Its' been a little over two years since Mom and Dad passed away. I haven't touched the piano in the interim, though I've continued to teach. I gave a presentation on teaching approaches from a sideways angle last year at the CSMTA 2019 State Conference ("When Sideways is Forwards"). That seems such a long time ago. I got really positive feedback and a couple of invitations to present to area teachers groups ...
... and then the coronavirus showed up.
The whole virus lock down threw everyone into the Twilight Zone, shut down my studio like most teachers, and gave me a whole lot of time on my hands. So I started practicing again. Since I hadn't played in so long I didn't have anything readily by memory to fall back on, so I pulled out some favorite pieces I haven't played in years, thinking they would at least look and feel familiar.
I realized as I started slogging through pieces I've played several times over my career, that I hoped the two-year hiatus would have "cured" my reading (i.e., dyslexic) issues. After all, I had played these pieces, so visual and tactile patterns should be familiar....right?
Memorization clicked in a whole lot faster than I thought it would. So did my technique. As for my score reading...well, it sucked.
Then a long-time friend and colleague contacted me about putting together a two-piano program, and internally I freaked out because I thought no way could I play a program with music. But I'm so sick and tired of what I can't do that I decided poor reading or not, I wanted to jump on the opportunity.
So during the lock down I've been slogging through familiar and unfamiliar music. Familiar music is well on the way to being re-memorized, and technique isn't too shabby. After about a month into trying to learn the two-piano material, I realized there was no way I'd be able to play this stuff unless most of it was memorized. So while I've got the music in front of my face and I'm trying to follow it as much as possible, I have to accept the fact that I can't read as fast as I can play, and that I really do play better when I don't have to rely on the score.
It's still very much a work in progress, and I'm still in the bad days and not-as-bad days, but I really do want to do this program, and I really do want to be able to read it as I'm playing... at least mostly.
But realistically, my best performing occurs when I've got most of the program memorized. And I admit that I'm bummed about that.
Dyslexia sucks sometimes.
Sunday, August 2, 2020
Wednesday, June 12, 2019
Belated Blogger
It's been six months since my last post. I really meant to post at least monthly, but obviously that didn't happen. I could come up with a whole slew of reasons/excuses, but the honest truth is I haven't wanted to talk about dyslexia lately. I've been trying to learn new repertoire. And I've struggled with reading the damned things. Again. Same old struggle. And it's been getting to me. I'm considered a "senior" now, and so fears of diminishing mental capacity lurk among my daily thoughts. Add dyslexic struggles, and I've been, well, not wanting to face how dyslexia might affect "Senioritis".
Of course my mental muscles still work. In fact, they are working just fine, especially after discovering recently that my lung function needed a little help with an inhaler. (It's amazing how much more alert one feels with proper oxygen saturation). And I've lived with dyslexia my entire life so I should be comfortable with the struggles I face whenever I'm trying to learn a new piece.
I've just gotten really tired of the struggle lately. My husband keeps telling me to write a book on dyslexia as a musician. I've got all the notes written down. Friends and colleagues urge me to get it done. I've thought about working up a l-o-n-g overdue solo recital program to prove to myself (yet again) that I really can play, it's just the reading part that's annoying.
The struggle never changes. It never gets easier. And after years and years (and YEARS) of never winning the same fight over and over, the last six months have seen me seriously reflecting on whether to ... well, to be blunt about it ... to quit.
I hate that word. I heard it all through my formative years when I wanted to be a pianist. "You can't read well enough to pursue music. You need to quit and do something else."
And my instinctive reaction was always, "Hell, no! I'm not quitting!"
That reaction is still inside, poking me in the chest with a proverbial finger whenever I feel like throwing in the musical towel. So, no. I'm not going to quit. And, no, I don't really want a kick in the butt to get me going again, either.
There are tons of sayings about these kinds of trials. "Ride out the storm." "Keep putting one foot in front of the other." "You need a storm in order to get a rainbow."
My personal favorite is attributed to Winston Churchill: "When you're going through hell ... keep going."
Hell comes in many forms, all intensely personal, all legitimate issues. Hopefully, all at some time will get better.
So, I will keep going. Maybe not very fast, but still in a forward direction ... to the piano. After all, it represents an intimate part of my identity, of who I am. Struggles included.
