My inner voice is telling me to start vlogging, so here we go. The cream puff story from my last post, recounted a bit differently. I’d love your comments. This is my first “cream puff” of whatever this vlogging activity is to be.
The phone rang. Actually, it buzzed, vibrating on the coffee table. I looked down, and there was my friend’s smiling face. I always enjoy seeing it–when I took the photo of her, I’d said, “Think of sex!” and she responded with a surprised laugh.
“Eric, are you home?” Yes. “Oh good! I have some Easter cheer for you. I’ll be over soon.”
Not much longer and there was a rapping, rapping, at my old front door. Once our fearsome miniature schnauzer, Riley, was under control, I went and greeted my smiling friend.
“I know how much you guys like cream puffs,” she said as she handed the foil-covered box of “Easter joy” to me, complete with a greeting card on top. I thanked her profusely. We chatted a bit. She said she hoped to see me in church tomorrow, and I said I’d be there. With–surprise!–my daughter, home briefly from NY, and also my ex-wife (whom we all love), who is coming in for the night as she returns home from a concert and teaching trip.
There were more Easter cheer deliveries to make, and so my friend went happily on her way. I went and told my husband, still in bed, that “Mary just brought us cream puffs.” He smiled and stretched his sleepy body with surprised ecstasy.
What a great way to spend a sunny Saturday morning, I realized. She’s having a blast.
I’m sitting here feeling stuck with a writing project. My inner critic is always worrying that whatever I’m writing or playing is not good enough, that it will be judged, that my worth as a person will be judged.
If I notice that, I can step aside from it, let it be, and connect with other energies. My friend Dale keeps nudging me to meditate, and suddenly it seems like every other article I read or podcast I listen to discusses meditation. OK, OK, universe, thanks for the messages, I’ll meditate!
The Easter cheer delivery lady, who loves to bake, has, I’m sure, thought about what her friends’ favorites are and made them to deliver this morning. It’s an act of caring, attentive, loving friendship.
Time now, I think, to reimagine much of what I do, with writing, with playing, with preparing classes, as creating the gifts I can deliver to friends.
Let’s call it cream-puff energy, a nice replacement for anxiety.
Hey there, everyone in Alaska (I’m getting traffic from there, don’t ask me why)!
Friday evening, the amazing pianist/composer Fernando Otero and I did a short performance in a packed room at the elegant Consulate General of Argentina. It was one of three shows that doubled as showcases for attendees at the Association of Performing Arts Presenters conference taking place this weekend in midtown Manhattan. We played selections from our soon-to-be-released album, Dual, compositions by Fernando arranged for cello and piano. It is a dream come true to have now performed several times with him.
Saturday morning Mr. Photographer and I slept in, having been up a bit late the night before celebrating with my daughter and her aunt. Then came a lot of practicing as I prepare sonatas by Bach, Debussy, Schnittke, and Prokofiev for a Tuesday 7:30PM concert with Taka Kigawa at Spectrum, a venue in the East Village.
Since it was about 50º, we decided to go down to the Brooklyn Bridge for some #celloeverywhere. It took me a bit to get packed, and then the trains were slow, so it was just about sunset when we arrived. It was actually quite packed; it seemed like most of Manhattan and Brooklyn and decided to go to each other’s side of the river.
I’d got as close to the fence as possible to stay out of peoples’ way. There are actually two lanes, one for walkers and one for people on bikes, and the walkers were trespassing in the bikers’ territory with abandon, and I didn’t want to make the situation any more complicated than it was.
There were some smiles. It was getting cold, and dark, and not many people stopped to listen. Then along came a gaggle of young men who did stop and listen. One very sweetly took a dollar out of his wallet and tried to give it to me, but I smiled and said, “No money!” One of his companions pointed out, “It’s a photo shoot.” And I finished the Bach Allemande I was playing, explained #celloeverywhere, and gave them a card. They explained that they, too, are musicians, singing Monday night at Carnegie Hall, in a concert of music by Sir Karl Jenkins.
They went on back to Manhattan. Mr. Photographer headed towards Brooklyn.
And then it got very windy, and cold, and started to rain a bit. But just a bit–and then it stopped. We tried some photos with Manhattan in the background. The light was difficult–we’d need a different lense or some lights to make it work with me in the foreground and the city lights behind. This photo works best in black and white with some adjusting of light levels:
I think it’s pretty cool!
Finally we got towards the middle of the bridge, and during a break from foot and bicycle traffic, were able to get this shot:
That one, Mr. Photgrapher, is very cool. Thanks!
As it was getting colder and darker, and I was concerned I was more in peoples’ way that actually offering a gift, we went back across the bridge, and along with everyone else, found Starbucks to warm up.
