Question:
Anne; Again, you are more than welcome, as you help me a lot more than I’m helping anyone else. Hang in there, and practice, practice, and practice some more 
You will get to the point where it is as familiar as it once was, only more ’seasoned’ . I’d love to hear you play, as I’ve always loved the sounds from a flute. The sensitivity from that one instrument cannot be duplicated by any other instrument on earth. Very few people have had the feelings to be able to play one effectively. You are one of the few. Thankfully, you have the flute to keep you company. I’m sure it makes a big difference within your life. Thank you for sharing, J. David flmf…@tampabay.rr.com "Anneks89" <annek…@aol.com> wrote in message
news:20021022185444.15836.00008154@mb-fu.aol.com… – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text -> >Subject: Re: how much music we can still make > >From: "J David Phillips" flmf…@tampabay.rr.com > >Date: 10/22/2002 5:00 PM Central Daylight Time > >Message-id: <YTjt9.145960$S8.2611…@twister.tampabay.rr.com> > Hi J David, > >If your music is important to you, you will find a way to express > >yourself in your music. It may not be the same as before, as it will > >certainly be different. However, your music will still be YOU. That is > >something that no one will ever take away. That is the true beauty of a > >musician. I wish you well, and thank you again, > >J. David > >flmf…@tampabay.rr.com > Thank you for your encouragement. I appreciate this very much. > Maybe you can relate to the total lack of fear I used to experience pre-trauma, > even with a history of early childhood abuse. I felt free as a bird when I > played and would enter other worlds in my music. I could practice for hours > and hours and not even know that time had passed. Every audition and > competition went well. I just could handle all the stress and hard work. > Somehow, when the PTSD symptoms kicked in big time, I was afraid to enter those > "other worlds" I’d been in for years. I really felt that I would go over the > edge and might not ever make it back; I thought I’d go totally insane. Since > I’ve been so close to the edge, I still partly believe this will happen. > I haven’t stopped working in all these years (except when I was too sick) and > always kept on playing. I played more in hopspitals and hospices and did more > teaching. Also took more commercial work to escape the pressure of competing > at the higher levels of my field. > Practicing is often painful. Sometimes I start to cry in the middle of it and > just can’t continue. > Five years ago I had an experienece when I did a concert in a foreign country > where I felt free as a bird again. I got really shook up when it was over. > I don’t think it’s an accident that when I got back to the states, I > accidentally severed an artery and a ligament in my left hand which sidelined > me for a long time. I didn’t have to face what had happened in my playing at > that concert because I didn’t have to play! > Now I’m playing again. Not practicing the five hours a day I used to do. A > good day for me is two hours. I can rehearse for hours with others but alone > with my instument I’m alone with my memories and my pain. > In time I hope this gets better. (I’ve been told that music can be healing even > for the player… ) > For now I am grateful to be alive and to be able to finally begin to let go of > some of the fears, particle by particle… > Thanks again, J David. > Take care, > Anne
Response:
Hi Everyone, I’ve been trying to reconcile myself to the better, more demanding concert bookings I have for one year from now, afraid that I will never be able to play again the way I did in my pre-trauma days. Everything I’ve learned in program and in therapy teaches me to take it one day at a time, but I am freaked out. One thing I’ve remembered from a few years back is helping me now and I wanted to pass it along to you in the hopes that it might be helpful to someone else. It’s about a performance given by Itzhak Perlman in New York. I’ve had many opportunities to hear him live over the years and have met him in social circumstances. I’m glad that I remembered this particular performance. Here are my notes from a friend who attended this concert: Take care, Anne ————————————————————————– ————– On Nov. 18, 1995, Itzhak Perlman, the violinist, came on stage to give a concert at Lincoln Center in New York City. If you have have ever been to a Perlman concert, you know that getting on stage is no small achievement for him. He was stricken with polio as a child, and has braces on both legs and walks with the aid of two crutches. To see him walk across the stage one step at the time, painfully and slowly is a sight. He walks painfully, yet majestically, until he reaches his chair. Then he sits down, slowly, put his crutches on the floor, undoes the clasps on his legs, tucks one foot back and extend the other foot forward. Then he bends