Of course my mental muscles still work. In fact, they are working just fine, especially after discovering recently that my lung function needed a little help with an inhaler. (It's amazing how much more alert one feels with proper oxygen saturation). And I've lived with dyslexia my entire life so I should be comfortable with the struggles I face whenever I'm trying to learn a new piece.
I've just gotten really tired of the struggle lately. My husband keeps telling me to write a book on dyslexia as a musician. I've got all the notes written down. Friends and colleagues urge me to get it done. I've thought about working up a l-o-n-g overdue solo recital program to prove to myself (yet again) that I really can play, it's just the reading part that's annoying.
The struggle never changes. It never gets easier. And after years and years (and YEARS) of never winning the same fight over and over, the last six months have seen me seriously reflecting on whether to ... well, to be blunt about it ... to quit.
I hate that word. I heard it all through my formative years when I wanted to be a pianist. "You can't read well enough to pursue music. You need to quit and do something else."
And my instinctive reaction was always, "Hell, no! I'm not quitting!"
That reaction is still inside, poking me in the chest with a proverbial finger whenever I feel like throwing in the musical towel. So, no. I'm not going to quit. And, no, I don't really want a kick in the butt to get me going again, either.
There are tons of sayings about these kinds of trials. "Ride out the storm." "Keep putting one foot in front of the other." "You need a storm in order to get a rainbow."
My personal favorite is attributed to Winston Churchill: "When you're going through hell ... keep going."
Hell comes in many forms, all intensely personal, all legitimate issues. Hopefully, all at some time will get better.
So, I will keep going. Maybe not very fast, but still in a forward direction ... to the piano. After all, it represents an intimate part of my identity, of who I am. Struggles included.
Saturday, January 5, 2019
New Computer, Old Dyslexic
I replaced my 7-year old computer over the holidays and have realized ... again ... what a pain it is to be dyslexic. New technology not withstanding, simple commands leave me brainless, new platforms leave me dangling, and re-designed work stations leave me feeling just plain dumb. I even debated on using my old computer, except that it is definitely demonstrating final seizures consistent with computer death. This whole experience reinforces the reasons why I resist learning anything new, since it takes me so long, and through so many dead-ends, to comprehend changes.
So, I'm blaming it on dyslexia.
Because my other option would be to admit that I'm getting too danged old to cope with anything new.
So, I'm blaming it on dyslexia.
Because my other option would be to admit that I'm getting too danged old to cope with anything new.
Wednesday, October 31, 2018
When Sideways Is Forward
Confession time again. I grew up with The Arts Publication Series method, published through the St. Louis Conservatory (which also reveals that I am as old as dirt). That series focused on rapid progression of technique and keyboard movement, much like the original Thompson series. So my teaching over the last thirty-odd years has mirrored that mentality.
Our society loves fast progress. We are wowed by toddlers who blaze through Bach; cell phones that have everything in them, when a mere generation ago we were tied to corded phones; computers that fit into our hands instead of requiring entire rooms. We love speed. We love progress. Admit it. We as teachers love students who progress fast.
In my presentations on dyslexia, one of the symptoms I make a big deal of is the fact that while a beginner student learns at a fairly normal rate in the Primer and Level One books, their progress comes to a standstill by Level Two. After all the preaching I've done about this classic symptom, I missed it in two of my students who have struggled with reading/concentration. When I finally clued in, I made the difficult choice of moving sideways instead of trying to progress. So I started researching the same level in several different method books. Guess what I found?
There is no such thing as Level Two. Or Level One. Or any level, for that matter.
The original Bastien method series expects smooth transition over the keyboard and a knowledge of key signatures in level one. The Glover method series introduces beginning analysis in level two, while Faber utilizes Middle-C position in their level two. The original Thompson level one practically has the beginning student playing Bach fugues (yes, I'm exaggerating. A bit.)
In recognizing the wildly different levels in "Level Two", I realized that by going sideways and exploring different methods at the same level, I would still make progress with students with reading issues. More importantly, we both would avoid frustration to the point of quitting. Which makes all these choices of method books, which I have snubbed for thirty-odd years, suddenly a cornucopia of invaluable resources.
So now, one of my students is playing arrangements of early songs by Bastien, Glover, and Faber. This student's reading is improving, their frustration level has dropped, and they are moving around the piano outside of hand positions.
