My Blog

Thoughts from the Wild Side: Eric Maisel Rethinks Depression

Thu, 12 Apr 2012 11:05:35 -0500

In his new book, Rethinking Depression, Eric Maisel invites depression sufferers and their service providers to consider whether human sadness has been monetized into the disease of depression. I found it to be a insightful and provocative look into the circumstances surrounding this phenomenon, a terrific guide full of practical advice on dealing with sadness, and also a real eye-opener in terms of how we lose when we give in to labeling our normal feelings and emotions as mental disorders. Here are Eric’s answers to the questions I asked him about the book, plus an excerpt from the conclusion.

CM: Our focus at Passion in Action since the beginning of the year has been "Wild Ideas" -- ideas that go against convention and lead to new ways of thinking, creating and being. Your ideas about depression are certainly "wild" in the best sense of the word, in that they stand firmly outside the bounds of conventional thinking and offer new, empowering ways of understanding and dealing with normal, human feelings and emotions that have been inappropriately labeled as a mental disorder for so long. How did the Wild Ideas presented in Rethinking Depression take root? How did you come to realize that, psychologically speaking, "unwanted" feelings were not necessarily "abnormal?"

EM: In school, training to be a therapist, I already didn’t believe in the model we were presented, that you didn’t need explanations of any mental disorders in order to “diagnose and treat” them, that you only needed some “symptom pictures.” I knew that was shoddy and illegitimate thinking back then but it took me a while (and twenty or thirty books got in the way that also wanted to be written) before I tackled this travesty.

CM: You talk a good deal in Rethinking Depression about "passionate meaning-making." Can you briefly outline for our readers what that means, and how making meaning can serve as a key antidote for the feelings of sadness and hopelessness associated with "existential depression?"

EM: It is a simple idea (that however needs a lot of elaboration, which is why I’ve created noimetic psychology, the new psychology of meaning)—namely that there is no meaning to seek, never was and never will be, that meaning is primarily a subjective psychological experience that we can nurture and influence and that nurturing and influencing that experience is the essence of “making meaning.” Each day you make meaning investments, seize meaning opportunities, and in other ways create the experience of meaning that you crave.

CM: How might moving beyond the "mental disorder model of life" help the artist/musician/writer/entrepreneur in her creative work?

EM: Well, for one thing you might (over time and not necessarily right away or precipitously) get off your antidepressants, which will result in having feelings again, both good and bad, and those feelings certainly serve a creative person, who isn’t going to be doing very rich work without access to his or her feelings.

Cracking the Depression Code
An Excerpt from Rethinking Depression by Eric Maisel

Why is it that so many lottery winners, after a brief period of euphoria, become unhappier than they were before winning the lottery? This happens because there is no lottery to win with regard to life. If you were an alcoholic before you won the lottery, you are still an alcoholic — albeit with a better-stocked liquor cabinet. If you were a cranky, critical, angry young man with a hefty sense of grandiosity and no willingness to do any real work, you are still that narcissist — probably even more so. If you wanted to create symphonies, occasionally tried, but invariably bored yourself with your efforts, you could now hire a symphony orchestra to play your music — and bore a concert hall full of people. Where is the change or improvement in any of that?
This is what many lottery winners experience. If you weren’t living an authentic life before you won the lottery, an influx of money will provide you with the perfect opportunity to live just as inauthentically, or even more inauthentically. If you haven’t created yourself in your own best image, if you haven’t demanded of yourself that you strive to understand what matters to you, if you haven’t aligned your thoughts and behaviors with your intentions, an influx of money is just an opportunity to further refrain from stepping up to the plate.
So is a regimen of antidepressants. Even if you believe that there is a “mental disorder” called “depression” and that certain treatments work to minimize it or “cure” it, you must agree that you will not have cured life once you have cured your depression. You might cure your depression and still not be able to conjure up a single reason to go to the office, your paycheck excepted, or a way to reconcile your mate’s protestations of loyalty with his affairs. Don’t your human challenges remain, even if you have cured your depression? And mustn’t you dream up solutions for them?
Human beings experience unhappiness. The typical person experiences unhappiness not only for all the usual reasons — that his teeth sometimes ache, that his job is relentlessly stressful, that his family life is no white-picket-fence heaven, and so on — but also because, as a modern person, he can’t maintain the illusion that his place in the universe is particularly exalted. His life produces unhappiness, and his understanding of his place in the universe produces its own poignant unhappiness.
The former he is taught to call “depression,” and the latter, if he knows the lingo, he calls “existential depression.” Society’s widespread willingness to believe that the “mental disorder of depression” exists produces a new set of expectations. People have come to believe that unhappiness is an aberration and that if they are experiencing it they have somehow “caught something” almost embarrassing to catch, like an STD. Who should be unhappy nowadays, what with malls and television? So, rather than admit that they are unhappy, they opt to treat their feelings like a disease. This enormously pleases Big Doctor, who welcomes each “depressive” with open arms.
Big Doctor and his ideas are everywhere, providing tremendous cover for inauthenticity. David Karp argues in Speaking of Sadness: “A necessary condition for widespread depressive illness is a culturally induced readiness to view emotional pain as a disease requiring medical intervention. The grounds for interpreting pain as an abnormal medical condition have been largely established through the increasing incursion of medical and other therapeutic experts into literally every aspect of our lives.” Their fellow doctors, loath to rock the boat and point a finger, provide cover for their mental health brethren — they attend the same banquets, travel on the same junkets, and lend their moral support to the medicalization of sadness.
This new belief that life shouldn’t hurt, a belief fostered by Big Doctor at every turn, is very strange. It is very strange that, having been sexually molested as a child, you should somehow believe that you will not experience that harm as hurtful, injurious, even ruinous. Shame a child, scare a child, belittle a child, dismiss a child, lie to a child, and what do you imagine you will produce? Happiness? It is as if we have come to be surprised by our feelings of unhappiness, so surprised that we involuntarily exclaim, “Wow, something must be going on. This isn’t natural.”
Nothing could be more natural. What sort of creature do we think we are? A kind of wishful thinking has washed over the developed world that life has become simple and settled. Aside from the occasional economic downturn, natural disaster, and unfortunate “disorder,” modern life is like a good supermarket: abundant, orderly, unblemished, and brought to you with a smile. Your child would be as happy as a clam if only it weren’t for her pesky attention deficit disorder and childhood depression. Your mother would be a happy old lady if only she didn’t suffer from “nursing home syndrome” and “seasonal affective disorder.” If only we could shed the rough coat of this or that disorder, this new story goes, we would find ourselves wearing silk pajamas.
This is a false view of life. Life is a project. The moment they are born people are dropped into a world that makes many demands and certain allowances. Either you equip yourself to deal with human unhappiness and the rigors of living, or you will find yourself dealing with them in ways that make you even unhappier. One excellent way to deal with your life-as-project is the way that I’ve been describing: by following an existential program that focuses on your ability to create the psychological experience of meaning. If you happen not to like my program, create your own. It won’t suffice to do nothing.