down and picks up his violin, puts it under his chin, nods to the conductor and proceeds to play By now, the audience is used to this ritual. They sit quietly while he makes his way across the stage to his chair. They remain silent while he undoes the clasps on his legs, they wait until he is ready to play. But this time, something went wrong. Just as he finihed the first few bars, one of the strings on his violin broke. You could hear it snap – it went off like gunfire across the room. There was no mistaking what he had to do. People who were there that night thought to themselves:"We figured that he would have to get up, put on the clasps again, pick up the crutches and limp his way off the stage – to either find another violin or else find another string for this one. Or wait for someone to bring him another. But he didn’t. Instead he waited a moment, closed his eyes and then signaled the conductor to begin again. The orchestra began, and he played from where he had left off. And he played with such passion and such power and such purity, as they had never heard before. Of course, anyone knows that it is impossible to play a symphonic work with just three strings. I know that, you know that. But that night Itzhak Perlman refused to know that. You could see him modulating, changing and recomposing the piece in his head. At one point it sounded like he was de – tuning the strings to get new sounds from them that they had never made before. When he finished, there was an awesome silence in the room. And then people rose and cheered. There was an extraordinary outburst of applause from every corner of the auditorium. Everyone was on their feet, screeming and cheering, doing everything they could to show how much they appreciated what he had done. He smiled, wiped the sweat from his brow, raised his bow to quiet the audience, not boastfully, but in a quiet reverent tone: ."YOU KNOW, SOMETIMES IT IS THE ARTIST’S TASK TO FIND OUT HOW MUCH MUSIC YOU CAN STILL MAKE WITH WHAT YOU HAVE LEFT." What a poverful line that is. And who knows? Perhaps that is the way of life – not just for an artist but for all of us. Here is a man who has prepared all his life to make music on a violin with four strings, who all of a sudden, in the middle of a concert, finds himself with only three strings and the music he made that night with just three strings was more beautiful, more sacred, more memorable, than any that had ever made before, when he had four strings. So perhaps our task in this shaky, fast-changing, bewildering world in which we live, is to make music, at first with all that we have, and then when that is no longer possible, to make music with what we have left.
Response:
Thank you Anneks……..as I was reading through I was reminded of Freddie Mercury……….I’m a huge fan of music of all types, but Freddie is/was one of my favorites……and I was reminded of his recordings in the last year of his life….. td "Anneks89" <annek…@aol.com> wrote in message
news:20021022102106.11693.00003762@mb-cp.aol.com… – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text -> Hi Everyone, > I’ve been trying to reconcile myself to the better, more demanding concert > bookings I have for one year from now, afraid that I will never be able to play > again the way I did in my pre-trauma days. Everything I’ve learned in program > and in therapy teaches me to take it one day at a time, but I am freaked out. > One thing I’ve remembered from a few years back is helping me now and > I wanted to pass it along to you in the hopes that it might be helpful to > someone else. It’s about a performance given by Itzhak Perlman in > New York. I’ve had many opportunities to hear him live over the years > and have met him in social circumstances. I’m glad that I remembered > this particular performance. Here are my notes from a friend who attended > this concert: > Take care, > Anne > ————————————————————————– > ————– > On Nov. 18, 1995, Itzhak Perlman, the violinist, came on stage to give a > concert at Lincoln Center in New York City. If you have have ever been to a > Perlman concert, you know that getting on stage is no small achievement for > him. He was stricken with polio as a child, and has braces on both legs and > walks with the aid of two crutches. To see him walk across the stage one step > at the time, painfully and slowly is a sight. He walks painfully, yet > majestically, until he reaches his chair. Then he sits down, slowly, put his > crutches on the floor, undoes the clasps on his legs, tucks one foot back and > extend the other foot forward. Then he bends down and picks up his violin, > puts it under his chin, nods to the conductor and proceeds to play > By now, the audience is used to this ritual. They sit quietly while he makes > his way across the stage to his chair. They remain silent while he undoes the > clasps on his legs, they wait until he is ready to play. > But this time, something went wrong. Just as he