Journey of 100

I just listened to Shem’s 38th Bach performance on his road to 100 in a darkened hall on the campus of Burlington college – 9:30 pm. A light rain began outside during the performance.

This is an inspired and inspiring project. I tried to come to the concert with no expectations or preconceived ideas of what to listen for.

With Shem’s dual goals of attaining 100 performances as well as, over time, losing his sense of ‘being the performer’ of the music, you experience that as a performer, Shem is listening with very open and curious ears. Often in performing, Bach’s solo music, we can analyze and affix rigid ideas to passages and the ideas can tend to take center stage while we lose some of our sensitivity to all of the actual sounds of the music in the moment.

The most special moments of the performance, for me, were the normal, simple music – in between pyrotechnic passagework. This is where the sense of constant patient listening was most thrilling.

The majority of the performance was listened to with my eyes closed. The music was beautiful and I didn’t think of the performance at all – just listened to the music. I’d say that’s mission accomplished. Thank you, Shem!

Dear Shem,

It has taken the rest of the day to put verbal language to the experience of drawing with you playing the Chaconne in Lala & Tim’s workshop this morning. The first thrilling moments of the piece seemed to accompany me in my drawing of our very much alive and generous model who was dancing in response to the music—the music of Bach! Inspired by the good fortune to be present for such communion, I pour some drops of water onto my drawing paper and the rich, dark tones of your violin seem to take root within my drawing, making the marks of my sepia crayon move gracefully across the page. But this seemingly easy and blessed beginning was not to be sustained. Although I continue to make numerous quick drawings on multiple pages of my drawing tablet, I am at the same time aware that I am feeling more robot-like in my efforts. I soon become aware that my attention is being pulled between wanting to focus on your performance and needing to focus on my drawing. I proceed to move in closer to the drawing, but almost immediately feel pulled to attend to the music. The push-pull of listening and looking is making it impossible to keep eye, mind, hand, heart, soul and ears in balance. I then see an image in my mind of the un-centered clay beginning to fly off the potter’s wheel. My mind wanders to how the model is doing this, how you, Shem, are doing this, how my studio mates are doing this. At the moment I think I might not want to do this anymore, you move slowly away from where I am drawing in one studio into the connecting studio space, continuing to play your violin as you walk. You and your violin have now “turned the corner”—the music is now in the background and I immediately regret wishing it gone. Shortly after this loss, I realize that the music becomes difficult to “hear” (figuratively now as well as literally), for I am hearing strains of sadness and anxiety in some of the bars. I write in the corner of one small drawing “NO CLOSURE.” The music seems to be on a speeding train making no stops.
Toward the end of the piece, as if by magic, I become aware that 3 drawings seem to have appeared in my pile. Without even realizing it, I had changed from water crayon to water pencil and now see images that look as if I had merely breathed them into being. Surprisingly, I don’t even remember making them. By focusing on the music once and for all, the drawings just showed up. Tim speaks often of getting out of your own way as an artist in order to “allow for the visitation,” where drawings show up unexpectedly. So thank you for this opportunity to be reminded of this art-affirming practice, as well as the opportunity to co-create with you—a life-affirming practice. Pearl