tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11762189404072429132024-02-07T01:41:42.848-08:00Discovering the Piano at FiftyMid-Life Pianisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05431555615800751877noreply@blogger.comBlogger185125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176218940407242913.post-23068322024433648052013-07-30T06:01:00.001-07:002013-07-30T06:17:48.516-07:00Blurred Lines My Fine A**<i>Reason Why I no Longer want to Live in This World Number 11,316: </i>Entertainment has become awful. The lowest common denominator seems to be the target audience of every aspect of pop culture. When I go to a movie, people in the audience are cell-phoning and talking to the big people on the screen. Pop music is either an auto-tuned diva or an electronic backbeat accompanied by grunts and profanity. Now some song called "<i>Blurred Lines</i>," has been top of the charts all summer. Curious about the popularity, I made an investigation.<br />
<br />
I had never heard of this song before, and I couldn't understand a syllable of the lyrics, so I looked them up on this newfangled Interweb. The lyrics, if you can call them such, express a fundamental disrespect for women in general, romanticize adultery in particular, and the underlying theme is that just because you want to sleep with someone, by golly, you should be able to no matter their relationship status. And the way to get a good girl is to talk to her like you're both in junior high school. Respect? Rapport? Geddouddahere. Call her a b***h and brag about your sexual prowess. That'll win her over every time.<br />
<br />
The creaky geezers on the Today Show have been flogging this 'earworm' to death, because, you know, Matt Laurer and Al Roker are hip and with it. I imagine them shaking their calcified hips to the admittedly-catchy retro rhythm just before bedtime and right after their bowl of Fiber One, and Matt singing to his lady to back that fine a** up to him. In my mind's-eye madness, I further see Matt's lady packing her bag to go stay with Oprah for a few days. And wow--even as I write this, Robin Thicke is on the Today show. The geriatric Bad Girls of television, Hoda and Kathy Lee, are hanging on the edge of the stage. Blurred Lines, indeed. These two have blurred the line between <i>decency</i> and <i>common sense.</i><br />
<br />
When asked about the controversy, Thicke replied he just wanted to make a funny song to get people on the dance floor. He says the song respects women because the line "That man ain't your maker" is a feminist line. No it isn't--it's a come-on line. Even back in the winsome 80's horny guys were saying "That man ain't your husband, girl. He don't own you." And many women, especially those in relationships that were going through a rough patch, fell for it. <br />
<br />
I have never been a chap who hung out in clubs or bars (even though I've performed in more than I can count) and never even considered a relationship with someone you would meet in a club or bar. I am, I've realized in my own middle-age--a prude. I've never had any interest in sex as recreation or just-for-fun. The most intimate physical interaction possible between man and woman should be an affirmation of love. Anything less seems to me too much trouble, not to mention a depressing waste of time and energy. However, another reason I've always felt I was born in the wrong place and time is that at fifty-something, I have encountered very few people who share this attitude. Most guys I know would have sex with a hole in the wall if they thought nobody was looking.<br />
<br />
People go to bars and clubs to drink and get laid, so probably Robin Thicke is preaching to an already-converted choir. Perhaps no more than a funny dance song, harmless, except all my life I've heard people derive their life's philosophy from pop songs. In fact, as a person who makes his precarious living in show business, my personal favorite is "If you ever get annoyed, look at me I'm self-employed. I love to work at nothing all day." So will 'good girls' invite aggressive sexual overtures, and will testosterone-fueled men approach attached women with promises of mind-blowing sex with their titanic tool? Judging from the popularity of this song--Yes. This song has tapped into the zeitgeist.<br />
<br />
When famous people advocate a thing, it makes it okay for us to do it too. The rise of Buddhism in this country owes in large part the high-profile Hollywood Buddhists, and fashion styles are quite often spearheaded by celebrities. But aggressive sexual advances toward another guy's woman isn't a passing spiritual trend. It's an affront to decency. Some lines aren't meant to be blurred, like the line between organ meats and ice cream. You're either committed to someone or you're not, and if you're not, it's time to get out of the relationship. A lesson I learned in my youth is that actions have consequences. Accountability is important and we have to accept the consequences of our actions. If some jerk were to speak to my beautiful woman like the guy in Blurred Lines, I would rip his trachea out.<br />
<br />
Then make him sit through Madama Butterfly a few times.Mid-Life Pianisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05431555615800751877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176218940407242913.post-21754180046165503802013-03-22T04:57:00.002-07:002013-03-22T05:22:43.985-07:00Life, Love, the Piano, and Various Obscure Mythological ReferencesEven though I'm currently without a teacher (my last one moved to Seattle) I've been practicing as much as possible, shoehorning keyboard mangling in the aftermath of a recent 350-mile transmigration from Indiana and subsequent lifestyle adjustments. Add to this meeting the person with whom I want to spend the rest of forever, and scrabbling to re-establish my business, and convincing my paranoid feline this is NOT the place where they kill cats. Sneaking in practice has been a formidable exercise. Not quite as laborious as Hercules swabbing out the dung-encrusted Aegean Stables, or Sisyphus shoving his rock up Mount Hades, but somewhat trickier than matching your socks in the dark or alphabetizing your Victorian erotic flower collection.<br />