finihed the first few bars, > one of the strings on his violin broke. You could hear it snap – it went off > like gunfire across the room. There was no mistaking what he had to do. > People who were there that night thought to themselves:"We figured that he > would have to get up, put on the clasps again, pick up the crutches and limp > his way off the stage – to either find another violin or else find another > string for this one. Or wait for someone to bring him another. > But he didn’t. Instead he waited a moment, closed his eyes and then signaled > the conductor to begin again. The orchestra began, and he played from where he > had left off. And he played with such passion and such power and such purity, > as they had never heard before. > Of course, anyone knows that it is impossible to play a symphonic work with > just three strings. I know that, you know that. But that night Itzhak Perlman > refused to know that. You could see him modulating, changing and recomposing > the piece in his head. At one point it sounded like he was de – tuning the > strings to get new sounds from them that they had never made before. > When he finished, there was an awesome silence in the room. And then people > rose and cheered. There was an extraordinary outburst of applause from every > corner of the auditorium. Everyone was on their feet, screeming and cheering, > doing everything they could to show how much they appreciated what he had done. > He smiled, wiped the sweat from his brow, raised his bow to quiet the audience, > not boastfully, but in a quiet reverent tone: > ."YOU KNOW, SOMETIMES IT IS THE ARTIST’S TASK TO FIND OUT HOW MUCH MUSIC YOU > CAN STILL MAKE WITH WHAT YOU HAVE LEFT." > What a poverful line that is. And who knows? Perhaps that is the way of life – > not just for an artist but for all of us. Here is a man who has prepared all > his life to make music on a violin with four strings, who all of a sudden, in > the middle of a concert, finds himself with only three strings and the music he > made that night with just three strings was more beautiful, more sacred, more > memorable, than any that had ever made before, when he had four strings. > So perhaps our task in this shaky, fast-changing, bewildering world in which we > live, is to make music, at first with all that we have, and then when that is > no longer possible, to make music with what we have left.
Response:
Hi Lotte, >Dear Anneks, >thank you so much for sharing this, and I’m sorry I didn’t respond before. I >lurk here, and only occasionaly pop in to see how things are going with >everyone.
Thanks. Glad to hear your "voice". >I have PTSD, and have been greatly helped by Zoloft. >Even more, and more fundamentally by psychotherapy.
Sorry about the PTSD, Lotte. Yes, like you I’m a great believer in therapy and meds. >I used to be a blues/rock singer for 10 years, writing lyrics and music, and >now I am a painter and a graphic artist. I still write for other musicians.
That’s great, Lotte. I also do visual arts (calligraphy mostly and illuminated manuscripts) and write as well as play. Started touring at 9 as a dancer, and then as a musician I began touring at 15, with chunks of time off for recovery work and damage control(!). Did session work for years in NYC and LA, still am a union musician in NYC as I am there a lot each year. >This is all to say that in my experience as an artist of any kind, be it >music, words, colours or shapes, whatever you feel will be expressed in your >art. And if you’re afraid, that will also demand to be expressed. >Your injury will force you to discover other means of expression: You’re not >dependant, as an artist, of the one. This is what we are all about: We find >ways around problems. That’s how we’re creative. >Don’t be afraid. Please remember that the music is still in you, even if you >can’t use your body as you could before.
Thanks, Lotte. The physical wounds from the original trauma took years to overcome and the recent severing of an artery and ligament in my left hand have left me with some arthritis which flares up occasionally, but I can still play. Just not as fast as I’d like sometimes. – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text ->Even if your flute is your home, and you feel it’s part of you: All that >music is a quality that you can transform into other crafts. You can even >translate it into colours, or words. >There may be other sides of you that demand your attention. This could be a >time for you to develop them. >I think the loss of your freedom to express your feelings in your instrument >is as traumatic to you, as the original trauma was.You’ve not only lost >mobility: You’ve lost, or you think you’ve lost your identity. >I’m just guessing. >But the question: "Who am I without my instrument?" >is fundamental to any artist. If I, as a painter, couldn’t use my eyes? If a >musician couldn’t use the ears? If any craftsman lost the use of their >hands?