Mr. Photographer and I headed over to Times Square last night, where nothing anyone does is going to attract much attention. Still, we had fun with some street performers.
I thought they were having fun. Maybe they were, but they also wanted tips! Well, they don’t have full-time college professor jobs.
There was a beautiful moment when a mother and her daughter stopped to listen for a couple of minutes. The little girl, about two and a half, waved and sang out, “bye bye” when they left. Several people stopped and took videos. Some puzzled smiles from people who seemed to recognize what I was playing–and also wondering, I imagine, why someone would be doing this when it was about 35 degrees. (I did have to stop from time to time to warm up my left hand.)
It’s just really fun. What can I say? I love playing the cello. Everywhere!
It’s a busy week, as I’m preparing for an APAP showcase performance with Fernando Otero on Friday night (celebrating the upcoming release of our new album “Dual”), and a recital with Taka Kigawa of Bach, Debussy, Schnittke, and Prokofiev on Tuesday the 19th at Spectrum, a relatively new venue in Greenwich Village. And Thursday through Sunday last week I was attending the Chamber Music America Annual Conference here in New York.
Sunday it was warm–nearly 60 degrees. But it was raining most of the day. As late afternoon approached, the skies cleared above Carnegie Hall (down the block from our hotel), and so Mr. Photgrapher and I grabbed the camera, the carbon-fiber cello, and my camp stool, hopped on the subway, and got off at West 4th St., all set to head to Washington Square Park.
And it started raining again. Not just mist, but rain. So we ducked in the coffee shop, had coffee only (Mr. P wouldn’t allow me any pie, and my blood sugar thanks him), and waited for the rain to pass. What a world we live in–we could watch the weather radar on our iPhones. At one point it was just like the good old days in Tampa: it was sunny and raining.
Finally we were able to walk down to the park. The wet pavement was gorgeous, it was still cloudy, and I was in the mood for the Bach D Minor Suite:
Funny how the world had turned black and white! Well, actually that was a photo-editing filter. As the sky continued to brighten, more people walked by, a few stopping to listen for a bit.
It was almost five years ago when I stepped out of a subway car at 96th St. and Broadway, near the apartment I was living in while on sabbatical, and there was Dale Henderson, playing Bach, quite beautifully. I’d read about Dale, the Bach in the Subways guy, had wanted to meet him, and there he was, at my stop! Serendipity.
I’d told Dale I wanted to join in, too, and together we organized nine string players (that’s my memory) playing Bach on March 21, 2011, Bach’s birthday. It was, as I understand it, the first annual “Bach in the Subways Day,” which has now grown into a worldwide movement.
This past Friday night, I walked from my hotel on 57th St. up to 69th St. to hear Dale perform all three of the Bach Sonatas for Viola da Gamba and Keyboard at Christ and St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church with a truly remarkable pianist, William Chapman Nyaho. (Dale substituted his cello for a viola da gamba; these works have become staples of the cello/piano repertoire).
Dale played with total commitment, a warm sound, lyrical musicality, and virtually flawless intonation (that left me quite admirous.) His playing has a deep intensity that comes from his core. Nyaho is a marvel of imaginative yet unexaggerated phrasing and nuance, and plays with an effortless (or so it seems) technical facility. They spoke with the audience about each of the sonatas, pointing out that they are actually
They spoke with the audience about each of the sonatas, pointing out that they are actually trios–two voices in the keyboard, the third the cello, and invited us to listen to the interplay of the counterpoint and the jazz-like dialogue.
The distinguished-looking husband of one of Dale’s adult students served as the host of the event, introducing each half. He spoke about how Dale “owns “the Bach Suites, and compared him favorably to many better-known cellists. He,and Nyaho, play the Gamba Sonatas with a genuinely engaging sense of ownership and commitment.
One of my mottos, and the motto of the summer festival I organize, is “friends making music for friends.” The musical and personal friendship between the two performers, and between them and so many in the audience, was amply evident. It was a great energy to be a part of–and it reminded me a bit of home.
In Central Park a few days ago, I was playing the Bach G Major Allemande.
Several people stopped to listen for a while. These two women, and a baby, stayed for the entire movement and perhaps a few more, taking photos and video. When I was done, I walked over to say hi and give them a flyer.
“Do you practice?”
I laughed a bit. “Of course!” She asked how much, and I explained that with concerts coming up 3-4 hours a day at minimum.
“I’m a music teacher in Alaska. I will be able to show my students the video of you playing this beautiful music in Central Park and explain that even someone like you has to practice.”
We had a lovely conversation and went out ways.
And if she and her students find this, I have one thing to say: practice!