Day 154
Covocation is tomorrow morning. It's been a long haul, but finally I can frame and hang that 8 1/2 by 11 inch sheet of quality paper saying that I am, certifiably, at least somewhat smart.
The degree, offcially, is in Philosophy (Hon.), with an interdisciplinary minor in Applied Ethics... snazzy stuff!
Anyway, it did take four years, and it really wasn't the easiest program to go through, so I think the two sentences of horn tooting were earned.
It's hard not to look at great accomplishments, whether they be sport, musical, artistic, academic, architectural, or anything else, and not be terribly intimidated. It's funny sometimes, I see pianists playing difficult music and I'm genuinely intimidated and wowed by watching and listening, in spite of being able to learn and play the same music myself should I so choose. But do not forget, great accomplishments take equally great periods of time. A good pianist becomes that way not by raw talent but by many thousands of hours of hard work, dedication, and most of all patience. The stunning passage you hear performed began in the performer's studio at an infantile pace with wrong notes everywhere; it developed over literally hundreds of repititions of every note and phrase. You can listen confident that the performer lost many hairs and worked his or her temper to a rage many times before the piece was ready to play for others.
And this is an analogue to many other things. You can't expect to write a novel, or play a concerto, or paint something brilliant, without putting in a great deal of serious work.
But, of course, there is a dangerous double edge to this sword. I see many young children pushed to extremes by family to be the best at something... such that they win and win and gain glory until the moment they move out of the house and throw it all away. Most of the young so-called piano "prodigies" are products of extremely pushy parents and absolutely no social life to speak of. I know a few people my age who used to be those kids, until they gave up the instrument the moment they were old enough to choose for themselves. It was never anything more than memorizing muscle movement patterns to them... there was never a chance for it to be more.
And that is the trick: there's not much point in dedicating oneself to a practice or art unless one enjoys it very much, and for the right reasons. Aristotle's perscription for balance in life's activities is always nudging my shoulder.
I think the opposite of hard work to acheive an artistic or intellectual goal, in a sense, is the drug. The drug is a dead-easy hit; it is cheap and, at least temporarily satisfying, input. It gives you something whilst you need do no work to get it. And by that token I tend to feel nothing but contempt toward those people who swear by drugs as a useful ticket in any way.
The degree, offcially, is in Philosophy (Hon.), with an interdisciplinary minor in Applied Ethics... snazzy stuff!
Anyway, it did take four years, and it really wasn't the easiest program to go through, so I think the two sentences of horn tooting were earned.
It's hard not to look at great accomplishments, whether they be sport, musical, artistic, academic, architectural, or anything else, and not be terribly intimidated. It's funny sometimes, I see pianists playing difficult music and I'm genuinely intimidated and wowed by watching and listening, in spite of being able to learn and play the same music myself should I so choose. But do not forget, great accomplishments take equally great periods of time. A good pianist becomes that way not by raw talent but by many thousands of hours of hard work, dedication, and most of all patience. The stunning passage you hear performed began in the performer's studio at an infantile pace with wrong notes everywhere; it developed over literally hundreds of repititions of every note and phrase. You can listen confident that the performer lost many hairs and worked his or her temper to a rage many times before the piece was ready to play for others.
And this is an analogue to many other things. You can't expect to write a novel, or play a concerto, or paint something brilliant, without putting in a great deal of serious work.
But, of course, there is a dangerous double edge to this sword. I see many young children pushed to extremes by family to be the best at something... such that they win and win and gain glory until the moment they move out of the house and throw it all away. Most of the young so-called piano "prodigies" are products of extremely pushy parents and absolutely no social life to speak of. I know a few people my age who used to be those kids, until they gave up the instrument the moment they were old enough to choose for themselves. It was never anything more than memorizing muscle movement patterns to them... there was never a chance for it to be more.
And that is the trick: there's not much point in dedicating oneself to a practice or art unless one enjoys it very much, and for the right reasons. Aristotle's perscription for balance in life's activities is always nudging my shoulder.
I think the opposite of hard work to acheive an artistic or intellectual goal, in a sense, is the drug. The drug is a dead-easy hit; it is cheap and, at least temporarily satisfying, input. It gives you something whilst you need do no work to get it. And by that token I tend to feel nothing but contempt toward those people who swear by drugs as a useful ticket in any way.
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