And I am realizing that moving sideways (exploring the same level in different method books) is an excellent way of moving forward.
Our society loves fast progress. We are wowed by toddlers who blaze through Bach; cell phones that have everything in them, when a mere generation ago we were tied to corded phones; computers that fit into our hands instead of requiring entire rooms. We love speed. We love progress. Admit it. We as teachers love students who progress fast.
In my presentations on dyslexia, one of the symptoms I make a big deal of is the fact that while a beginner student learns at a fairly normal rate in the Primer and Level One books, their progress comes to a standstill by Level Two. After all the preaching I've done about this classic symptom, I missed it in two of my students who have struggled with reading/concentration. When I finally clued in, I made the difficult choice of moving sideways instead of trying to progress. So I started researching the same level in several different method books. Guess what I found?
There is no such thing as Level Two. Or Level One. Or any level, for that matter.
The original Bastien method series expects smooth transition over the keyboard and a knowledge of key signatures in level one. The Glover method series introduces beginning analysis in level two, while Faber utilizes Middle-C position in their level two. The original Thompson level one practically has the beginning student playing Bach fugues (yes, I'm exaggerating. A bit.)
In recognizing the wildly different levels in "Level Two", I realized that by going sideways and exploring different methods at the same level, I would still make progress with students with reading issues. More importantly, we both would avoid frustration to the point of quitting. Which makes all these choices of method books, which I have snubbed for thirty-odd years, suddenly a cornucopia of invaluable resources.
So now, one of my students is playing arrangements of early songs by Bastien, Glover, and Faber. This student's reading is improving, their frustration level has dropped, and they are moving around the piano outside of hand positions.
And I am realizing that moving sideways (exploring the same level in different method books) is an excellent way of moving forward.
Tuesday, July 31, 2018
" THE LOOK"
THE LOOK.
As teachers, we've all seen it in our students. As performers, we've all experienced it as players. There are multitudes of musicians on this earth who have seen and experienced THE LOOK.
It's the most daunting moment in a lesson, one of the most terrifying moments while playing. It represents failure. I don't know about you, but I would rather face down a herd of elephants than admit I have failed either as a teacher or a performer.
Okay, maybe not a herd of elephants. But when I experience THE LOOK my first thought is disbelief.
I admit, my second thought is flight.
THE LOOK. That moment in the lesson when the student turns to you with a blank expression, telling you in cacaphonic silence that he/she does not comprehend the teaching point you have been trying to convey despite countless attempts and approaches on your part. Whether it's a rhythmic issue, an interpretational issue, a technical issue, a note recognition issue, or a combination of the aforementioned, THE LOOK represents that moment when you realize none of what you've been working on has actually worked.
I don't think I need to explain the equivalent feeling as a player when we experience THE LOOK ourselves. Maybe the herd of elephants wasn't an over-exaggeration after all.
It is at this point in my teaching and my playing that I must come to terms with my limitations as an instructor and a performer. It is not a comfortable feeling, to say the least. It is also the point when I must consider compromises in both venues. Do I keep searching for another approach to the concept the student is not understanding? Do I continue to pursue the repertoire I have chosen to perform despite my inadequacy?
And then comes the decision whether to be conservative (i.e., drop the concept and give the student an easier piece), or to stare down the sheer cliff and jump headlong (no, the student is not getting the concept, but he/she has shown improvement in other areas. I will perform anyway and strive for excellence rather than perfection).
The next time a student gives you THE LOOK, consider putting a concept (or a repertoire piece) on a shelf strategic re-direction. Through my experience as a teacher and a performer I've learned that while some concepts may appear currently illusive, brains are amazing puzzle solvers.
Sometimes those gray cells just need a little more time.
As teachers, we've all seen it in our students. As performers, we've all experienced it as players. There are multitudes of musicians on this earth who have seen and experienced THE LOOK.
It's the most daunting moment in a lesson, one of the most terrifying moments while playing. It represents failure. I don't know about you, but I would rather face down a herd of elephants than admit I have failed either as a teacher or a performer.
Okay, maybe not a herd of elephants. But when I experience THE LOOK my first thought is disbelief.
I admit, my second thought is flight.
THE LOOK. That moment in the lesson when the student turns to you with a blank expression, telling you in cacaphonic silence that he/she does not comprehend the teaching point you have been trying to convey despite countless attempts and approaches on your part. Whether it's a rhythmic issue, an interpretational issue, a technical issue, a note recognition issue, or a combination of the aforementioned, THE LOOK represents that moment when you realize none of what you've been working on has actually worked.