<br />
One thing I've learned about Indiana, especially Bloomington (code-named "Mordor" by my friends and family) is that people don't move to Indiana, they move away from it. I've joined the rank of escapees and returned to my hometown Knoxville Tennessee. It is a great enablement that my sweet lady seems to like my piano. Support, validation and approval within a relationship is such a new and awe-inspiring sensation that I haven't quite worked out an appropriate response. "Thank you," seems inadequate, and even "I love you," only expresses a tiny drop of the gratitude and wonder. I don't think most women realize how much her man desires her approval. This is why knights of old went off on heroic quests: to earn the admiration of their ladies. <br />
<br />
I think many people expend a considerable amount of time and energy, like Pygmalion with his Galatea, trying to remould their partner into the perfect mate. I've always felt a woman should love the man she has, not a
fantasy-construction embodying the best qualities of Ryan Gosling,
Gandhi, and Steve Tyler. And the same applies to guys, of course. Stop
fantasizing about whoever is on the cover of MAXIM this month and love
your own lady. So what happens when you meet the perfect partner, already crafted through the machinations of genetics, experience and karma, and you wouldn't change a thing about this enchanting creation? I can't speak for anyone else, but I call it <i>home.</i><br />
<br />
But enough rhapsodizing about matters of the heart; let's look at the piano. The piano survived the seven-hour drive from Bloomington to Knoxville, and I will tell you I didn't feel settled until I moved my piano and my cat. Currently I'm working on <i>Music of the Night</i> and David Lanz's arrangement of <i>Whiter Shade of Pale.</i> The latter piece, originally released by Procol Harum, has a lovely melodic line based on J.S. Bach's <i>Air on the G String </i>from the <i>Orchestral Suite Number Three.</i> It also incorporates the most difficult left-hand chords I've ever attempted. Most of them are tenths, and playing a tenth is the outer extreme of my hand span. I have to play these chords on the very edge of the keys so I don't slur the chords through the addition of unwanted notes. It's much fun to practice techniques that stretch you--in this case, literally--and witness incremental improvement day by day. The Andrew Lloyd Weber arrangement of <i>Music of the Night i</i>s relatively easy and I have about 2/3rds of it licked. <br />
<br />
I'm also playing with some blues material my friend Charles Scott sent me. My goal this year is to find a new teacher and learn blues and jazz. <br />
<br />
Vacation starts tomorrow, and the lady and I are traveling to various lovely locations. I also am very close, the month of May to be exact, to my third year as a pianist.Mid-Life Pianisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05431555615800751877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176218940407242913.post-84741130647146737992013-01-23T13:22:00.000-08:002013-01-23T13:26:10.850-08:00Divorced Again? Naturally.Hot on the heels of my recent third divorce, I get asked this a lot: "Why do you keep getting married?"
My response is that just because you don't get something right the
first time, it doesn't mean you should give up. It's like if you buy a
dog, and the dog eventually dies, you think, "Well, I'll never buy
another dog. They die." Not that spouses are like dogs. Unless, of
course, they are, but that's the topic of next week's Dr Phil: "Is your
man a dog?" <br />
<br />
Some of my hipper Buddhist friends say in response
to my admittedly disastrous romantic past, "Everything's impermanent,"
meaning, I assume, that these marriages were bound to end someday.
Impermanence is often interpreted to mean that things end. I've had a
lot of experience with things apparently ending, and I think that this
is not true. Marriages may end, but the relationship doesn't. It
changes. Sometimes even within a relationship, the changes can be
radical. Sometimes these changes are survivable; sometimes not.<br />
<br />
I've
never been one to give up, on anything. Failure isn't an option. At age
fifty I went back to college to finish a degree I left hanging thirty
years ago, and begun seriously studying piano, the first music lessons
of my life. I finished that degree, so now I have three college degrees,
none of which are currently marketable but my head is full of all kinds
of arcane knowledge. <br />
<br />
Last semester my Italian teacher asked me
if I was ever going to marry again. I answered, "Amo le donne," ('I
love women,") and she laughed. "You will, then." And I might. I'm
neither bitter nor disappointed. Furthermore, I'm in love. Like I said,
<span style="font-style: italic;">amo le donne,</span> I so <i>amo le donne </i>very much, one in particular who.has been like the light coming on in a dark room for me. Or a lovely piece of music you suddenly hear from out of nowhere.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/HmW92wOdRdI?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
Speaking of music (and aren't we?) <span class="userContent">The first piece of "classical" (actually
Baroque) piece of music I fell in love with was J.S. Bach's Third
Brandenburg Concerto, and I fell head-over-heels with it. It was played
from a scratchy LP by my seventh grade music teacher. I relat<span class="text_exposed_show">ed
this on my blog Fifty Year Old Pianist and how something inside me
awakened forever. I asked all kinds of questions about this piece, who
wrote it, was there more. My music teacher was impressed, although all
my friends thought I was insane. <br /> <br /> The joy and passion of this
piece still awakens my heart. It just soars from variation to variation.
