Tuesday, March 22, 2005
My First (Unofficial) Cello Lesson
A little update on the cello aspect of my life :)
Yesterday afternoon, I headed to the Calusio Creativity Center for my meeting with their resident cello teacher, Lauren Reed. She was crazy, funky, cool - very artsy, spoke like a true college student (she's currently pursuing a degree in Fine Arts)... basically someone you wouldn't quite expect to be a cello teacher. She was also extremely young (about my age ;)). In my mind, you see, the archetypal cello teacher is a classy, elegant, and highly educated woman. While Lauren was just the total opposite of what I had in mind, she was extremely fun and easy to get along with:very natural, no pretentions... all you saw was how much she loved her art. She learned how to play the cello at the age of five, I think, so she's one of those people who have mastered their art through practice rather than theory, which is great, too! This Thursday, I get to meet with the other prospective teacher, Janelle Ragno, who fits exactly into the archetype I have in mind plus a lot of performance accomplishments. She seems nice, for sure, and I can't wait to meet her, too.
Yesterday's lesson wasn't exactly special only because I didn't expect to have a lesson at all, and the circumstances just seemed so... different from what I had pictured in my mind. Although, the first time I held the instrument, I felt a quiver go through my spine. I think I did pretty good... I made it to page 11 of the music sheet, which is apparently very rare on the first try ;)
And I'm glad I finally got to cut my nails, yesterday was trying only because it was difficult to press my fingers upon the strings as my nails got in the way. But this is all so exciting! I can't wait for Thursday, and then the Tuesday after for when musical theater starts for me. Plus, Amazon just shipped my order for the Flower Drum Song and Jesus Christ Superstar sheet music. Yay!
Back to work - have a pressie at 2pm ;)
Yesterday afternoon, I headed to the Calusio Creativity Center for my meeting with their resident cello teacher, Lauren Reed. She was crazy, funky, cool - very artsy, spoke like a true college student (she's currently pursuing a degree in Fine Arts)... basically someone you wouldn't quite expect to be a cello teacher. She was also extremely young (about my age ;)). In my mind, you see, the archetypal cello teacher is a classy, elegant, and highly educated woman. While Lauren was just the total opposite of what I had in mind, she was extremely fun and easy to get along with:very natural, no pretentions... all you saw was how much she loved her art. She learned how to play the cello at the age of five, I think, so she's one of those people who have mastered their art through practice rather than theory, which is great, too! This Thursday, I get to meet with the other prospective teacher, Janelle Ragno, who fits exactly into the archetype I have in mind plus a lot of performance accomplishments. She seems nice, for sure, and I can't wait to meet her, too.
Yesterday's lesson wasn't exactly special only because I didn't expect to have a lesson at all, and the circumstances just seemed so... different from what I had pictured in my mind. Although, the first time I held the instrument, I felt a quiver go through my spine. I think I did pretty good... I made it to page 11 of the music sheet, which is apparently very rare on the first try ;)
And I'm glad I finally got to cut my nails, yesterday was trying only because it was difficult to press my fingers upon the strings as my nails got in the way. But this is all so exciting! I can't wait for Thursday, and then the Tuesday after for when musical theater starts for me. Plus, Amazon just shipped my order for the Flower Drum Song and Jesus Christ Superstar sheet music. Yay!
Back to work - have a pressie at 2pm ;)
Thursday, March 17, 2005
You Are Beautiful (FDS, 2002)
I *couldn't* get this song out of my head. It's a beautiful duet from the Flower Drum Song 2002 Broadway revival, and I just have to share it with you:
Along the Hwang Ho Valley where young men walk and dream,
A flower boat with singing girls came drifting down the stream.
I saw the face of only one come drifting down the stream.
You are beautiful, small and shy.
You are the girl whose eyes met mine
Just as your boat sailed by.
This I know of you, nothing more,
You are the girl whose eyes met mine
Passing the river shore.
You are the girl whose laugh I heard,
Silver and soft and bright;
Soft as the fall of lotus leaves
Brushing the air of night.
While your flower boat sailed away,
Gently your eyes looked back on mine,
Clearly you heard me say,
'You are the girl I will love some day.'
Along the Hwang Ho Valley where young men walk and dream,
A flower boat with singing girls came drifting down the stream.
I saw the face of only one come drifting down the stream.
You are beautiful, small and shy.
You are the girl whose eyes met mine
Just as your boat sailed by.
This I know of you, nothing more,
You are the girl whose eyes met mine
Passing the river shore.
You are the girl whose laugh I heard,
Silver and soft and bright;
Soft as the fall of lotus leaves
Brushing the air of night.
While your flower boat sailed away,
Gently your eyes looked back on mine,
Clearly you heard me say,
'You are the girl I will love some day.'
The Darling Buds of March
And the battle begins: little flecks of color begin to burst and gush forth in the wintry wind; green-gray now speckled with motley hues of pastel greens, pinks, blues, and lavenders; the chilly air faintly smells of heady jasmine, vanilla, and lavender, maybe a touch of mint. Mmmm. Spring: a time to renew and rejuvenate, refresh and awaken from the aching chills of sheer cold, the silence of darkness and necessary hibernation. It's funny how the most trying season is also the one that helps us grow, build strength, and realize the importance of the sun, and yet, we despise it.