I don't think I need to explain the equivalent feeling as a player when we experience THE LOOK ourselves. Maybe the herd of elephants wasn't an over-exaggeration after all.
It is at this point in my teaching and my playing that I must come to terms with my limitations as an instructor and a performer. It is not a comfortable feeling, to say the least. It is also the point when I must consider compromises in both venues. Do I keep searching for another approach to the concept the student is not understanding? Do I continue to pursue the repertoire I have chosen to perform despite my inadequacy?
And then comes the decision whether to be conservative (i.e., drop the concept and give the student an easier piece), or to stare down the sheer cliff and jump headlong (no, the student is not getting the concept, but he/she has shown improvement in other areas. I will perform anyway and strive for excellence rather than perfection).
The next time a student gives you THE LOOK, consider putting a concept (or a repertoire piece) on a shelf strategic re-direction. Through my experience as a teacher and a performer I've learned that while some concepts may appear currently illusive, brains are amazing puzzle solvers.
Sometimes those gray cells just need a little more time.
Saturday, May 19, 2018
Untitled, Undirected
I went through all kinds of ideas for a title for this blog, when my main motivation for writing it is simply because it's been three months since I wrote the last one.
Left versus Right on the piano. All of us refer to the travel of the sound. I.E., we say "up" when speaking about going to the right, and "down" when referring to going left. It seems to me this is an excellent example that our brains prefer the input of our ears versus the input of our eyeballs. It's always easier for me to read something I have already heard. Non-keyboard instruments don't have this dicotomy of direction except for larger stringed instruments. Cello and bass players's fingers travel up and down the finger board in opposition to the direction of the sound they achieve. Brass and wind players tighten muscles if they need higher pitches, which makes total sense.
So keyboard players must go left or right to achieve down or up, while cello and bass fingers must go up in order to go down.
Music greatly benefits brain development, coordination, and self-discipline. It also creates a unique oxymoronic environment; that is, while music is soothing and relaxing to the listener, the performer will tell you the exact opposite.
Pianists who read well envy those who memorize well. Pianists who memorize easily envy those who read well. Rarely the two talents coalesce, creating icons such as a Rubenstein or a Horowitz.
So why play? Why practice? Why perform? The cliched answer is for the love of the music. The educated answer is to share knowledge. The entertaining answer is to share joy.
In my case, the reason I continue to pursue such an erratic, paradoxical, paramountingly difficult career is because God gave me the gift and refuses to let me duck out of it.
Left versus Right on the piano. All of us refer to the travel of the sound. I.E., we say "up" when speaking about going to the right, and "down" when referring to going left. It seems to me this is an excellent example that our brains prefer the input of our ears versus the input of our eyeballs. It's always easier for me to read something I have already heard. Non-keyboard instruments don't have this dicotomy of direction except for larger stringed instruments. Cello and bass players's fingers travel up and down the finger board in opposition to the direction of the sound they achieve. Brass and wind players tighten muscles if they need higher pitches, which makes total sense.
So keyboard players must go left or right to achieve down or up, while cello and bass fingers must go up in order to go down.
Music greatly benefits brain development, coordination, and self-discipline. It also creates a unique oxymoronic environment; that is, while music is soothing and relaxing to the listener, the performer will tell you the exact opposite.
Pianists who read well envy those who memorize well. Pianists who memorize easily envy those who read well. Rarely the two talents coalesce, creating icons such as a Rubenstein or a Horowitz.
So why play? Why practice? Why perform? The cliched answer is for the love of the music. The educated answer is to share knowledge. The entertaining answer is to share joy.
In my case, the reason I continue to pursue such an erratic, paradoxical, paramountingly difficult career is because God gave me the gift and refuses to let me duck out of it.
Tuesday, February 20, 2018
Proficiency vs Professionalism
Okay, confession time. I have a humongous hole where my ego is supposed to be. Maybe its because I'm a perfectionist, maybe it's human nature, maybe it's my personality quirk.
Maybe it's a side effect of being dyslexic.
Whatever it is, it constantly whispers snide remarks in my ear when I'm teaching, practicing, and performing.