I like to think Bach was in love when he composed this, as it is the
music I hear in my heart when I'm with the one I love.</span></span> Mid-Life Pianisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05431555615800751877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176218940407242913.post-24632644952345591872012-11-11T13:51:00.001-08:002012-11-11T13:51:09.370-08:00blah blah blah<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyxUw1wbKM7MxOvLWd7xFOU1VHNgCVD0EAEYVMqW72bYUIN9pDVZg7hyeK6u2gsfJV6-cgdJU19DaIYioUs-Q' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Mid-Life Pianisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05431555615800751877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176218940407242913.post-81401687499933464202012-10-07T15:58:00.002-07:002012-10-07T15:58:51.497-07:00School, Piano, etc.I don't have my usual "oomph" this semester. Kinda dragging through, doing the required work and my mid-term reviews were all 'As' except, of course, Italian, and after performing the calculations required to convert the strange point system they've substituted into the one the rest of the world uses, it looks like I'm running my usual shaky 'B' in there. But the stress of managing classes where most of the work is essentially unchallenging busy-work and balancing my work, along with personal issues, is taking its toll, I think.<br />
<br />
By unchallenging, let me give an example. I have a core requirement called "Depth of Inquiry," which is a choice of classes designed to hone and refine the analytical skills of freshmen. I took "Eyes and Vision," which is a fairly interesting class involving the history of vision research, involving the investigations of ancient Greeks, the Renaissance masters, Isaac Newton, Descartes, etc. Fine so far, except the class scrapes the very thinnest epidermal layer of these mighty intellects. Okay, I understand it's a survey class. But now get this: we get a weekly study guide with the answers to the tests. Basically it's a list of questions with asterisks next to the questions that are going to be on the test. So we look up the answers, fill them in, and remember them for the quizzes and tests.<br />
<br />
I've also discovered all the art classes--and I've taken three so far--all teach the same things. They have a party-line and you can pretty much learn everything they have to teach in about three weeks. My senior-level Drawing Class (Drawing IV) has non-majors in it. To my surprise. And these people, not to hold it against them, can draw about as well as my four-year-old-niece. As I said, I don't hold it against them, as they're neither artists nor art majors, but they're in the same class as I, who am both.<br />
<br />
My ennui seems to be shared by my fellow students. Last spring semester had an air of electric desperation about it, as we all struggled to keep up with the assignments and to outdo ourselves. This fall, everyone has a "whatever" cloud of indifference hovering over them.<br />
<br />
Of course, my particular dissatisfaction stems from m growing realization that IU, and possibly all universities, is operating a scam on the level of a time-share operation. I transferred to IU with 120 credits. You need 121 to graduate. But the credits from my former colleges weren't up to the exalted standards of IU, because they prefer transfer students have at least 20 hours on campus. Very well. That's a couple of semesters.<br />
<br />
THREE semesters later, they're still adding classes to my requirements. I applied to the Individualized Major Program because apparently in order to get a BFA, I would have to begin all over as a freshman. Never mind my 120 credits--it's a long story. But the IMP program would allow me to use them. I would be out in two more easy semesters. Or so it would seem.<br />
<br />
I put together a proposal that meets (actually exceeds) the requirements for graduation for IU, my proposed major: Literary Illustration. Translation: Writing and illustrating my own books. I submitted a draft and it was "suggested" that I and my adviser consider expanding my proposal to include three or more classes outside my major to add diversity. Understand two points: (1) there are already core requirements for diversity which I have already met (2) three or more classes adds at least one more semester. Remember that Time-share scam? I have no doubt in my mind that even if I do this, I'll apply for graduation to be told I need to take one more semester of something or other, and it will be some easy, totally BS class like Kenyan Folk Dance, because due to a new university policy one or more of my transferred classes are no longer an acceptable replacement for cultural diversity. No doubt. In my mind.<br />
<br />
Bottom line is this. I don't need this degree, it's unfinished business from my past which would give me personal satisfaction to close. If my proposal is refused or addenda are suggested, I'll thank them for their time and this will be my last semester at IU. After all, it's not like there's a job waiting for me at the end of this. I'm a guy ten years away from retirement, and a degree in Literary Illustration ain't going to make me a hot ticket. I'll mourn over not finishing my business, but I'm not going to be scammed just to get a piece of paper.<br />
<br />
But I may be tilting at windmills. It may all work out and my next big life achievement will be the world's only person holding a degree in Literary Illustration. We'll see.Mid-Life Pianisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05431555615800751877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176218940407242913.post-16846432687587831342012-09-02T17:32:00.000-07:002012-09-02T17:35:08.132-07:00Cristofori's Dream<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I finally got this sounding fairly good. It's a little clunky in spots but overall. not too shabby.<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dz8_uPnGURErWe1ZN_DGhg02qaWqv52_cdZ3VQMw4CdhC-mqWKYX_CzLUP9DSK3Kgys6rT7Wefi8rt__6LZ2Q' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Mid-Life Pianisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05431555615800751877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176218940407242913.post-63862640317369224412012-08-23T19:28:00.001-07:002012-08-23T19:28:49.732-07:00Another Semester SmokedSummer Semester I took two classes, one four-week intensive (Ethnomusicology) and one eight-week intensive (The Craft of Fiction). I learned,in the former, about all sorts of ethnic music in America. In the second class, I wrote all kinds of essays about various works of fiction. I got an A+ in the first class and an A in the second.<br />