Excerpted from the book Rethinking Depression ©2012 by Eric Maisel. Printed with permission of New World Library, Novato, CA. www.newworldlibrary.com

CLICK HERE to order your copy of Rethinking Depression.

About Eric Maisel
Eric Maisel, PhD, is a licensed psychotherapist and the author of Rethinking Depression and numerous other titles including Mastering Creative Anxiety, Brainstorm, Coaching the Artist Within, and A Writer’s San Francisco. He blogs for the Huffington Post and writes for Professional Artist Magazine. Visit him online at http://www.ericmaisel.com.

Thoughts from the Wild Side: P. Kellach Waddle

Sat, 14 Jan 2012 10:27:44 -0600

PKW and I became fast friends during our graduate school days at The University of Texas at Austin. He is an original, a creative dynamo, and a force to be reckoned with. I’ve never known anyone more sure of what he wants out of his creative life, or more willing to do what it takes to make it happen. Read on for a strong dose of creative inspiration!

CM: What is one of the wildest things you've ever done that made a positive impact on your creative life?

PKW: I am just going to answer in a meta-sense by saying my biggest risk/pay-off is quite simply to choose the ENTIRE path I have chosen. In this age of ultra-specialization—like many artists with any modicum of success—I have basically spit in the face of everyone/everything that has ever said, "You can't.”

You can't: Be a soloist in a rare-for-the-instrument medium AND perform mostly modern AND baroque repertory--- AND have an orchestra position-- AND conduct-- AND tour-- AND have a life as a composer-- AND run your own concert production company-- AND freelance-- AND find churches that want a part-time Bach-- AND do chamber music with other organizations---- AND… AND...

The drastic irony of this is that so many kind press folk have pointed out "Wow, It's just so unique that you do SO many things in your musical life." The truth is, no it isn't. Until perhaps Rachmaninoff or so , EVERY composer/soloist of ANY renown ALWAYS did everything. EVERYONE conducted and performed as a soloist AND toured AND had their own organizations.. etc., etc. It's been quoted that what I do is so retro, somehow it seems revolutionary.

CM: What is your tolerance for creative risk taking? How do you decide whether or not an out-of-the-box idea is worth pursuing?

PKW: My tolerance is quite huge. In this day of horrifically little money concert goers have to spend on events—the more unique a tack you can take on ANY sort of given event/piece/what have you, the better. Basically the only barrier is time and resources. If it's something so out of the box that it perhaps will make no money, as long as it doesn't involve 80 people and thousands of dollars out the door, then I will usually be glad to do it.

CM: What kinds of things scare you in your creative work, and what do you do to overcome your fears?

PKW: To be bluntly honest, I don't know of anything that scares me. If I ever backed off from any challenges, I wouldn't have the career I am blessed with. To be bluntly honest part deux, my only fear comes when I am forced to work with incompetent people.

CM: Who have been some of your favorite creative wild men and wild women over the years?

PKW: I am going to go WAY niche here and basically say three people who do most of what I do: all three of these people have thriving careers as bass soloists, composers and orchestra musicians: Jon Deak, Francois Rabbath, Dave Anderson. (Though I have decided to jump as I said into even deeper insanity by adding conducting and running my own concert business to this set of duties!!)

About P. Kellach Waddle
P. Kellach Waddle, along the lines of Ives' famed expertise in insurance actuarial data and Borodin's fame as a chemist has perhaps some of the most oddly unique extra-musical pursuits of anyone in his field. He is an industry-renowned expert on television history and specifically the history of the daytime drama, he is a bourbon connoisseur, he is extremely active in the advanced board gaming world having co-sponsored a convention with 8 of his own games he has created in development, he is a trained card dealer and roulette croupier, and he enjoys tinkering with his classic cars: A 1968 Galaxie 500 Muscle Car and a 1976 Cadillac El Dorado Convertible.

Mr. Waddle enjoys a widely lauded career as a solo bassist, composer, chamber musician, orchestra musician, conductor and concert director. He has been cited as "... an Austin classical music legend…" by Award-Winning Viola By Choice Director Aurelien Petillot; he has been called "… an amazing, incredible virtuoso..." by famed Austin radio personality John Aielli; and after his ovation-garnering solo concert at the 2009 International Society of Bassists Symposium (where he was one of only five dozen bassists from all over the world invited to perform a solo recital), convention officials declared "… [Waddle] is now obviously one of the great solo bassists of the world."

Waddle's music has been performed over 700 times in nearly 40 states and in 10 foreign countries. With over 40 premieres scheduled for the calendar year 2011 alone (ranging from solo works to chamber works to pieces for full orchestra and now over 370 works composed as of Fall 2011, Waddle continues to maintain his position as one of the most prolific and performed composers of his generation. He also has continued to achieve a lifetime goal of following in the footsteps of such composers at Paul Hindemith and Lars-Erik Larsson by writing either a concerto, sonata or major chamber music part for every single standard orchestral instrument except for timpani. Waddle has been a member of numerous professional and festival orchestras including his current position with The Austin Symphony, which he has held since 1992. He has been nominated three times as a possible finalist for The Pulitzer Prize in Music and twice nominated for State of Texas Musician of The Year. He also serves as the "part-time Bach" in his position as Composer/Artist in Residence at Ascension Lutheran Church in Austin, Texas.

Waddle also is the director of PKWproductions-- a company presenting sets of concert series comprising new works presented on literature, music presented with movies at the legendary Austin Alamo Drafthouse Theaters, and music of Waddle's all devoted to single instrument or medium---all of the series under the PKWproductions umbrella continue to be some of the most lauded, inventive and unique classical music presentations in the nation. Starting with the 2010-11 season, PKWproductions has now expanded outside of south central Texas with the launching of “When Texas Meets Manhattan” – a series of concerts in New York City featuring both composers and performers from both Austin and Manhattan.

Mr. Waddle's music has been published exclusively by TFV Inc. of Concord, Massachusetts and Wyatt Brand of Austin, Texas manages his publicity. Both of these companies are proud to be commemorating the twentieth anniversary of Waddle’s first published works during the 2011-12 season. For more detailed information as well as links to other recordings of Waddle's music, visit http://www.classicalmatters.com/pkwaddle.htm. Reviews of Waddle’s playing in recent solo concerts in Kentucky, Pennsylvania and Virginia cited his performances as "magnificent," " amazing,” "inspiring," and "creatively thrilling." The March 2011 premiere of his orchestral work A Walk Through The Vampire's Garden in Maryland was cited as "compelling.. interesting... magnificent and mesmerizing...," paving the way for more orchestral music of Waddle’s being premiered along with his regular plethora of solo and chamber music during the 2011-12 season.