And so this is my ode to the wintry cold: your harsh wind is tempered by the beauty of the falling snow on the pavement, the orange streetlight shining and reflecting through the intricate snowflakes; you remind me of the simple joy of warmth by a sparkling flame, engulfed in a rich, thick woolen blanket, the delight of sleeping in the falling rain, rhythmic taps against my window, or walking along the street wrapped in my favorite hat, coat, scarf, and gloves, and that most importantly, my - our warmth is something to share with those who find themselves at the mercy of the cold. Thank you, oh winter, for your cold, brazen hand... the sun has never felt so sweet.
And so this is my ode to the wintry cold: your harsh wind is tempered by the beauty of the falling snow on the pavement, the orange streetlight shining and reflecting through the intricate snowflakes; you remind me of the simple joy of warmth by a sparkling flame, engulfed in a rich, thick woolen blanket, the delight of sleeping in the falling rain, rhythmic taps against my window, or walking along the street wrapped in my favorite hat, coat, scarf, and gloves, and that most importantly, my - our warmth is something to share with those who find themselves at the mercy of the cold. Thank you, oh winter, for your cold, brazen hand... the sun has never felt so sweet.
Monday, March 14, 2005
Saturday, March 12, 2005
The Zephyr and the Flame
You drift
away
slowly
like a feather floating slowly upon the Zephyr
that slight, elusive wind
mild and gentle
tapering
upon the soft folds of my heart
the edges of my mind
the hot glow of my spirit
sparks ignite with every moment of friction
while white hot meets blue cold
quenching and quelling
mutual surrender
while the wind, soft and tame
blows the flame alive
that lay within the restless blood
so the dying embers,
renewed and filled with vigor
embellish
and give fervor to the wind.
away
slowly
like a feather floating slowly upon the Zephyr
that slight, elusive wind
mild and gentle
tapering
upon the soft folds of my heart
the edges of my mind
the hot glow of my spirit
sparks ignite with every moment of friction
while white hot meets blue cold
quenching and quelling
mutual surrender
while the wind, soft and tame
blows the flame alive
that lay within the restless blood
so the dying embers,
renewed and filled with vigor
embellish
and give fervor to the wind.
Ceiling Fan on Medium
Wide blades swivel across
the ceiling that divides
(light)
human imagination and artemis tonight
The virgin huntress glides in darkness.
Blades swivel, scattering pixie dust,
gold and silver in subtlest light
temperance, measured;
Just the right amount
falling -
not a blizzard
nor a slight drizzle -
As infinitesimal thoughts break,
Touch and give grace
To a writer's mind
Whose hand has found its muse.
the ceiling that divides
(light)
human imagination and artemis tonight
The virgin huntress glides in darkness.
Blades swivel, scattering pixie dust,
gold and silver in subtlest light
temperance, measured;
Just the right amount
falling -
not a blizzard
nor a slight drizzle -
As infinitesimal thoughts break,
Touch and give grace
To a writer's mind
Whose hand has found its muse.
Thoughts
As summer turned its gaze we met
Across the world, so far
Fortune must have paid its debt
That night fulfilled a star
Whose wish mine landed quietly
On its twinkling rays so bright
It sighs, contented, haplessly
For my wish did finally take flight.
~ written March 8, 2005, my desk at RW3
Across the world, so far
Fortune must have paid its debt
That night fulfilled a star
Whose wish mine landed quietly
On its twinkling rays so bright
It sighs, contented, haplessly
For my wish did finally take flight.
~ written March 8, 2005, my desk at RW3
Friday, March 11, 2005
Welcome: Ars Poetica
Ars poetica: The Art of Poetry
~ "a poem is an intimation rather than a full statement"
~ a poem should "be motionless in time"
~ it has no relation to generalities of truth, historical fact, or love-variations, perhaps, of truth, beauty, and goodness.
~ makes clear, captures a human experience, an experience of grief, or of love, or of loneliness, or of memory. Thus a poem becomes a way of knowing, of seeing, albeit through the senses, the emotions, and the imagination.
~ MacLeish often said that the function of a poem is to trap "Heaven and Earth in the cage of form."
Thanks to http://www.english.uiuc.edu/maps/poets/m_r/macleish/ars.htm for the above definitions
~ writing for the sake of writing; free verse. Free expression. Powerful. Contrived. Naked. Passionate. Vulnerable. Fleeting moments of creative, expressive inspiration captured on a scrap of paper; a sheet of tissue; the back of a receipt, in a desperate attempt to capture and immortalize what comes and only stays in mere fractions of a second, never to return. Welcome to my written world.
~ "a poem is an intimation rather than a full statement"
~ a poem should "be motionless in time"
~ it has no relation to generalities of truth, historical fact, or love-variations, perhaps, of truth, beauty, and goodness.
~ makes clear, captures a human experience, an experience of grief, or of love, or of loneliness, or of memory. Thus a poem becomes a way of knowing, of seeing, albeit through the senses, the emotions, and the imagination.
~ MacLeish often said that the function of a poem is to trap "Heaven and Earth in the cage of form."
Thanks to http://www.english.uiuc.edu/maps/poets/m_r/macleish/ars.htm for the above definitions
~ writing for the sake of writing; free verse. Free expression. Powerful. Contrived. Naked. Passionate. Vulnerable. Fleeting moments of creative, expressive inspiration captured on a scrap of paper; a sheet of tissue; the back of a receipt, in a desperate attempt to capture and immortalize what comes and only stays in mere fractions of a second, never to return. Welcome to my written world.
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