8 imagine November/December �007

The

Reluctan

t

Pianist

I dreaded each day that led up to my first three-week stay at the Boston University Tanglewood Institute Young Artist Piano Program. My piano teachers told

me I was talented, but I rarely spent more than 45 min-utes a day practicing, and sometimes I skipped a day or two. Piano was great, but it was a side thing. It certainly wasn’t worth missing the 6 new episodes of my favorite shows, 54 holes of golf, hundreds of hours on my com-puter, and countless kisses from my girlfriend over the three weeks I was there. My parents, who had encouraged me to apply to the program, assured me that as soon as I arrived I would enjoy it, and my piano teacher agreed.

As soon as we arrived and I stepped out of the rental car, all I could hear was a storm of notes coming from the practice sheds—private structures just big enough to fit a piano—scattered across campus. The sound of pianos, French horns, flutes, violins, and clarinets filled the air. I resisted the thought that one of those sheds would belong to me in a day or two. After I got settled into my room and met everyone on my dorm’s floor—mostly pianists, too, and nice enough—I took a look at my schedule for the next day.

11:00 a.m.–12:30 p.m.: Master Class 12:30–7:00 p.m.: Free Time 7:00–8:00 p.m.: Piano Discussion Class 8:00–11:00 p.m.: Free Time 11:00 p.m.: Curfew

With the exception of the once-a-week lesson from each of the two piano teachers, this was my schedule for the entire three weeks. My first thought was, if I had known I’d have all this free time, I would have brought a lot more stuff from home.

In the MoodMy first master class was instructed and organized, as most of them were, by Maria Clodes Jaguaribe. Born and discovered in Brazil as a piano prodigy, she had traveled to Europe at a young age to study music. After falling in love with an American man there, she followed him to the United States.

She filled every master class with her insightful stories. The three students assigned to play for her barely had time to, as the classes were never without a lengthy tale of a personal event from her past or an experience she had had with a well-known teacher or performer. These events seemed simple and ordinary to her, but to us they sounded wonderful and extraordinary. Her stories gave us a new perspective on music and on life, and showed us how the two should be inseparable for us. They destroyed any initial competition between the students and made way for personal reflection.

I was nervous when it was my turn to play for her and the other students, although I knew the piece I was playing, Liszt’s “Liebestraum,” quite well. Because I didn’t

by Daniel Anastasio

have to concentrate on the technical aspects of perform-ing this piece, I thought instead about my audience, and I was consumed with anxiety. Still, I managed to play it smoothly.

After I finished, Maria asked me if I had ever been in love. The question left me pale, dumbfounded. My answer, after much hesitation, was no. She reminded me that a “liebestraum” is a love-dream, that the piece re-quired a touch and expression that could only be derived from a knowledge and experience of love. At this point I was distraught, as I had never been in love and this key element to the piece was clearly missing. Maria rushed toward me, exclaiming that she would be my lover!

Though Maria and I still joke about that day, it cap-tures the way she teaches and the way she thinks about music. Before the piece begins, she immerses herself into the mindset of the composer and the contexts in which the piece was written. The performer must feel, she believes, as Liszt felt. One way to address a piece is to try to take on a mood that matches its style. In this way, a performance is a metamorphosis of the performer. Just as an actor takes on a role as a character, performers need to take on the role of the composer. Maria once told us that classical musicians are “slaves” to the composers whose music we play.

Drinking from the FountainTanglewood students have the opportunity to attend concerts by the Boston Symphony Orchestra conducted by world-renowned artists. The first year, I took these concerts for granted. I left the few I did attend at intermission. But something powerful struck me when I returned home after my first year. The atmosphere of the camp clung to me, but no matter how much I practiced at home or how many recordings I listened to, I missed Maria telling her stories. None of my friends were as interested in music as, I now realized, I was.

I went back to Tanglewood the next summer, and the next. By the second year, I was attending more concerts and yearning to practice. During my third summer, I found myself sobbing at the end of a performance of Beethoven’s third piano concerto. The performance af-fected me so deeply that remembering it now makes my heart beat faster.

My third stay at Tanglewood fulfilled me more than anything ever has, but I wouldn’t feel as strongly as I do without having spent my first two years there. Musi-cal appreciation is cumulative. Experience builds on experience to form a personal connection with music, but that connection is constantly changing. The sense of discovery is infinite, indefinable, and entirely subjective. And, because the body of music literature to discover is enormous and always expanding, music is an everlasting fountain to drink from. Tanglewood was a place to drink and discover.

TransformationOne of the most rewarding experiences for me this past summer was the simple task of turning pages during a four-hands recital given by Maria and her assistant, Duncan Cummings. They performed a Mozart sonata, Schubert’s F minor Fantasy, and Faure’s Dolly Suite. Staying focused while standing next to two remarkable pianists as they perform is no easy task.

After the clapping and the congratulations and the overall relief that performers and audience members feel after a performance, I walked outside. The trees around me seemed so much taller, and the light rain seemed to fall from heaven and not the clouds. I was so over-whelmed by the beauty of it all that I felt physical pain in my chest.

Today, I play the paino not for progress or achieve-ment, but for my own happiness. I look forward to practicing because it nourishes me. Once a side thing, the piano has moved solidly to the center of my life. i

Last May, Daniel Anastasio performed a concerto with the San Antonio Symphony as a winner of its Future Stars competi-tion. A graduate of Saint Mary’s Hall in San Antonio, TX, Daniel is currently a freshman

at Cornell University, where he expects to major in music. He also plays squash and is a member of the bowling club.

November/December �007 imagine 9

For more information about Tanglewood Institute, see page 26.

The

Reluctan

t

Pianist Practice sheds around the

campus give musicians a private space to work out new musical ideas.

Phot

o by

Rob

in B

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aus