<br />
Fall Semester has started and I have three classes: Drawing Four, Italian II, and The History of Eye, Vision and Brain Theory. Off to a good start.<br />
<br />
In piano news, plugging away, working of theory, dexterity and various pieces including a jazz version of Over the Rainbow, a piece of music I seem to be obsessed with.<br />
<br />
Ciao!Mid-Life Pianisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05431555615800751877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176218940407242913.post-26896981257015699052012-06-05T05:37:00.001-07:002012-06-05T05:38:32.468-07:00Summer Semester: Its HorrorsI had a month off between semesters so I decided to work on Joplin a bit more and add--get this--SYNCOPATED peddling. Yes indeed. Syncopated peddling to an already syncopated piece of music. After driving myself insane for about three days, it finally clicked, sort of, and is sounding fairly good.<br />
<br />
Summer semester began yesterday and what was I thinking? I took two classes, not difficult subjects really but Summer term is an entire semester compressed in to four weeks. Which means each day covers one unit. When I came home and began the homework for both classes, I realized doing a week's worth of homework for two classes in one evening was insane. I can do it but the next month is going to be hectic.<br />
<br />
So what if I won't sleep or get anything else done? I'll have two more core requirements out of the way, which means (drum roll) ALL of them will be out of the way.<br />
<br />
You can survive anything for a month, eh?<br />
<br />
EH?Mid-Life Pianisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05431555615800751877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176218940407242913.post-33668259664804709852012-05-08T19:39:00.001-07:002012-05-09T05:24:04.286-07:00Raise a Glass of Cognac to the Scholar and GentlemanMy grades were posted, one by one. First came a resounding A +. in <i>Advanced Drawing</i>, which was a good start. Next, an A in Art History: <i>Renaissance to Present.</i> I layeth the smack-down on the final, it lay whimpering in the corner. The topic for the essay portion I selected from the list of possibilities: <i>Art and Religion</i>. Oh man. I wrote so fast and furiously I inflamed an impressive writer's cramp. I turned in my neat blue exam booklet shaking my aching writing hand while the Prof laughed. I'll bet laughter was scarce while he waded through my 50,000 word manifesto re: the artist's role in documenting the <i>vox spiritu </i>of civilization. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg71MV-0EvZPVHxDNqcLQRYwPtpvd_Slqw6PRA4OUg4ZjrxoELMbrjJm7HraBbRRMtuj_NrUT9MFsRtUtrxhyphenhyphenUTO1UbGQ3QCFnI5Ad-oBxD_IKX-oqGKY33jdQvPl7orKzr1EbnwQqMeE_O/s1600/Bacchus+Final+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg71MV-0EvZPVHxDNqcLQRYwPtpvd_Slqw6PRA4OUg4ZjrxoELMbrjJm7HraBbRRMtuj_NrUT9MFsRtUtrxhyphenhyphenUTO1UbGQ3QCFnI5Ad-oBxD_IKX-oqGKY33jdQvPl7orKzr1EbnwQqMeE_O/s320/Bacchus+Final+copy.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
The third Ace in my hand was dealt by my painting professor, the one who assigned thirty-odd paintings in one semester. The final painting, a four-foot by forty-inch composition rendered on a canvas stretched on a frame we built ourselves in the campus wood shop, you may see here.<br />
<br />
A week passed before we took the dreaded Italian final exam. I studied all week, I admit I struggled with this class. It moved at breakneck speed and my brain, calcified by age, stubbornly refused to absorb the lingo at the blistering pace, especially at 9 AM. My performance on the tests has been shaky. I took the two-hour final, not certain about any of it. I had some time left, so went back and checked my answers. I found mistakes, corrected them. But were they mistakes? I changed them back, then changed them again. Then back, Aggh. I remained trapped in this paranoid cycle until time ran out and I had to turn in my paper, not sure if any of it was correct or if my answers had deteriorated into the ramblings of a lunatic.<br />
<br />
On the bus back to my car my brain whispered that I had made numerous errors, and correct answers danced in front of my eyes in the manner of genii conjured from a bottle. I arrived home convinced I'd failed the exam, and by extension the entire course, and would have to retake it in Summer school. In fact, I had set in motion plans to do this very thing before taking second semester Italian as my mastery of the preliminaries was so shaky.<br />
<br />
By Sunday my conviction of dismal failure was rock-solid. We were supposed to have our grade by Monday, so I checked online every hour. By 6PM there was no word, and I had sunk into the blackest pit of despondency. I slunk to bed at 10PM, no news of my fate forthcoming. Summer school started the next day, and I figured I would simply start all over in the fall.<br />
<br />
This morning, Tuesday, I checked online and couldn't believe my eyes. Through some sinister witchcraft, I made a <i>B</i> in Italian. That's correct--a B. I would have been happy with a D, the lowest passing grade. A C would have launched me into an ecstasy rivaling St. Teresa's. But a B? My mind couldn't cognize this miracle. Had I been at the local park, gnawing on a tuna sandwich, and happened to see Jesus tip-toeing across the duckpond with a glowing halo playing about his brow surrounded by a swarm of cherubim holding the hem of his robe above the festering pondscum, I wouldn't have been more disbelieving of what my eyes reported. Nodding, I logged off, prepared coffee, drank it slowly, not quite convinced, because I'm sometimes given to hallucinations. Once I saw Freud and Einstein sitting next to me passing a bottle of schnapps while exchanging anecdotes about amusing times in Thompkinsville, KY. But I digress. After allowing plenty of time for caffeine to work its magic on my neurons, I checked my grades again. The B stood proud and tumescent amongst the As. It was real. I had not only passed Italian, but did so with a modicum of dignity.<br />
