Violin Lessons

When I feel discouraged or defeated, I like to play the 2nd violin part of the Concerto in D minor for Two Violins, by J.S. Bach, a.k.a. the Double Concerto. It helps me especially when the discouragement comes from my violin practice. I learned the first movement of this concerto recently enough to remember the feeling of beginning – the halting, labored process of getting from one note to the next, thinking, "This is impossible and it will never get easier."

The first movement spans the first 3 1/2 minutes of this beautiful performance.

I practice two instruments nearly every day, clarinet and violin. I've been playing the clarinet since I was 9 so it's well established in my muscle memory, though playing accurately, in tune, and beautifully requires continuous maintenance.

Playing violin is another story. I started taking lessons almost ten years ago, as a 59th birthday present to myself. I'm lucky to have one of the best teachers in this area; she taught my daughter from age 11 to high school graduation. Rachel started taking violin lessons at age 8. When her first teacher moved away, she had a trial lesson with each of three teachers. She chose Jen because, as she told me, "She'll make me work the hardest."

As a teacher, Jen is friendly and relaxed while also setting a high bar and pushing me out of my comfort zone. It's a skill set that all great teachers master. I look forward to my lessons with both eager anticipation and dread. I know that I will learn and progress, and that it's going to be hard.

There's a well known quote from the Spanish cellist Pablo Casals (1876-1973). When he was 81 and the world's foremost cellist, Casals was asked why he continued to practice four and five hours a day. He answered: "Because I think I am making progress."

The quote is actually even more interesting. According to Quote Investigator, Casals made similar comments more than once. The earliest known instance is in a letter he wrote to Maurice Eisenberg, who included part of the letter in an article he wrote for The New York Times in 1946.

When the Germans were driven off French territory in 1944, Casals wrote me in one of his first letters after the long enforced silence of the occupation:

"Now that the enemy has been forced to leave, I have resumed my practicing and you will be pleased to know that I feel that I am making daily progress."

This striving for "daily progress" reflects his modest approach to his art and is the key to the secret of why "Casals is ageless." – Maurice Eisenberg, The New York Times, 1946

Casals was 67 when he wrote that letter.

Jen is immune to ageism. She doesn't expect less of me than any of her other students just because I'm 68 and have no ambition to get into the Juilliard School or to master the most difficult violin repertoire. Jen demonstrates the left-hand position for playing notes in the upper stratosphere of a scale and I struggle to bend my wrist and curve my hand while thinking, "I should have learned this when I was 4. My body can't do this."

Or, she's adding on yet another advanced bowing technique, notices my expression, smiles and asks, "Is this overwhelming?" I nod yes. Then, to help me feel the correct position and movement of my bowing hand, she'll often arrange my fingers and move my hand and arm for me. This works, as far as it goes. I feel it and I get it. But can I reproduce the movements on my own? Again I think, "I need to be a child in order to do this. Children's bodies convert learning into muscle memory naturally and quickly. At my age, I'm not sure I'll ever become comfortable with this."

Nonetheless, following Jen's directions (feeling slightly appalled at first) and practicing every day, I relearn an amazing truth: my body can do this. Not quickly, nor perfectly, always in a three-steps-forward, two-backward process ... progress happens. Eventually, amazingly, I'm playing this new piece in order to encourage myself while I learn the next skill.