted then it won’t be as big of a deal…right?

Well, no. I don’t think that’s the case. I definitely used to—I remember applying for graduate schools, auditioning for competitions, and just in general doing exciting and new things, and downplaying them so severely in my mind that (I was convinced) I wouldn’t be bothered if things didn’t turn out well for me. But really… who was I kidding? Besides myself obviously. I applied for graduate schools and would tell anyone that it wasn’t a big deal, that I’m just applying for these schools and that it really doesn’t matter to me. It’s as if the very thought that that other person would know that I was invested, excited, and terrified by something, well, terrified me. Why did we feel the need to cheapen our goals and ourselves by pretending they don’t matter? I know, I know, there are plenty of people out there that are arrogant, egotistical, self-serving, and attention whores, but that doesn’t mean that others have to be quiet, self-effacing, and overly modest about what’s going on in our own lives.

It’s an attempt to not be hurt by bad news, rejection, failure…we pretend it doesn’t matter because it matters so much that not succeeding will cause pain. Humanity doesn’t do well with pain (unless you’re a masochist I suppose). I remember when I did not get accepted to my top choice music school last year. I got the letter, kept a stiff upper lip for about an hour or so and then broke down sobbing hysterically. I felt like I had failed life, not just been not accepted to a school. Pretending that it didn’t matter or wasn’t important beforehand had not prepared me for that blow. In fact it made me even less capable of handling it because everyone around me was confused—when you tell your friends and family that something doesn’t matter to you and subsequently freak out and have an emotional breakdown when that thing doesn’t go the way you had planned, they don’t quite understand how to respond.

I’m not saying that everyone should run around wearing their emotions on their sleeves, incessantly blabbing about what they have going on in their lives to the point of exhausting and boring their friends and family to tears. What I am saying is that if something is exciting and important and meaningful to you… let someone know. If something is important to you it should be important to your friends and family. If it’s not, then something is wrong and you have other (more important) things to be worrying about.

I’m excited for my opportunity to spend the summer in Rome. I hope that once I get there I will have time on weekends to travel to all sorts of different countries. I plan to make the most of the experience, meet new people, make new friends, and maybe even find or make a job for myself as a musician abroad. I will never get these opportunities if I don’t try, and I will never get the support of my friends and family if I constantly downplay these opportunities and pretend they don’t matter. 

The Window Seat

As I was taking off from the Denver International Airport the other day I was glued to the window-watching planes taking off, landing, taxiing around the runway and unloading. I was thinking about the stories of all of the people on board those planes- where are they going? who are they with? what do they do? Each plane, each tiny house that gets smaller as the plane ascends into the heavens, all of the cars filled with people—they all have a story.

Gazing out the window I was thinking about my interaction with another passenger at the airport. A Latino woman, clearly frazzled and exhausted, had collapsed into the seat next to me at the gate. She was fidgety and nervous and yet so exhausted that her movements were fairly lethargic. This contradictory mental/emotional state is one that made complete sense to me, as I too have been both so exhausted that I don’t want to move and yet so excited/nervous about something that my body can’t help but to twitch and spasm.

Soon after she sat down the bench seat I was on started bouncing. I was rocked out of my quasi-slumber and, looking down, I saw that the lady next to me was vigorously shaking her legs and feet. This unconscious movement of hers was so severe that my seat was visibly rocking back and forth. It was at this point that I noticed that we had the same pair of Pumas on. So, being the sophisticated and well-spoken member of society that I am, I blurted out “Hey! We have the same shoes! Cool!...” and immediately felt like a complete fool. One does not simply blurt out ones every thought, and yet I seem to do this on a regular basis.  Luckily for my ego, the woman cheerfully laughed and we were able to strike up a comfortable conversation.

A spanish teacher at the school I am attending, this woman loved to travel, had children and a husband who was passionate about music, had much to say, and many things in common with me. I learned that traveling to Europe was remarkable, easy, cheaper than expected, and would change my life. I learned that I need to see the French film Amelie, and that I should embrace the freedom that I have at this time. We chatted easily for the remaining forty-five minutes before our plane arrived.

In this time I couldn't help but wonder what would happen if only we could focus on the similarities between ourselves and others—if looking into different cultures didn’t bring out the strange music and customs, but rather the similarities in spirit, goals and dreams. If only looking into something quite different didn't only show the obvious differences but also the hidden similarities: sometimes as mundane as the same shoes.

After getting onto the plane and into my seat, my eyes settled on the view from the window. I saw workers, pilots, flight attendants, and the occasional glimpse of passengers hopping on planes. Something drew my attention back to the inside of the plane and I looked up just as the woman I had so easily befriended walked by. “Have a good flight” seemed somehow too cheesy, “thank you for our conversation” seemed too awkward, so instead I simply smiled and nodded at her as she walked by. As she returned the smile and hastened to her own seat I was reminded of the ultimate goal of most people: the desire to return home and the often overwhelming need to feel the security and acceptance of family and friends. A security that one can find only in a place called home.