<br />
My new plan is to solidify my basic Italian and get a running start of the intermediate material before second semester. I also intend to keep my workload in check so I'll have time to play my piano. I really missed it. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Mid-Life Pianisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05431555615800751877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176218940407242913.post-43769265739326564522012-05-02T08:33:00.002-07:002012-05-02T08:47:25.170-07:00Finals Week<div class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{"type":1}">
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">It's Finals Week, and the Men's Room on the third floor of the Fine Arts building smells of oil paint and desperation. On campus, wild-eyed, disheveled students stagger about mumbling to themselves, attempting to retain the tiniest morsels of information within traitorous cranial sieves.</span></div>
<div class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{"type":1}">
<br /></div>
<div class="uiStreamMessage" data-ft="{"type":1}">
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">At
the beginning of the semester there were twenty-four students in my
Italian class. By the end, eight remained. It was like some weird
survival game. I kept looking for hidden cameras. I had a perfect
attendance record, even though one week I had a gruesome flu that wracked my frame like Torquemada's henchmen. I was
afraid to miss a single class. Some of the younger contestants were missing three
or four classes a month. If you missed a class, you <span class="text_exposed_show">fell
so far behind the attrition rate comes as no surprise. The pace was so
furious I thought at one point the teacher had to be kidding. This course was the intellectual equivalent of a Chuck Yeager stress-test. Material
appeared on the exams we didn't cover in class, and indeed we wouldn't absorb until the following week. We were asked to conjugate verbs and
complete sentences containing words and phrases we hadn't yet learned.
Since this was my first semester, I can't say whether or not this is
typical, or if we had fallen behind the scheduled curriculum. We
covered 225 pages of the textbook this semester, as well as auxiliary
material. I've been studying for the final coming up Friday, filling in gaps I may have missed on this whirlwind ride.</span></span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="text_exposed_show"></span></span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="text_exposed_show"></span></span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="text_exposed_show"></span></span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><br /> In piano news, I had little time to practice, but attended my lessons, which I bumped to every two weeks due to my hectic school schedule. The Painting class topped out at thirty-two paintings, an incredible amount of artwork, and my Drawing class had around a dozen assignments, which was a bit more reasonable. One of these was an "Installation," which means you make a three-dimensional creation and then go vandalize the community by installing it in a public place. I created a statement--a mutant infant with tentacles growing from his face, crawling from a trashcan-- about how industries pour mutagenetic chemicals in drinking water and put it outside the Kelly Business school.</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj47snazsF2RMtbF0aw8AAnsIUaiaLQ0_1d29LMUTByHseHxlK11HALenqIcKhUrISJ4mq0HNZGixONKnB6zdVGiKU2sdq190flahcbMrshGffNmS4PoTUZzMMt1KyVJfqPxqKNoqD0MD_t/s1600/spawn+installed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj47snazsF2RMtbF0aw8AAnsIUaiaLQ0_1d29LMUTByHseHxlK11HALenqIcKhUrISJ4mq0HNZGixONKnB6zdVGiKU2sdq190flahcbMrshGffNmS4PoTUZzMMt1KyVJfqPxqKNoqD0MD_t/s320/spawn+installed.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><br /> I have three finals out of the way and the last one is Friday. I began learning a new piece, or rather began work on a piece I dropped about a year ago: "Over the Rainbow," and I just about have it down cold. I also have on the table an arrangement of Gorden Lightfoot's "If You Could Read My Mind." I found a clip of some dude playing it, and I downloaded the sheets for it:</span></span><br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/y363buoeY70" width="560"></iframe>
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="text_exposed_show"><br /></span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}"><span class="text_exposed_show">I intend to raise a glass of fine Cognac Friday after the Italian final, and enjoy the weekend. Summer semester begins May 8th. I'm curious to compare second semester Italian to this first introduction. I hope second gear has a slower pace. Ciao, Ragazzi.</span></span></div>Mid-Life Pianisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05431555615800751877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176218940407242913.post-81377244472579492152012-03-23T05:15:00.004-07:002012-03-23T05:28:21.981-07:00PrimaveraI'm juggling five paintings, three of them part of a tryptich for end-term, one a giant multi-figure composition, also for end-term, and the fourth an in-class assignment. I have a hired model for the multi-figure, with whom I'm working after-hours. My friend Tom is modelling for the tryptich, and the in-class model handles those duties.<br /><br />Italian seems to be going well, so far, and Art History is no problem. That class is too easy. I sometimes forget I'm taking it at all and fall asleep during it. The tests seems so easy I think they must be deceptions, and I look for potholes and hidden mines. But this is because I took Art History before and I know most of this already man.<br /><br />I drew a giant 7' x 4' nude in drawing class in about two hours, and called it Giant Dave.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJapEcHzxVY8UEfVOERFwoac6LAFsgrBu9kj90V7oyUDknnGiXzPimg_M0yjPcmVYvFEuYgjRNdssvp3cdgp20nVeYThLOdV4Tbkm64HPgFvqXu7jwPxj1MvdLjQZxx56_Xz3eU7tZvyi/s1600/Big+Dave.