Thoughts from the Wild Side: Nathan L. Brown

Sun, 30 Oct 2011 13:56:11 -0500

A few weeks ago, I had the good fortune to attend a writing workshop at Blue Rock led by the charismatic and passionate Nathan Brown. While there, I picked up a good dose of creative inspiration and a copy of his latest book, Letters to the One-Armed Poet: A Memoir of Friendship, Loss, and Butternut Squash Ravioli, a profoundly moving and beautiful read. I asked Nathan some questions about the wild side of creative life... read on to see if you’re not inspired to get a little wild, too.
CM: What is one of the wildest things you've ever done that made a positive impact on your creative life?
NB: Wow… what a question! Several things fit the bill, and so I’m not sure how to narrow it down to just one. For instance, international travel has had one of the biggest impacts on my creative life overall. But, if I had to bring it down to one, I might have to go with this…
A couple of years ago, I lost a good friend to cancer. He’d battled it for nine years and did it with an amazing amount of humanity and grace. In the year following his death, I began work on a memoir that would record our friendship, creative lives, and all our travels together in the cause of art. I wrote the book as a collection of “letters” and, in the process of editing, found myself throwing a lot of them out. Jim would “not” have allowed me to write a depressing book about him. He was a fun-loving guy, and I had to find a way to live up to that in the telling of his story.
During the editing process, I was also trying to help a publisher put together a posthumous collection of Jim’s poetry. In that collection, I came across one of his poems titled, “The Last Supper.” He’d written it as a “laundry list” of all his favorite foods and restaurants in the wake of the chemo therapy that had stolen his ability to enjoy the sense of taste.
This was no “last meal,” like that of an inmate. This was exhaustive… lists of appetizers, main courses, drinks, and desserts… well over 30 in all.
So, as a means to complete the memoir, I got it in my head that I would eat my way through his last supper poem and write him a letter about each experience. Seemed so cool in the beginning. Soon, however, the reality of the idea began to set in. Some of the restaurants are in Houston, Dallas, Tulsa, and Bartlesville, Oklahoma. I managed on those. But, then… the one item that led to the “wildest” part of the whole adventure, turned out to be Olives—a very upscale restaurant at the Bellagio Hotel in Las Vegas. I had no budget for it. It was a long, long drive. It was a damn expensive meal. And yet, what happened there, in the end, completely made the book. It also changed my life. I’d tell more… but that would give away the book.
If anyone’s curious, they can grab a copy of Letters to the One-Armed Poet: A Memoir of Friendship, Loss, and Butternut Squash Ravioli on Amazon or my website: www.brownlines.com.
Yeah… that’s shameless… I know. But, it “was” a wild ride…
CM: What is your tolerance for creative risk taking? How do you decide whether or not an out-of-the-box idea is worth pursuing?
NB: Another fabulous question. And I could take it in one of several directions. But the first thing that comes to mind is that I’m not sure I’ve ever seen truly world changing, or generation-defining, literature that rose up out of living a safe and conservative life. It just doesn’t happen… that I know of.
For me, specifically, it comes from living a life—here in the Middle Southwest—that defies the understanding of my friends, brothers, and especially my sisters-in-law. That would have to do with forgoing any sort of “real” job and spending my days and years as an itinerate bum poet and musician. I live month to month, fiscally. I travel around the states and read my poems to absolutely anyone… even if only three people show up. And, to be honest, I’ll read if any one person besides myself shows up. Ahh… hell. I actually read to myself sometimes. But that’s probably not a healthy thing to admit.
In short, risk-taking, as far as I’m concerned, is pursuing a life in the arts right up in the face of an American culture that views money as the only thing we should spend our time going after… and that believes we should watch FOX News and make sure to vote republican while doing it. Not gonna happen. At least for me.
CM: What kinds of things scare you in your creative work, and what do you do to overcome your fears?
I write a poem every day. I do everything possible not to miss. If I happen to miss a day? I have to write two poems the next day. That’s it. I’ve done this for eleven years… 365 poems a year. Though I can’t go into the effect this has had on me in much depth, I can say that the ultimate outcome of this practice has been that—psychologically speaking—it has served as the single most powerful tool to overcoming any fears I might have about my creative work. Allowing myself to write a lot of crap—which is an unavoidable part of working every day—somehow forced me to stop worrying about whether or not anything I was putting out happened to be profound or potentially award-winning. I just write. And, eventually, something good comes out—at least it seems to me.
CM: Who have been some of your favorite creative wild men and wild women over the years?
NB: Well, even though it might cost me an academic position some day, I have to say that Charles Bukowski has had a big impact on me. He lived on the edge in so many ways. He’s been discredited by all the literary elites. He was mean… gruff… dirty… and fearless. A complete wild man. And I have to be honest and say that whenever my writing starts to feel a little wimpy to me, I always grab one of his books off the shelf (he published over 50) and dive in, as if I’m popping my neck and knuckles before a big game.
Another guy went by the name of Sergio Gypsy—though that was not his name. He was a friend of my older brother’s. They were in a band together. At some point, when I was around the age of 13, he and I began to write songs together. He was completely crazy… had a huge Godspell afro hairdo… was known to walk around campus at a Baptist University in an ankle-length black robe with a red dragon on the back… and absolutely nothing underneath it. Needless to say, Sergio wasn’t like the other children. But he was insanely creative, and we would sometimes write five songs a day. Incredible person.

About Nathan L. Brown
Nathan Brown is a musician, photographer and award-winning poet from Norman, Oklahoma. He holds a PhD from the University of Oklahoma and teaches there as well. Mostly though, he travels now, performing readings and concerts, as well as leading workshops and speaking in high schools, universities, libraries, and community organizations on creativity, creative writing, and the need for readers to not give up on poetry.

He has published seven books — Letters to the One-Armed Poet: A Memoir of Friendship, Loss, and Butternut Squash Ravioli, just came out this spring, and a previous book, Two Tables Over, won the 2009 Oklahoma Book Award. His poem, “Little Jerusalems,” just received a Pushcart Prize nomination.

Nathan has also recorded several albums of all original songs. His newest CD, Gypsy Moon, was released in the spring of 2010.

You can find out more about Nathan and his work at www.brownlines.com.