Good point, Lotte. >Don’t forget: People play and paint with their feet. >If we lose eyesight or hearing, we can dictate poetry. >It’s not as fun…but we don’t cease to exist, and our right to exist >doesn’t go away. >Most people are envious of the creativity we have anyway… sometimes to the >point of hatred.
Interesting points, Lotte. I find the work I do with kids (especially the ones labeled as "at risk") keeps me grounded and strong. It’s rare when someone gets to me with caustic comments. I try to picture a duck’s back and just let them slide off…. What can slow me down big time is the PTSD. I’m anxious about dealing with some really hard core memories now and am gearing up for some more EMDR work. I am so grateful for this even though I also dread it. >I wish you luck, strength and humour, Anneks.
Thanks, Lotte. Reading about Kat’s dog made me realise how much I’ve missed not living with animals and how funny as well as loving they can be. I even thought I’d look into getting a pet (after all, I’m in the Heartland most of the time now, not a NYC highrise). That should hopefully keep me humble and busy! >If my ideas are any good to you, they’ll mean hard work: I wish you lots and >lots of energy to deal with it.
That’s very generous and kind of you, Lotte. I am working out at the gym almost every day building up strength and endurance for the gigs ahead along with all the practicing and musical analysis. The workouts also help keep the dark shadows at bay… >Hugs, Lotte
And hugs to you, too, Lotte. Thanks. Take care, Anne – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text –
Response:
>Subject: Re: how much music we can still make >From: "tiny dancer" tinydancer…@nospamhotmail.com >Date: 10/22/2002 11:58 PM Central Daylight Time >Message-id: <t%pt9.16706$ku2.659…@twister.southeast.rr.com>
Hi Tiny, Your words touch me and help me so much. You and I have experienced many of the same things, have gone through some of the exact same things at the core of the trauma, heard the same things, had the same aching teeth…You have helped me a lot. The truth is I don’t feel very courageous. I find a lot of courage here in this newsgroup. >Although I’ve never seen Perlman in person, I have been fortunate enough to >see him on TV. He plays beautifully…….another of my favorites is >Horowitz. It was through his piano I developed a love for classical music, >the Romantic period especially. I find it to be so soothing and peaceful.
Yes, I know what you mean…I saw Horowitz in his last NY concert and was totally on the edge of my seat…those pure simple lines conveying a universe. >I find most people to only know the Freddie Mercury of Queen, but I like his >solo music the best…..I am a Queen fan, but most of my favorites are the >ones Freddie wrote………and through his CD Barcelona I was also >introduced to Opera. I don’t know if you’re familiar with it, but there is >a piece on there called "Guide Me Home" that I find particularly >inspiring………soothing.
I need to check this out — thanks for the recommendation. >Yes, it’s a shame we lost so very many young and talented people to AIDS. I >have a favorite author, Paul Monette, who died in 1995…….and it always >saddens me to know there will be no more books of his to read, no more of >his characters to ‘become friends with’ through the pages of a new book.