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:left;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 225px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJapEcHzxVY8UEfVOERFwoac6LAFsgrBu9kj90V7oyUDknnGiXzPimg_M0yjPcmVYvFEuYgjRNdssvp3cdgp20nVeYThLOdV4Tbkm64HPgFvqXu7jwPxj1MvdLjQZxx56_Xz3eU7tZvyi/s320/Big+Dave.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5723068020772205106" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I think all the painting is going to pay off, but I have numerous shows in April and wonder what's going to happen When Worlds Collide.Mid-Life Pianisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05431555615800751877noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176218940407242913.post-68956067913988618542012-03-10T15:50:00.004-08:002012-03-10T16:21:21.666-08:00Mid-TermsParanoia, an ever-present humming in the beehive of my subconscious, had me firmly convinced I was spectacularly failing each and every one of my classes. Especially Italian, with Painting running a close second. Italian class moves so fast it's alarming, and even these twentyish Adoni and Houri sport a dazed and glassy-eyed appearance on their ruddy countenances in reaction to the blistering pace. Bear in mind they don't work, live on power-drinks, and are somewhat less than half my doddering age. I sometimes feel like a monkey caught in a tsunami clinging to a grapevine.<br /><br />In an attempt to buttress the teetering Jenga-tower of my calcified brain, I procured a tutor, a native Italian, and if not for this secret weapon I would have been left bleeding in the dust. As it was, I pulled a "C" for mid-terms, but it landed on the border and was almost a 'B.' However I got a high 'B' on my midterm oral exam, so I am turning a corner, and feel much more confident with the lingo. I think the second half of the semester will progress much more heroically.<br /><br />In spite of dire forebodings worthy of Roderick Usher, my Painting mid-term evaluation went very well. My main concern has been I can't finish the paintings we do in class. We've been doing four paintings a week, and before this, back when I was a productive painter, I used to do four paintings a year. All my homework assignments were polished productions but those piteous class paintings were all unfinished canvases. This didn't seem to matter. In fact the instructor told me he felt this was a good way to teach: to keep everyone a little out of breath. I now think of this as Asthmatic Art Academy.<br /><br />Yet I feel myself slowly adapting to this type of frenetic production, and have been adjusting my creative process accordingly.<br /><br />Drawing? Who knows, but I sense I have done well. My drawing instructor, a tiny Asian woman, suffered a concussion wrestling (yes, you heard correctly, and no--there is no video, I already asked) so delayed the midterm evaluation until after Spring Break (which I am now currently enjoying in hedonistic languor). Art History is also delayed until after break, but no problems there; I could get a 'B' while taking exams while somnambulistic, which describes my condition during most of the lectures. I took these classes already, but IU won't let me transfer the credist, so I have to take them again. Dang it.<br /><br />I'm plotting my strategies for second term, so I won't be quite as stressed. I'm going to work ahead of the game instead of trying to hang on to a roller-coaster as I have been doing. I've contacted a model about working with me for my final painting project and he's planning with me to make it spectacular, and for drawing I'm working up some preliminary exercises to allow me to hit the ground running upon my return. I'm trying to work smarter, not harder.<br /><br />People have been asking if I'm having fun, and if it's worth it, and if I'm happy. I really don't know. I feel that my mind is sharper and I'm stretching my limits, so this is a good thing. I won't really know how I feel until the end of the semester when I can reflect on the progress I've made.<br /><br />As we Italian-speaking people say, ArivederciMid-Life Pianisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05431555615800751877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176218940407242913.post-91202002853276001312012-02-05T08:16:00.000-08:002012-02-05T08:33:35.548-08:00First ExamsI've had a terrible cold, because let's face it: kids are basically disease vectors, and I spend a great deal of time riding sealed capsules called campus shuttles filled to capacity with college age kids hacking up lungs. Granted, many of them think they are immortal and indulge in the insanely stupid habit of smoking (if anyone saw how either of my parents died they would never even consider smoking), but this cold which made the rounds was of Medieval-plague proportions. I had a headache which pounded like a kettle drum, and during a simple Art History quiz after spelling such Italian jawbreakers like Gentile da Fabriano and Brunelleschi, my brain vapor-locked on van Eyck. I got the 'van' part but for the life of me 'Eyck' froze my synapses. I think wound up scrawling 'Eyke.' Oh well--I found out he doesn't count off for spelling as long as you don't try an ambiguous cover-your-bet dodge like combining Ducio and Giotto into 'Duciotto.'<br /><br />So this coming week we have an actual exam MONDAY in Art History, and another in Italian on TUESDAY. I have been studying diligently and am curious to see how I'll do in Italian. Art History I have on lockdown. After all, this is the Italian Renaissance. Italian verb conjugations are giving me a bit of a tussle but I'm gaining on them. I think I'll do okay.<br /><br />The two studio classes are challenging. We do three-four paintings a week and two-three major drawings. Being obsessive, I really can't just toss these things off; I have to put in a lot of work and effort. So I think I'm probably devoting about twice the work most people are doing. Back when I was a productive artist, I think I may have done four or five paintings every six months so this pace is interesting to me. The drawing lab is very fast-paced and we'll often begin another project before the previous one is complete, and switching gears this fast is, I suppose, part of the program.