The Wild Ideas Project: An Invitation to Flip the Switch

Sun, 30 Oct 2011 08:46:55 -0500

I am a fan of the Wild Idea.  I believe in the power of Wild Ideas to illuminate what might otherwise be a very dark existence.  Your best Wild Ideas may or may not change the world... but they are guaranteed to change your world.  Wild Ideas come in an infinite array of shapes and sizes. They can be about a new way of doing, being, or seeing. They can come in the form of a question that begins with "What if," like the one that grabbed me a few years back: "What if I were to quit my job and start a chamber ensemble?" They can show up dressed as sage and compelling advice, like this prize that I found in the community journal of my favorite coffee shop: "Fall in love at least three times a day."  The Wild Idea has many guises, but we can recognize a great one by its capacity to ignite our passion for living in a profound and positive way.   In other words, your best Wild Ideas will really turn you on.  I invite you to join me on a guided journey through the fascinating world of Wild Ideas in The Wild Ideas Project. Over the course of 12 weeks, we'll explore the Wild Ideas that have been calling us, and determine which ones are worth cultivating now. Each participant will be supported in his or her aim to identify and flip the switch on the one Wild Idea with the potential to shine the brightest.  If you'd like to know more, click here to drop me a line and I'll send you the details.  The adventure begins in January 2012.  All the best, Carla

"Weird" Works Wonders

Sun, 8 May 2011 12:06:20 -0500

My love affair with Austin began in 1990. After finishing undergraduate degrees at Eastman School of Music, my husband and I moved to Austin on the recommendation of piano great Anton Nel, who was on the Eastman faculty at the time. Eager to get out of cold, gray Rochester, I was looking for a top-notch graduate program for pianists, but it had to be in a warm, sunny climate. Without missing a beat, Anton suggested The University of Texas (UT). He had great things to say about the faculty, and raved about the town.
There was a faraway look in Anton’s eye as he described Austin; he had taught at UT in his early twenties and had grown to love the place. Over the years, I’ve seen others exhibit that same look when talking about Austin—I’m sure I have, too. That’s why I’m not surprised that a decade later, Anton returned to a faculty post at UT, making Austin his home base for an active international performing career.
I also left Austin only to return at the earliest opportunity; twice, in fact. There’s something magnetic about the place. If you are inspired by big ideas and energized by the power of possibility, Austin will absolutely enchant you. As the city’s “Keep Austin Weird” slogan suggests, Austin is a haven for artists, musicians, poets, entrepreneurs and other creative types who stand proudly outside of the mainstream and march to the beat of a different drum. It’s a culturally and politically liberal island amidst a sea of conservatism; a green-hilled, lake-dotted jewel that has little to do with what normally comes to mind when people think of Texas (tumble-weed and cowboys), and everything to do with fostering an environment that promotes creative innovation by allowing things to get “weird.”
To give you a sense of Austin’s self-proclaimed weirdness, a weekend in Austin might include a trip to a local hike and bike trail to play a painted piano that lives outdoors (www.austinchronicle.com/arts/2011-04-01/play-me-im-yours/), a visit to a trailer park to dine on crepes (www.fliphappycrepes.com), a romantic bat-watching excursion (www.capitalcruises.com), and a chamber music concert where audience members are encouraged to forget protocol and clap when they feel like it while jeans-clad musicians play the 3 B’s (Bach, Beethoven and Brahms) with some Q’s (Queen) and Z’s (Led Zeppelin) thrown in for good measure (www.revelmusic.org). Sunday morning you might think church and enjoy a gospel brunch at a bar/BBQ joint (www.stubbsaustin.com),’cause nothing says church like a Bloody Mary and a plate of BBQ, right?
Speaking of BBQ, the take on food in Austin is as weirdly wonderful as it gets. Food is such a part of Austin’s Dionysian vibe that not only do we find it everywhere, including the most unexpected places (trailer parks and chamber music concerts, for example) but we enjoy it in unexpected ways; we prefer tacos for breakfast, Gordough’s Mother Clucker chicken-filled doughnuts for lunch (www.gordoughs.com), and cupcakes for dessert, even for the grown-ups.
What effect might all this weirdness have on the population? Consider a few of the stories that comprise Austin’s entrepreneurial mythology. In 1978, a couple in their early twenties borrowed money from family and friends to open a natural foods store. When they were evicted from their apartment for storing food products there, they decided to live at the store, using the water hose attached to the dishwasher to bathe. That small enterprise has grown into over 300 stores known as Whole Foods, one of the heavy-hitters of the natural foods industry. In 1984, a UT student launched a little PC computer company from his dorm room. Ever heard of Dell computers? Clearly, there is something about Austin that supports the pursuit of big dreams.
Wes Hurt, founder and owner of one of those weird Austin dreams come true, a chain of Airstream trailers serving up cupcakes called “Hey Cupcake!” (www.heycupcake.com), explains why he started the business on the store’s website:
“The reason I started selling cupcakes for a living has to do more with freedom of expression and creativity than it does a good old fashioned cupcake. I always wanted to create a one-of-a-kind business that allowed me to do almost anything I wanted to…To sum it up, Hey Cupcake! is my American Vanilla Dream come true.”

Wes follows with this sage piece of advice in his post script: “You only live once. Go for it.” Austin, by encouraging the very freedom of expression and creativity that would allow college-aged kids to build empires from their dorm rooms, or culinary pioneers to meet with success from the unlikely confines of a trailer, or classical musicians to connect with audiences through Beethoven and Robert Plant, has become the sort of place where dreams come true. Austin challenges to “come as we are” to the party and go for it in a big way, rewarding those that dare to exhibit the sort of iconoclastic singularity that might seem more than a little weird to the uninitiated.
The next time you’re wondering whether you ought to risk showing your true colors, think of Austin. Not everyone will take you seriously. In fact, some folks might not get it at all. You may get a few raised eyebrows, or ruffle a few feathers. But the payoff is that you will blossom into the most interesting and authentic version of yourself that you could possibly be. Plus, you’ll set yourself up to find your people along the way—those that love you for all of the wonderful weirdness you give to the world, not just in spite of it. As for the rest?
I say let them eat cupcakes.

An Interview with Liz Love

Sun, 1 May 2011 09:56:20 -0500

I’ve never met anyone so aptly named as Liz Love; to know her is indeed to love her. You can get a sense of her exuberance and infectious energy in this interview.

CM: As a Creative, you are immersed in ongoing creative work. Do you ever experience creative blocks, or lulls in your creative output? If so, what do you typically do to get back into the flow?

