• Placed Bow to String and Pulled


    Doctors. Why, oh why, do they believe they have the audacity to tell a musician to cease performing? Throughout history to the present time we see this, especially in the life of Ludwig von Beethoven. His very own doctor told him to leave the court of Vienna. How can leaving behind music help a person? Beethoven even contemplated death, which sends shivers up my spine. He was a man so engrossed in his music, that if he had gone through with his contemplations, the period of Romance wouldn’t have occurred. People would still be scrambling in the darkness attempting to reform music. Without the Romantic Period that took place in Europe, we never could have fully detached ourselves from the aristocracy and performed music for the public. Music would still be in the courts and not in the concert hall.

    It is impossible to see a world without sound, music, and vibrations. These things bring spice and colour to our world; whereas, if one were to be stuck in a world where it was a silent film, they would go insane and see only black and white. Not able to hear what anyone is saying, not knowing when a pen drops, not hearing when someone sings, plays a musical instrument, or even bangs on an object. In my life, I have always been surrounded by music, it’s a part of me. Even if I were to attempt to take myself off the stage, I know I’ll return to it. My heart will cry out. Just as it does now.

    Without the standard of music that Beethoven created, many people would not have allowed their hearts to sing with the music. No, they would be to frightened to allow their heart to become attached. If Beethoven hadn’t broken the ice between the seeing and feeling, many genres would never have sprung up. People would have been to timid to allow a creative flow to leak out. Beethoven was the middle man, he brought out the emotions which brought about the music of Franz Schubert whose life overlaps each other. With their music, people could play freely, without being shot down because their heart was truly in the music. It changed from a mathematical perspective to a, “What does your heart hear?” By this gesture, master pieces of all types blossomed.

    Music, for me, is the breath of life. I remember one instance in my life where I was told to put the violin down and find another occupation. But how can someone say that? To tell a musician to stop playing when they find peace and solace in their song, is wrong.

    It was the second month of sophomore year, I had a doctors’ appointment for my right wrist. I’d been diagnosed with Tendinitis nearing the end of my freshman year. At this particular appointment she said I couldn’t use it ‘til it stopped hurting. That was when I asked her, “Wait, so I can’t play my violin then?” Her reply was simple, “Exactly,” it was then that I asked her one last question, “Then that would mean I’m not allowed to clean, write, type, or do anything else, correct?” The female doctor didn’t reply to my question and instead said, “You’ll need to take some Ibuprofen to help with the pain.”

    I wanted to scream. As I look back on the life Maria Theresa von Paradis I see she was a concert pianist and was blind. She had the musical ability to recall about sixty concertos. If someone who can’t even see the notes upon the page can continue to allow their heart to soar with the music, then truly anyone can make their heart sing. From her life, I can only think of the people who might have told her she couldn’t become a musician. She proved them dead wrong.

    My mom said I had to do as the doctor prescribed; I was furious and it didn’t matter how many ibuprofens I took, the pain was immeasurable and refused to take it‘s leave. Crying myself to sleep seemed to be the only antidote that worked. As long as I was able to sleep through the pain, I wouldn’t know it was there until I awoke. So there would be hours of no pain; only while I slept. My waking hours were a living hell, my eyes would fill with water, but I never allowed them to flow.

    I was appalled at her answer, I couldn’t believe a doctor would do that. But then I remember of another time, when a great man went into isolation. Ludwig Von Beethoven was going deaf and by his doctor’s will, he left the court of Vienna to get well. In the end, he never got well, he became deaf, and created beautiful master pieces. This man went to the dark side for about six years, but returned from the brink of death. His symphonies, concertos, and sonatas are renowned throughout the world. If he had not of stood up and proclaimed no, our world as we know it, would not have his sound crying out to us from the grave.

    Music, for me, is a longing, nothing can fill the void. When I was made to cease from my art, I had to sit in the orchestra room to hear and watch the class play. My heart would clench in agony of not being allowed to perform. It got to the point that I couldn’t just watch or hear them, I had to see the music, I had to know what they were doing. I needed to know the notes, the tone, the dynamics, and the areas where one could be free while playing. No longer was I going to sit, listen, and miss another concert, no, I was going to play, even if it killed me or turned my tendinitis into carpal tunnel.

    I lied to my teacher the day before the rehearsal at the state Capital. If I had kept silent, my soul would have died. All he asked was, “Can you play the music?” I merrily replied, “I’ve been watching everyone, listening, looking at the notes, I’m pretty sure I can play.” He nodded his head and so I left.

    Realizing after a few months of being barred from performing that I had to play. Not just watch, or listen, but to actually play. My wrist was in so much pain. I realized that it didn’t matter if I desisted or never stopped, the pain would still be there. It will always haunt my performances. True, there are parts that I’m like, “OHMEHGOODNESS! Let me stop, please!”. But I would forge through it, and just take a break for a couple days. That’s all one with tendinitis can do, the problem will always be there. There is no way for it to fully leave, it’s a condition of the tendon, it enjoys to swell and make a person gasp in agony. It has no feelings for others, it’s whole goal and reason of existence is to hinder. So, in my life, its goal is to hinder me from playing, in other people’s lives, it could be to hinder them from walking.

    What can you do though? Just not walk? No, continue onward, who cares about the price, as long as you’re willing to pay it. I am, that’s why I continue to play. My music is where my heart is, and I know that God would never have allowed me to continue forward if music wasn’t where he wanted me to be. True, some days will be hard, but my soul screams for the music, so I cry out with it.

    My heart sang with joy the day I was allowed to place bow to string and pull. I could smile again and, pretend there was no pain. Music was allowed to take control of my life. I could hear the choir singing behind us in the rehearsal, hear my notes soar beautifully amongst their voices. The eighth notes, and sixteenth notes were heard by all who could recognize a melody. By the end of the rehearsal, I had for the first time, played “The Benidictus, the Kyrie, and Agnus Dei”. Gorgeous pieces that were sung in Latin and accompanied by string instruments, an Orchestra.

    A smile spread across my face when we entered the Rotunda at the state capital for the concert. Here I would play, here my heart would sing with the notes and soar to the top of the acoustics. This was my play ground, no doctor will ever be allowed take away my joy of performing ever again. When my wrist gives out, I take it easy for a day or so, then I will go back to playing strong. Music is my life and apart of me, without music, I am nothing. So I played songs in the concert that I had rehearsed but once. This was the day where I was able to let the music flow through me, even though it hurt, the pain was there, it would never leave. Yet oddly, I was content with this, music is my way life, I can not, at any costs, allow my suffering to get the better of me again.

    Now when I play, I smile, and cringe a little on the inside. It’s worth it to me, I can not simply place my violin down and find something else that intrigues me. No, music intrigues me far more than writing, and yet, writing is also one of my loves. Both scream of the wrist though. I was given a gift, why shirk at it? I suffer, but in the end, something beautiful is created. If one is willing to suffer to create something else, then truly they have found their heart, their joy, and their hope.