<br /><br />I have a still-life to finish this weekend and I need to do it before my vegetables wilt any further. My cold is much better and I feel a surge of energy returning. I look forward to the exams and to seeing how much of this new erudition is sticking.Mid-Life Pianisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05431555615800751877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176218940407242913.post-62021343857090078942012-01-21T08:46:00.000-08:002012-01-21T09:31:30.131-08:00World's Oldest College Student?I don't know, but it seems that way. After successfully navigating Indiana University's sometimes bewildering bureaucratic labyrinth, a process that took most of the summer and fall, I was accepted as a student November 11th, 2011. I discovered that IU was like most monolithic bureaucracies; that is if you don't get the answer you want the first time you ask, keep asking and eventually you will get the answer you want from someone. In this case, I wanted to enter IU as a transfer student in the Fine Arts department with credits transferred from UT as well as my Mechanical Engineering degree from another school. After asking Admissions, Transmissions, Omissions, Submissions, the Department of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the Department of Redundancy Department, I found out if I entered as a General Studies Major, my wish would be granted.<br /><br />I attended UT in 1982, Pellissippi in 1992. Therefore, some of my credits were in the archaic quarter system and some in semesters. After calling in various necromancers to translate my credits, I consulted with an adviser in the Fine Arts department to determine my academic standing. My plan is to graduate with a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree and go one to a Master's of Fine Arts Degree. She was stunned to find I had a total of 142 transferred credits. You need 120 to graduate. "Excellent," I said. "I can go on to Grad school."<br /><br />"Well, "I was told. "We like you to have 20 credits on-campus in studio."<br /><br />"I understand, but I'd like to go on to Grad school."<br /><br />The good news was I have all math, English, history, etc. long satisfied. However, due to changing standards I have a language deficiency, so must take Italian. Cool, my Graduate thesis will be Renaissance studio techniques so it will be handy to read those old manuscripts in the original lingo. Plus Twenty hours of painting and drawing lab, no big deal. Then on to Grad School.<br /><br />But the hilarious item of this <span style="font-style: italic;">bon adventura</span> was I was required to attend New Student Orientation. I tried to get out of it; I really did. Piteous e-mails to every official I could pin down was ineffectual. I even attempted bribery. No avail nor solace. I had to go.<br /><br />I arrived early, as is my obsessive-compulsive wont, and realized I was going to orientated by kids young enough to be my children. I befriended a couple of them posthaste and learned that everything we would cover that day--and I mean everything--I had already accomplished.<br /><br />So after the opening obsequies, and after several well-meaning people attempted to steer me to the room where Parent's Orientation was taking place, I found an adult and explained I had already registered for class and displayed my schedule. I also explained I had already had three appointments with an adviser. She looked at me in surprise. "You're already registered for classes?"<br /><br />"Yes, here is my schedule, and I have seen my adviser, she's the department head."<br /><br />"Well, all you need to do is get your books and Student ID."<br /><br />"I already have those." I showed her my ID, with a picture of me grinning like a rottweiler.<br /><br />She looked a little offended. "Then you don't need to be here. You can go."<br /><br />Which is what I had been trying to tell them for three weeks. I tried to toss her a bone. "You mean it? I'm kind of disappointed."<br /><br />She actually snorted. "I'll bet." She crossed my name off of some computer list, or perhaps made a note on my PERMANENT RECORD: "<span style="font-style: italic;">Troublemaker: Too Smart For His Own Good. Acts Independently. Doesn't Run With The Sheep. Keep an eye on him.<br /><br /></span>I've been going to classes for two weeks now and the process is a lot easier than it was in 1982. Transportation is more efficient. There are on-line resources that make studying a cinch. I watched a video for one of my classes that placed so much emphasis on attendance it pretty much promised if you just showed up for class, you <span style="font-style: italic;">would</span> get a passing grade.<br /><br />I'm delighted, almost giddy with the realization that I am back in school, continuing the thread that broke in 1982. Yet I feel a little slow. Perhaps the weight of my years and experience lay heavy on me. I was watching my fellow art students and realized they still sailed toward something they saw on the far horizon. It didn't bother them that their artwork was flawed because they knew someday they could be great artists--they had time. I know I have no horizon. I don't care about the finished product of my artwork--the drawing or painting-- because when I paint or draw I do so for different reasons. I'm more fascinated by the process itself. I don't care at all about the finished product. I can't. If I did, I would be in utter despair, because the product itself is unsatisfying compared to the effort put into it. I more often than not give them away.<br /><br />I know I'll never be a great artist, or even a good one. But I can be a better artist, so for me the process of creation is where I find my satisfaction, and if I find an incremental improvement, or some discovery along the way, or learn something about myself or the world, there is my art.<br /><br />Monday: Two quizzes. How exciting.Mid-Life Pianisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05431555615800751877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176218940407242913.post-50505851505556981802011-12-23T13:36:00.000-08:002011-12-23T13:47:44.138-08:00Year EndFor a little while my piano was inundated in Christmas accoutrements as we moved it aside from its corner location in order to erect our Yuletide tree. This year we gave our much-serviced artificial tree, which had stood tall for the past five years, to Goodwill and bought a live tree. Our cats love this, as my Lady cat lays beneath it like a panther and my male cat drinks from the reservoir. I took about a week off from playing and practicing as I concentrated on performing at Holiday parties and taking care of school preparations.