LL: I definitely experience lulls in my creative output. The word "block" is much too scary of a term for what it actually is. I find that if I label something a "block," that's exactly what it turns into. I think of it more as an unwillingness to create something less than great. Sometimes the best thing to do is just put something out there. I might not come up with the best melody for a composition, or a new angle for a photo, or a great style for a jazz tune, but at least I have something that might work in the future. This is especially useful when starting something completely new. For example, I have recently ventured into composing completely new music all by myself. I have arranged music before, and collaborated with other people, but I have really never created something totally new and entirely my own. This is kind of silly, being that music is such a huge part of my life, and it has been for 24 years. One of the reasons I've never done it before is because I was afraid I wasn't going to write amazing music. And I was completely right—the first few things I "wrote" were, for lack of a better word, crappy. But at least I had something. My creative "block" was nothing more than inexperience. Sometimes, a creative lull is a bad mood. I find that my creative lulls come from a lack of something else in my life. And that something is usually sleep. Or dark chocolate. You're just not going to be creative without sleep and dark chocolate.

CM: Can you give a few examples of some of the things that are most meaningful to you today, both personally and professionally? In other words, what is most important to you? What do you do to invest energy in those areas while negotiating the challenges of everyday life?

LL: There are two things that are the most important things in my life: people and art. I value my relationships with the people in my life more than anything in the world. The arts bring us all together is such beautiful ways, so that's the second thing on my list.

I recently got a full-time job at UT. Are you ready for my title? Administrative Assistant for Academic Affairs for the College of Fine Arts at The University of Texas at Austin. Sounds impressive, right? But really what I'd like my title to be is simply this: Joy Bringer. Every day I attempt to bring joy to people's lives in any possibly way that I can. This ranges from taking beautiful pictures for people who would like to preserve memories, to adding a personal note to my time sheet at work, to singing someone's favorite song, and everything in between. This is what is important to me. And it's not always the easiest thing in the world. Sometimes I let my own junk get in the way of this quest to bring joy. That is when I know it is time to focus on me for awhile, and make sure all of my stuff is in order. My mother always says, "Take care of my kid." I know that I can't take care of everyone else until I take care of myself. That's how I find the energy to be the Joy Bringer.

CM: What current or upcoming projects are you most excited about and why?

LL: I am wicked excited about expanding my photography skills/business. (I'm also excited about using the word "wicked" much, much more.) I have completely fallen in love with photography in the past few months. I want to help people preserve their memories, so they can look back fondly on their wedding, gig, Sunday afternoon, or whatever they want to capture. Everything about capturing a moment in time intrigues me.

About Liz Love
Liz Love is a saxophonist, singer, music educator, and photographer in Austin, Texas. She plays professionally around Austin and in Lincoln, Nebraska, her hometown. Liz recently graduated with a Master of Music degree in Saxophone Performance from The University of Texas at Austin. She was a featured soloist on “Over the Rainbow and Bach Again”, the most recent Tex Sax CD released on the Longhorn Music label, which is listed for nomination for a Grammy. She is currently assistant to the Senior Associate Dean of the College of Fine Arts at UT, and is the new Production Coordinator for REVEL Classical Band. She recently began pursuing photography as a new professional venture.
You can catch a sampling of Liz’s photos and her popular blog, “Lovely Thoughts” at http://lizlovephotography.com.

Playing With Time

Tue, 29 Mar 2011 07:45:09 -0500

We finally got Spring Break right this year. It might seem like a no-brainer that clearing our calendars and holding firm to plans for a real “break” was an important first step, but this was a fundamental concept that had eluded us in years past. Once my husband and I had set aside the time, the rest (and the rest) was easy: we piled the kids in the car, dropped them off with Gram and Grandpa, and headed to a secluded cabin the Texas Hill Country.
We were hoping to experience a different sort of life for a few days, and when I say different, I mean sane. We wanted to feel that we had enough time for the important things—not just the urgent things. I marvel at my friends who seem to be managing life with balance and grace, poster children for the notion that time is an unlimited resource. Suffice it to say that we are not there yet. There never seems to be enough time. We live in the bustling city of Austin with two elementary school-aged children, a young dog, demanding work and creative endeavors that continually stretch us to our very limits. We were looking forward to the opportunity to just relax, soak in the fresh air, slow down and gain some perspective.
As we left the city, it was clear that people were playing by different rules. Traveling just five to nine miles over the posted speed limit as savvy city folks do, we would come up behind cars on the two-lane farm-to-market road and they would simply pull over to the right shoulder and let us pass. Didn’t they know that this was no way to win a race? There were other clues. For instance, we learned that breakfast at the neighborhood café meant getting there a good half hour before you were hungry even though there was immediate seating. Seems the owners were taking time to actually chat with their customers, if you can imagine, and that tended to slow things down a bit. Same thing in the local grocery store check-out line. I thought about how letting others go first, or taking time to really connect to the people that you meet on a given Tuesday morning would impact the quality of one’s life.
As I pondered (that’s Country for “considered”) the difference between my daily experience and this time away, I realized that it was about more than speed. The world seemed to be set at a different tempo than I was, making me feel slightly out of sync. From the musician’s perspective, finding the right tempo is one of keys to creating a great performance. Tempo binds all the musical elements together to convey the appropriate musical expression; it informs phrasing, color, tone, emphasis and articulation. One notch faster or slower on the metronome will change the whole feeling, turning an allegro into an allegretto, or an adagio into an andante. So, rather than simply being about how fast we move through time, tempo is really about how we move through time. This is why we musicians spend an inordinate amount of practice and rehearsal time trying to find the right tempo; we know it’s a pathway to unlocking the magic and meaning of a piece.
I have an artist friend, Caroline Wright, who talks about the tempo of her paintings. When she does an installation at a gallery, she is careful to group her works according to tempo—pieces that dance before the eyes quickly and lightly over here, rich, thick pieces that require a certain stillness to fully absorb over there. It helps that she is also a cellist, but artists of every stripe are concerned with this notion of finding the right tempo in order to convey meaning. As artists, we want to capture the right tempo in our work so that it says what we mean it to say.
We know that we have choices, and those choices will profoundly impact how our work is experienced by the listener, viewer, or reader. Choose a tempo giusto, or strict tempo, for a lyrical and poetic Chopin Nocturne, and you are well on your way to turning it into a military march. By the same token, take the tempo rubato, or flexible tempo, that is meant for the nocturne and apply it to the military march, and your soldiers will just seem ineffectual and noncommittal. Sometimes we forget that we have similar choices to make in our lives, choices that will impact the color and feel of our very existence.
I like Daniel Barenboim’s analogy that tempo is like a suitcase. When the suitcase is too small, everything gets compressed and wrinkled. When the suitcase is too large, everything is swimming around in too much space and gets scrambled. When we move through life as if there isn’t enough time, it’s as if our suitcase is too small—all the contents get compressed and wrinkled beyond recognition. When we move through life without enough of the right kinds of activities to fill it, it’s as if our suitcase is too large—everything is just swimming around in too much space. We’re like Goldilocks, looking for the suitcase that feels just right, the one that holds all the elements that we have to carry, neither too big nor too small. It all depends, of course on what it is that we’re trying to say with our lives at any given moment. My trip to the country reminded me that I want my life to be more about love and art and nature, and less about barreling down the highway at the fastest speed I think I can manage without getting a ticket. It’s going to require that I make some changes; I’m going to need to experiment with taking a different sort of tempo.