It’s weird…I’ve read Paul Monette’s work too. Very gifted guy to come out of Yale…I understand that he was a very interesting person as well as a gifted author. My favorite teacher was only 52 when he died of AIDS. I am grateful that I spent the whole day with him the day before he died. His memorial at Riverside Church in NYC was really sad. He was too young to die, had too much still to share and teach the world. He left me his library when he died and I keep finding little notes in his books and music so in a way it’s as if he is still here, still with me… Thanks for your gentle words tonight, Tiny… Gentle hugs to you from Anne on the prairie, playing the flute at 1am because I’m afraid to go to sleep…(last night’s nightmares were a little too intense)
Response:
>Subject: Re: how much music we can still make >From: "tiny dancer" tinydancer…@nospamhotmail.com >Date: 10/22/2002 11:38 AM Central Daylight Time >Message-id: <3aft9.8978$hp5.781…@twister.southeast.rr.com> >Thank you Anneks……..as I was reading through I was reminded of Freddie >Mercury……….I’m a huge fan of music of all types, but Freddie is/was >one of my favorites……and I was reminded of his recordings in the last >year of his life….. >td
Hi Tiny, Thank you for sharing that. Freddie Mercury was an extremely passionate performer and greatly missed still by so many people. Sadly, I lost too many good friends, one mentor, and my favorite teacher to AIDS. I am grateful that their music lives on as well. Take care, Anne
Response:
Thank you for sharing this with us. I do feel that, if you like, you’ll be performing as well as ever, if not even better than before. People that play music have a unique gift, and as such inject a lot of personal feelings into their music. I played for years, but gave it up years ago. I’ve only recently started playing again, and it does give me pause to think of what I ‘could’ have become, if only I’d listened to Mom. haha If your music is important to you, you will find a way to express yourself in your music. It may not be the same as before, as it will certainly be different. However, your music will still be YOU. That is something that no one will ever take away. That is the true beauty of a musician. I wish you well, and thank you again, J. David flmf…@tampabay.rr.com "Anneks89 > Hi Everyone, > I’ve been trying to reconcile myself to the better, more demanding concert > bookings I have for one year from now, afraid that I will never be able to play > again the way I did in my pre-trauma days. Everything I’ve learned in program > and in therapy teaches me to take it one day at a time, but I am freaked
out.
Response:
>Subject: Re: how much music we can still make >From: "J David Phillips" flmf…@tampabay.rr.com >Date: 10/22/2002 5:00 PM Central Daylight Time >Message-id: <YTjt9.145960$S8.2611…@twister.tampabay.rr.com>
Hi J David, >If your music is important to you, you will find a way to express >yourself in your music. It may not be the same as before, as it will >certainly be different. However, your music will still be YOU. That is >something that no one will ever take away. That is the true beauty of a >musician. I wish you well, and thank you again, >J. David >flmf…@tampabay.rr.com
Thank you for your encouragement. I appreciate this very much. Maybe you can relate to the total lack of fear I used to experience pre-trauma, even with a history of early childhood abuse. I felt free as a bird when I played and would enter other worlds in my music. I could practice for hours and hours and not even know that time had passed. Every audition and competition went well. I just could handle all the stress and hard work. Somehow, when the PTSD symptoms kicked in big time, I was afraid to enter those "other worlds" I’d been in for years. I really felt that I would go over the edge and might not ever make it back; I thought I’d go totally insane. Since I’ve been so close to the edge, I still partly believe this will happen. I haven’t stopped working in all these years (except when I was too sick) and always kept on playing. I played more in hopspitals and hospices and did more teaching. Also took more commercial work to escape the pressure of competing at the higher levels of my field. Practicing is often painful. Sometimes I start to cry in the middle of it and just can’t continue. Five years ago I had an experienece when I did a concert in a foreign country where I felt free as a bird again. I got really shook up when it was over. I don’t think it’s an accident that when I got back to the states, I accidentally severed an artery and a ligament in my left hand which sidelined me for a long time. I didn’t have to face what had happened in my playing at that concert because I didn’t have to play! Now I’m playing again. Not practicing the five hours a day I used to do. A good day for me is two hours. I can rehearse for hours with others but alone with my instument I’m alone with my memories and my pain. In time I hope this gets better. (I’ve been told that music can be healing even for the player… ) For now I am grateful to be alive and to be able to finally begin to let go of some of the fears, particle by particle… Thanks again, J David. Take care, Anne