This student will never meet proficiency standards set by professional pedagogs!
"In the dyslexic world, proficiency standards need to be re-invented", I argue back. No, I do not teach according to what music professionals recommend in magazines, at conferences, in classrooms. I teach according to how I think I can best allow a student to see and feel they are genuinely progressing without dumbing down the learning rate to the speed of a snail. I do not harp endlessly on a pedagogy concept the student is not currently grasping. I continue to review over new material assigned. In most cases, the concept improves. In some cases, it does not.
This student would never be successful in competition!
"Good," I aruge back, "because I'm not teaching my students in order to stick them into festivals and competitions." My goal in teaching is to develop in each student a love of music. And a love of piano. Okay, at least a "like" of piano. And especially for dyslexic students, I teach to develop needed coordination and brain pathways that will help them in their general learning and education.
You can't read like a professional! You shouldn't be in the profession!
That's the kicker. I have no answer for that one. And that's when I start falling into the all-too-familiar hole.
Maybe you're not actually dyslexic. Maybe you're just stupid.
After all, I've never been diagnosed. I read words okay, although my comprehension sucks so I re-read everything I read. I'm getting older, so of course my brain is getting slower, like every other body part. I've given presentations on dyslexia at national conferences, but haven't kept the ball rolling because honestly I really hate admitting to a bunch of music professionals that I can't read worth a damn.
Which is also why I haven't written a book on it yet. I also have ideas for a radically different teaching approach, one that doesn't wait until book six to introduce eighth-notes. Admittedly, I might be exaggerating on the delay of introducing frickin' eighth-notes. But anymore method books seem to whig out on everything that's supposed to be natual when playing piano. Like shifting registers, learning new rhythm patterns, improving hand coordination. And these same method book pedagogy professionals have yet to get it right when explaining ternary form and how to count measures!
I have all the notes and blogs to write a book. There's all kinds of active research on dyslexia and learning issues, and it's a hot topic. So I should jump on the bandwagon and get going.
Except for the humongous hole where my ego should be. It boils down to proficiency versus professionalism and all the ensuing unspoken ages-old expectations.
Maybe it's a side effect of being dyslexic.
Whatever it is, it constantly whispers snide remarks in my ear when I'm teaching, practicing, and performing.
This student will never meet proficiency standards set by professional pedagogs!
"In the dyslexic world, proficiency standards need to be re-invented", I argue back. No, I do not teach according to what music professionals recommend in magazines, at conferences, in classrooms. I teach according to how I think I can best allow a student to see and feel they are genuinely progressing without dumbing down the learning rate to the speed of a snail. I do not harp endlessly on a pedagogy concept the student is not currently grasping. I continue to review over new material assigned. In most cases, the concept improves. In some cases, it does not.
This student would never be successful in competition!
"Good," I aruge back, "because I'm not teaching my students in order to stick them into festivals and competitions." My goal in teaching is to develop in each student a love of music. And a love of piano. Okay, at least a "like" of piano. And especially for dyslexic students, I teach to develop needed coordination and brain pathways that will help them in their general learning and education.
You can't read like a professional! You shouldn't be in the profession!
That's the kicker. I have no answer for that one. And that's when I start falling into the all-too-familiar hole.
Maybe you're not actually dyslexic. Maybe you're just stupid.
After all, I've never been diagnosed. I read words okay, although my comprehension sucks so I re-read everything I read. I'm getting older, so of course my brain is getting slower, like every other body part. I've given presentations on dyslexia at national conferences, but haven't kept the ball rolling because honestly I really hate admitting to a bunch of music professionals that I can't read worth a damn.
Which is also why I haven't written a book on it yet. I also have ideas for a radically different teaching approach, one that doesn't wait until book six to introduce eighth-notes. Admittedly, I might be exaggerating on the delay of introducing frickin' eighth-notes. But anymore method books seem to whig out on everything that's supposed to be natual when playing piano. Like shifting registers, learning new rhythm patterns, improving hand coordination. And these same method book pedagogy professionals have yet to get it right when explaining ternary form and how to count measures!
I have all the notes and blogs to write a book. There's all kinds of active research on dyslexia and learning issues, and it's a hot topic. So I should jump on the bandwagon and get going.
Except for the humongous hole where my ego should be. It boils down to proficiency versus professionalism and all the ensuing unspoken ages-old expectations.
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