An Interview with Cármelo de los Santos

Mon, 28 Mar 2011 06:25:41 -0500

I first met Cármelo through my REVEL colleague Joel Becktell. We were looking for a violinist who would not only prove to be a great player, but would also be a creative and innovative addition to the REVEL team. Joel immediately thought of Cármelo. He joined us on a program that demanded a diverse set of musical and creative skills, from performing the virtuosic Handel-Halvorsen Passacaglia, to collaborating on an arrangement of Stairway to Heaven. Cármelo handled each task with such ingenuity and aplomb that both we and our audience were hooked.

CM: As a Creative, you are immersed in ongoing creative work. Do you ever experience creative blocks, or lulls in your creative output? If so, what do you typically do to get back into the flow?

CS: Absolutely! As a performer it is much too easy to get stuck with a "beaten path" interpretation of a piece. The rational side of our brains get comfortable with mechanical repetition, and specially when it has been successful in the past. The Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto is a piece that I played since I was 16 and every time I come back to it I'm different, therefore the music MUST be different. If it isn't I'll be just mechanically reproducing what I've done in the past, and that will not be sufficiently interesting for my brain unless I change my approach. I try to listen to different interpretations (Youtube is helpful!), analyze the score, mess with different fingerings, bowings, etc., to come up with a newly improved "picture" of the music.

CM: Can you give a few examples of some of the things that are most meaningful to you today, both personally and professionally? In other words, what is most important to you? What do you do to invest energy in those areas while negotiating the challenges of everyday life?

CS: That's a tough question. We are usually so swamped with what "has" to be done that sometimes we forget what is really important. Keeping that balance is the challenge of life! On the other hand I've been coming to the conclusion that this separation between "work" and "love" is a false one. More and more I'm getting to the place where my work is my "hobby." Part of this realization came when my son was born two years ago. Now it's hard for me to separate what is "family time," "work time," "fun time," etc. Let me explain. It's not that I don't have different types of activities during the day (I teach, I practice, I do e-mails, I take care of my career as a performer, etc.) but that psychologically I'm trying to work and have fun at the same time. Let me give you an example. If you feed your child you have to think about the type of food, quantity, warmth, utensils, cups, etc, all the mechanical and cerebral part of it. But you don't feed your child mechanically, without caring, without the whole rest of it! If you do that that activity becomes cerebral, dull, without vitality. The same with all other "departments" of our lives. If you focus only on what "you have to do" you lose the incredible potential of being in touch with your whole being. So I guess my answer to your question is: I try to minimize the purely mechanical part of my life and I try to enjoy all the rest as much as I can, and I try to balance all the different types of activities so I'm not burnt out. Sounds simple, huh?

CM: You are also an excellent magician. What parallels do you find between magic and music?

CS: Magic is a very important part of my life. I've been a semi-professional magician longer than I've been a violinist! I love to entertain people. I guess "entertain" is not the right word. When you entertain, or when you touch a person with music, you are actually communicating, and that communication changes that person for a while. If I feel changed by an experience, be it a magic trick, a joke, or a truly deep musical experience, then I feel closer to that person. For that brief moment there is no separation between him or me or us and them, there is just that shared experience. And that's how I see a parallel between magic and music. Of course music can go much deeper in that connection (unless it's light music, showpieces, etc.) for music can even reach those intangibles that are part of our lives. But the sharing experience is the same, you communicating with another human being. Of course there are more technical parallels, like the "illusions" of sound continuity, vibrato, sustained polyphony, etc., and the most important principle of them all, the fact that for each perceptible action (sound or visual) there is a preparation that is "invisible." Well, it can get complicated as you can see.

About Cármelo de los Santos

Brazilian violinist Cármelo de los Santos was the first prizewinner of the IV “Júlio Cardona” International Competition, Portugal, in 2003. He was also the first prizewinner of the 2002 Music Teachers National Association (MTNA) Collegiate Artist Competition. In 2002 Cármelo performed at the prestigious Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie Hall with the ARCO Chamber Orchestra, both as a soloist and conductor. Cármelo studied in Brazil with Fredi Gerling and Marcello Guerchfeld, and came to America in 1997 to study in New York at the Manhattan School of Music with Sylvia Rosenberg. He holds a doctoral degree from the University of Georgia, having studied there under the Russian violinist Levon Ambartsumian. He is currently Associate Professor of violin at the University of New Mexico, Albuquerque and enjoys a renowned career both as a teacher and performer.