Response:
Dear Anneks, thank you so much for sharing this, and I’m sorry I didn’t respond before. I lurk here, and only occasionaly pop in to see how things are going with everyone. I understand that at the level you’re on, I haven’t much to teach you about music. All I can do is share my experience. I have PTSD, and have been greatly helped by Zoloft. Even more, and more fundamentally by psychotherapy. I used to be a blues/rock singer for 10 years, writing lyrics and music, and now I am a painter and a graphic artist. I still write for other musicians. This is all to say that in my experience as an artist of any kind, be it music, words, colours or shapes, whatever you feel will be expressed in your art. And if you’re afraid, that will also demand to be expressed. Your injury will force you to discover other means of expression: You’re not dependant, as an artist, of the one. This is what we are all about: We find ways around problems. That’s how we’re creative. Don’t be afraid. Please remember that the music is still in you, even if you can’t use your body as you could before. Even if your flute is your home, and you feel it’s part of you: All that music is a quality that you can transform into other crafts. You can even translate it into colours, or words. There may be other sides of you that demand your attention. This could be a time for you to develop them. I think the loss of your freedom to express your feelings in your instrument is as traumatic to you, as the original trauma was.You’ve not only lost mobility: You’ve lost, or you think you’ve lost your identity. I’m just guessing. But the question: "Who am I without my instrument?" is fundamental to any artist. If I, as a painter, couldn’t use my eyes? If a musician couldn’t use the ears? If any craftsman lost the use of their hands? Don’t forget: People play and paint with their feet. If we lose eyesight or hearing, we can dictate poetry. It’s not as fun…but we don’t cease to exist, and our right to exist doesn’t go away. Most people are envious of the creativity we have anyway… sometimes to the point of hatred. I wish you luck, strength and humour, Anneks. If my ideas are any good to you, they’ll mean hard work: I wish you lots and lots of energy to deal with it. You already have more than most people have yet to find: You’ve found expression. Now, you need another channel. I believe you’ll find it. Hugs, Lotte
Response:
"Anneks89" <annek…@aol.com> wrote in message
news:20021022161702.24347.00003960@mb-cl.aol.com… – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text -> >Subject: Re: how much music we can still make > >From: "tiny dancer" tinydancer…@nospamhotmail.com > >Date: 10/22/2002 11:38 AM Central Daylight Time > >Message-id: <3aft9.8978$hp5.781…@twister.southeast.rr.com> > >Thank you Anneks……..as I was reading through I was reminded of Freddie > >Mercury……….I’m a huge fan of music of all types, but Freddie is/was > >one of my favorites……and I was reminded of his recordings in the last > >year of his life….. > >td > Hi Tiny, > Thank you for sharing that. Freddie Mercury was an extremely passionate > performer and greatly missed still by so many people. > Sadly, I lost too many good friends, one mentor, and my favorite teacher to > AIDS. > I am grateful that their music lives on as well. > Take care, > Anne
I too am grateful……….but also sad that there will be no more. I wish I could hear you play…….if you’ve said, I’ve forgotten what it is that you play? You must have a lot of inner strength to perform on stage……..I know I’m not saying this right, right now. My mind isn’t thinking too well…….but I mean that as a compliment to you. You must possess a great amount of courage. It’s all still there inside you……it’s just that sometimes you probably can’t feel it as well as other times…….but it’s still there inside you just the same. I’m sure I speak for everyone here when I say we all admire that and when you do perform we’ll all be sending you positive thoughts and all our combined strength. Although I’ve never seen Perlman in person, I have been fortunate enough to see him on TV. He plays beautifully…….another of my favorites is Horowitz. It was through his piano I developed a love for classical music, the Romantic period especially. I find it to be so soothing and peaceful. I find most people to only know the Freddie Mercury of Queen, but I like his solo music the best…..I am a Queen fan, but most of my favorites are the ones Freddie wrote………and through his CD Barcelona I was also
introduced to Opera. I don’t know if you’re familiar with it, but there is a piece on there called "Guide Me Home" that I find particularly inspiring………soothing. Yes, it’s a shame we lost so very many young and talented people to AIDS. I have a favorite author, Paul Monette, who died in 1995…….and it always saddens me to know there will be no more books of his to read, no more of his characters to ‘become friends with’ through the pages of a new book. td – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text –
If you like this post and would like to receive updates from this blog, please subscribe our feed.