Finding Your Edge

Sun, 6 Mar 2011 20:58:19 -0600

When you think of the word “edge,” what comes to mind? Probably something a little bit frightening. The edge of a cliff. The edge of a knife. The edge of sanity. The brink, the verge, the border over which one must not cross. Edges can be decidedly dangerous places…so what is it about them that we find so utterly appealing?
Despite the danger, our fascination with edges is pervasive. We flock to the coast to experience the wonder of what seems to be the very edge of the world, where land meets sea and sea meets sky. Our physical edges touch and we are electrified or repulsed, reassured or startled, responsive or cold, but rarely do we remain unchanged by the encounter. Our spiritual edges meet and we are profoundly moved or deeply shaken. We sense the tremendous power that is generated when our physical, spiritual and intellectual edges collide.
Maybe we know that edges are significant because we experience them as beginnings and endings, or “thresholds,” as Billy Crockett suggests in his captivating article in the first volume of The Blue Rock Review. Thresholds hold a certain magic, acting as mysterious gateways from one place to another, or from one way of being to another. They allow us to pass through from the known to the unknown and back again. Thresholds are where the surprises lie, where we find evidence of the wholes being far more than the sum of their parts, and where the facts derived from our narrow understanding of how things work don’t necessarily apply. The groom carries his bride over the threshold to signify the passage from single life to life as a couple. Time seems to stand still. Nevertheless, they can’t live there forever. They can only step through and begin their new life, passing from the edge of what was to the edge of what will be. When they cross back to the other side of the threshold again the next day, nothing has really changed, and yet nothing is ever truly the same.
As creative beings, we stand on the threshold between thought and matter and wrestle ephemeral shadows, vague ideas, and hints of echoes into substantive form. It’s part of what makes us uniquely human, part of what we seem to be wired to do. We are the alchemists and wizards who build skyscrapers out of minerals and sand, or organize what amounts to nothing more than a mere handful of pitches into symphonies. We create stories and music, make books and recordings, adapt systems, organize networks, start companies, grow families and develop countless other enterprises out of little more than our desire to do so. As our dreams begin take shape in the material world, they in turn play a part in shaping us. We are forever changed by our creations and by what it took to bring them into being. Even as we venture to our edges to create them, they cause us to push our boundaries back even farther, expanding as our experience expands, stretching to our outer limits and beyond.
Nature demands this sort of extension out to the edges and collaboration with whatever is to be found there. Life ventures upward and downward and outward to its farthest limits, as far as it can stretch, before it begins to curve back in on itself, and the cycle begins again. The oak sprouts from the acorn, bursts out of the earth, sends roots as deep as they can go and limbs as high as they can climb. Through a collaboration of sorts with the elements, the oak absorbs every drop of nourishment from the water, dirt, air and sun that it can, and it turn provides oxygen, shade, shelter and beauty to a world that needs what it has to offer. Someday, the oak will fall and return to the soil, but not until it has reached its limits.
We are drawn to find our edges. This means moving to the outer reaches of our known realm and dancing along the perimeter of uncharted territory. We may be delighted or terrified to varying degrees, but nevertheless, it’s something that we must do. After all, we are alive, and certain laws apply. Life insists that we move from the center outward until there is nothing left. And therein lies the incentive to both proceed and hesitate: We know that someday, there will be nothing left. We hope that our end doesn’t come from dangling out over the edge of the precipice and writing that book we’ve been meaning to write, but it very well might. And yet, there is this gnawing sense of urgency that we’ve got to go explore that edge before the last grain of sand trickles to the bottom of the hourglass.
The thing is, we know that our end will come from exploring our edges. The you that writes the book will disappear in the process as you make new discoveries and forge new territory. The you that raises four children will be long gone by the time the first takes her first breath, let alone by the time the last goes to college. The you that records the Bach cello suites will not be the same you that organizes a launch party when the CD comes out months––or years––later. Just as the oak tree has to break beyond its acorn shell in order to reach its full potential, we’ve got to expand past our own edges in order to become all that we are capable of being. The difference is, the oak tree has no choice but to find its edges, but we do. May we all have the courage to choose well.

An Interview with Aaron Bramwell

Sat, 5 Mar 2011 13:40:19 -0600

I came to know Aaron as a saxophonist and composer during my grad school days at The University of Texas. He wrote one of my favorite pieces in the saxophone and piano duo repertoire––Canciones del Zocalo, hailed as a “fully realized tone poem” in one recent review. Aaron has always impressed me as someone who is not only supremely creative, but knows how to harness his creativity in order to actually create, which is far easier said than done. A case in point, Aaron founded and currently runs one of Austin’s leading web design firms, Monkee-Boy Web Design, Inc.

CM: How is running a web design company similar to composing?

AB: That is an interesting question. Web design and web development are surprisingly very similar to music composition. In my mind, both are sums of their very granular parts––like a beach of sand.

In composition, a musical note can stand alone, however it takes many notes, rhythms, articulations, artists, venue, etc. to create the whole composition and experience. If one performer is out of tune, or the score is off a beat, or you forget a sharp sign on a note the end product can suffer.

In web design, everything you see online is made up of tiny pixels and controlled by code made up of very granular components. If a pixel is out of place or you forget a one special character the whole page could blow up. The many different web browsers also create a unique environment for every user which also has to be considered in both creation and production.

So, I see the mental approach to both as being very similar. They both involve very creative thinking, attention to detail, seeing the big picture, and ultimately having the patience and dedication to put all of the little parts and pieces together.

Running a company, as opposed to doing the design and development work, is a whole different monster, but at the end of the day, it also takes creative thinking (for helping customers, inspiring employees, and directing the corporate goals and initiatives), attention to detail (finances, hiring the right people, executing on commitments), plus patience and dedication (weathering recessions, growing smart as opposed to fast, and putting in the time to keep all of the plates spinning).

I truly feel that the skills required for music composition can translate into almost any industry and profession.

CM: What are some of the things you’ve learned about creativity over the years through your various endeavors?

AB: I’ve come to discover several common threads over the years:

You get what you put into it.
To me, your have to treat the most important things in life like a tomato plant. They require a lot of love and attention, constant nurturing and ultimately if you have done your job right, it produces a nice juicy reward at the end. Family, personal growth, business, friends, etc... they all apply.

Creativity is a process of innovation and inspiration.
In both composition and design, we are limited by a lot of factors. In music there are limitations as to what each musician and instrument can do. In web design, there is a limit as to what browsers can support, users can adopt, and developers can build. As such, it takes inspiration in both worlds to think big about where you want to go and then takes innovation, applied gracefully to what has worked in the past, to develop a plan to reach the destination.

Everyone can create, but not everyone can be creative. I have met a lot of people in both my personal and business lives. Some people are forced to create. Some just create. To me, creative people are born to be creative. They are curious and inspired to be creative without any prompting from outside forces. Anyone can own the tools, so to speak, but creative people know inherently what to do with them, or use them for something they were never intended to be used for.

CM: What and / or who inspires you?

AB: As to what inspires me creatively, I would say “the unexpected.” There are lot of people who get by through doing “more of the same”––which one can certainly make a living doing. To me, those people who take a risk (calculated or otherwise) to push the envelope and do something a little unexpected really catch my ear/eye and get my creative juices flowing.

As to who inspires me, it depends. My family for sure. They inspire me to get out bed each day, work hard, and do whatever it takes to keep them safe and secure.

People who have had to overcome incredible odds inspire me also. It is easy to take for granted the luxury of liberty, freedom, and not having to worry about where our next meal is going to come from. So, ordinary people who have done extraordinary things against unimaginable odds help keep me grounded and inspired to never for forget how good I have it.

If you were looking for specific names... how much time do you have? :)

About Aaron Bramwell

Composer and entrepreneur Aaron Bramwell graduated from the University of Texas at Austin in 1998 with a degree in Music Composition from the Butler School of Music where he studied with Harvey Pittel, Donald Grantham and Dan Welcher. After graduation, Aaron jumped into the world of music publishing at EMI Music Publishing in NYC, and then returned to Austin to began a career in web design at IBM.

Aaron now owns and runs one of Austin's top interactive agencies, Monkee-Boy Web Design, Inc. (www.m-boy.com). At Monkee-Boy, Aaron is responsible for directing all creative services for the company and helping develop custom online solutions for clients of all shapes and sizes. He currently lives in Austin with his wife, Tracy, and two kids, Quinn and Zoey.

This Means War

Sun, 6 Feb 2011 12:25:40 -0600

At this very moment, I am engaged in a dangerous battle. If you saw me, you would probably have no idea what is taking place. I am sitting alone at my kitchen table, typing on my laptop, casually dressed. Pausing to check my countenance in the mirror directly across from me, I see that my expression is somewhat serious, but nothing that would disclose the significance of what is at stake. There is no one else in the room, no signs of struggle, no weapons, no armor, no blood.
I have already lost a couple of battles this morning, and that has weakened me. I skipped my morning exercise, rationalizing that it’s too cold and I’m too tired. I grabbed the cup of coffee I said I wouldn’t drink instead of the green tea that I find much more nourishing. Two decisions against what I truly desire for myself, two battles lost.
Two battles already lost this morning, but one important battle remains, namely that I want very much to write this article and share these thoughts with you. I want to think about what it means to be an artist and express these ideas––I need to give them form. A victory here, in the realm of my creative work, would put me back in charge, forcing the enemy to retreat for the time being. I am winning this battle; I am regaining my strength.
The enemy is cunning, having laid every manner of trap and distraction in my way in order to force me off of my objective. The kitchen needs cleaning. I’m hungry and haven’t had breakfast. There are bills to be paid. My e-mails demand to be answered. My computer is running out of juice; I have to get up and find the power cord. There is a strong chance I won’t return; I’ll get sidetracked by the kitchen and then it will be time to leave for work. I will have lost the battle.
I have known my enemy for a long time, and I have known him as one who plagues us all, preventing us from creating, paralyzing us with useless thoughts about the unimportance of our desires, the mediocrity of our work, our inherent unworthiness, and the pointless meaninglessness of the whole damn thing. It wasn’t until recently that I learned his name––Resistance––from author Steven Pressfield in his mind-blowing book, The War of Art.
“Resistance is like the Alien or the Terminator or the shark in Jaws. It cannot be reasoned with. It understands nothing but power. It is an engine of destruction, programmed from the factory with one object only: to prevent us from doing our work.”
The War of Art is an illuminating and insightful guide to gaining the upper hand in our inner creative battles. As Pressfield suggests, what makes Resistance a particularly insidious opponent is that it seems to come from outside ourselves, but is completely self-generated. In my case, the dirty kitchen, the unpaid bills and the unanswered e-mails all seem to beckon to me from somewhere “out there.” It’s not my fault, I tell myself. Wasn’t it someone else’s turn to do the dishes last night? It’s no fair that I have bills, and I can’t help it that they have to be paid now. And what if there’s something important in my inbox that demands immediate attention? What if I’m making someone angry by making them wait for a reply? Who can exercise when it’s dark and cold? Coffee is just way sexier than tea, and we’re only talking one cup––what can it hurt?
Yes, it’s just a cup of coffee. Everyone drinks coffee, right? It’s only one day without exercise. Daily exercise isn’t even necessary to maintain good health. And yes, only a couple of hundred people will be reading this article, and not a one of them will be waiting by the computer to receive it. However, the issue goes much deeper than that. If I continue to make choices that contradict my own wishes for myself, I am letting Resistance win, and in a few years there will be nothing left of my goals, my aims, my desires, or the life that I want to live. At the end of my life, I will look back on a string of broken promises and unanswered callings, having realized only a modicum of the potential that is within me, having expressed only a fraction of my creative power, having experienced only the meager scraps of joy available to those of us adrift on the sea of Melville’s “half lived life.”
I’m not fighting for tea. I’m fighting for my very soul. In this fight, every choice matters. Every habit matters. Each thought that we allow to take root matters. Our lives are built on the little choices that we make, the thoughts that fill our heads, the small battles that we fight day in and day out for our greater good. As I come to the end of this article, I realize that today, victory is mine. I have said what I wanted to say. I have done it on my terms. I have not been pulled off the path by paying bills when I needed to be writing, or doing dishes when I needed to be practicing, or allowing other people’s agendas to supplant my own, or inviting less important responsibilities than my creative work to take center stage when they can be relegated to the wings. I have not given away my power. I have lived my life the way I wanted to live it in this hour, and that will fortify my resolve in the next hour. Today, I fought against Resistance and won, and when one of us wins, it means that any of us can –– a victory for us all.

Divine White Light by Harvey Pittel

Sat, 5 Feb 2011 12:25:45 -0600

An esteemed colleague recently asked me what I thought of distance teaching. That is, giving private lessons on an instrument by computer. I told him it really wasn’t for me. I explained that the individual chemistry has to be there in person in order for me to impart the gifts of musical knowledge and wisdom to others that my teachers have given to me. When I saw my colleague a few days later, he asked what I meant by “chemistry between people.” I realized at that moment that not all of us consciously think in those terms.

I thought of my mother who, even at 86 years old, lacking much of her short term memory, remains a people person. She just exudes that chemistry with a smile and a “Hi, dear” for every one of the caregivers and visitors whom she meets daily at her assisted living facility. What a wonderful gift this chemistry gives us in our daily lives if we only open ourselves to it in the midst of tension and stress!

A young voice student from my temple congregation stopped by to see me at U.T. the other day. He is a fabulous singer, a true Russian Bass! I told him I heard him sing at High Holy Day services and was very impressed. He told me that he had begun college pursuing a different major and had changed to study music performance. I told him that he should only be a music major, that he had a gift, and explained my belief that this kind of gift is given to us and that our purpose in this life is to share that gift with others. He appeared surprised as I told him he had that gift and was destined to share it with others! This gift, of one form or another, which is given to each of us is another form of that chemistry between people.

At the Yasodhara Ashram in Kootenay Bay, British Columbia, Canada, which I attended for Yoga Training and Retreat each summer several years ago, I began my continuing efforts to be a channel of Divine White Light as I perform, as well as in everyday life. I am just now realizing that my mom in her way has been a channel of that Divine Light for her entire life!

As we share good chemistry with each other each day I believe we take a step toward becoming that channel of Light. Maybe all of this is the same path to channeling that most precious energy that constantly surrounds us. Each of us has a special gift that will help others. I believe that sharing that good chemistry is a path of growth toward that Divine Light.

Each day that I can make someone smile or help someone learn something new enriches me and allows me to overcome the challenges of life. The spiritual practice that I am privileged to experience before and during each performance enhances that ability to channel Divine Light.

About Harvey Pittel

Harvey Pittel, consistently acknowledged as one of America’s foremost classical saxophonists, has popularized the very concept of the concert saxophone and has elevated his instrument to a new level of appreciation by lovers of fine music. His recitals around the world, including seven major New York City appearances, have brought Pittel praise such as that from the N. Y. Times: “The program not only glorified Adolphe Sax’s 139-year-old instrument, but brought glory to the music that was played on it.”
For complete biographical information and discography, please visit www.harveypittel.com.