<br /><br />So this week I've played a little bit, and my teacher and I have taken several steps back: I'm concentrating on improving my sight-reading. Last lesson we spent working through several children's songs while I avoided watching my hands. I intend to practice this while I go to school until I gain proficiency. It's a real weakness, I think, that I can play some fairly advanced music but if I forget a part, I can't look at the music and instantly recognize were I am. I can't always rely on my memory. When I'm tired, or playing an unfamiliar piano, my memory sometimes fails me.<br /><br />But then we have this other somewhat large shadow looming ahead of me: returning to school. I honestly don't know what I'm getting myself into. I may coast right through. Or it may take a while to catch my stride. So what to do about my piano practice? I don't know. <br /><br />I guess I'll just have to take it a day at a time.<br /><br />A new year is just ahead, with new challenges and new adventures. I'll turn fifty-two right in the middle of next year. When I was in High School I never thought I'd make it this far. And I'm going to go to college. Wow.Mid-Life Pianisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05431555615800751877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176218940407242913.post-9296617410022855652011-12-04T13:37:00.000-08:002011-12-04T13:52:28.709-08:00First Piano Recital EverI Just returned from my first piano recital, at a retirement center here in town. I estimate about twenty-five people were in attendance. The weather was a rainy, sulky, slightly cold day. Six of us performed for the residents. Some of the little kids were very good. I went on third, and played <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">The Entertainer</span> and <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Cristofori's Dream</span>. It was the first time I've ever played for anyone (seriously, the first time) and it felt weird, because I couldn't see the audience like I can when I perform my act. I had that feeling between my shoulder-blades you get when a predator is about to pounce. I tend to be slightly distrustful of people I don't know, and it's worse when I can't see them, but it helped that my teacher and her husband were there and I knew they had my back in the event the residents rose up in force like the villagers in an old Hammer movie to burn me at the stake. Most of the other players there had a fairly elaborate support group in place: parents, family--this was a big thing to them. I showed up alone. Nobody up here really cares enough about what I do to show up at my recitals, or to congratulate me that I was accepted at Indiana University to pursue my Master's Degree--a big step at age Fifty-one--or that I have begun drawing and painting again in pursuit of that goal: a Masters of Fine Arts. Am I feeling sorry for myself? Perhaps a little. It would be nice to have a cheering section at home. But perhaps it's the time of my life to go it alone for the time being.<br /><br />But the recital was a new experience and I learned from it. Nobody threw anything at me so I guess it was fun, and the old parties didn't hit us with their canes so we survived the experience.Mid-Life Pianisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05431555615800751877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176218940407242913.post-27216680065948354982011-11-15T16:17:00.000-08:002011-11-15T16:19:05.579-08:00A Holiday Memory; or Why My Gigs are Better Than Your GigsI was once performing walk around palm reading at a New Year's Eve party, and a friend was playing steel guitar with his band on the stage (we had both been booked by the same agent). I took a break and was sipping a cold drink near stage listening, when he nodded at me to indicate a young lady on the dance floor. She was quite intoxicated and dancing without inhibition of any sort. Her male partner was spinning her round and round, and she surrendered willingly to the forces of gravity and inertia. The effects were fascinating as her ample attributes were barely--and I mean BARELY contained by a very low-cut denim bustier. The band members were all grinning like Cheshire cats as they enjoyed the floor-show.<br /><br />At this point her equally-intoxicated partner gave her a vigorous spin, and as she reached the apogee of the orbit, snapped her arm to reel her back in. All of Newton's Laws kicked in and the top three buttons of the bustier gave way, freeing with considerable energy that which had formerly been contained. The spectacle was magnificent. As a man of artistic sensibilities, I applauded God's divine handiwork. My friend's steel guitar, up to this point so melodious and measured, emitted several discordant squawking sounds. The other band members carried on with heroic stoicism, although several jaws seemed to have dropped.<br /><br />After what seemed like a very long time, the object of every male's attention noticed what had happened, screamed, attempted to draw closed the curtains of discretion, and ran from the dance floor, leaving us all poorer in spirit but richer for the memories.Mid-Life Pianisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05431555615800751877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176218940407242913.post-47919519074937181692011-11-09T21:40:00.000-08:002011-11-09T21:52:16.387-08:00I Tackle BachI've made some headway into this magnificent arrangement--by Camille Saint-Saens no less--of J.S. Bach's Sinfonia to Cantata # 23 Wie Danken Der Gott Wie Danken Der. This has always been one of my favorite pieces of music, usually played on the organ, using multiple stops and pedals, and is an amazing piece. I wondered if there was a good (operative word: "good") piano transcription of this and I began my search.<br /><br />It took a while but I found the Saint-Saens transcriptions, as well as a video of a chap playing the living daylights out of it. I brought it to my teacher, who was quite excited at the prospect. We began to work on fingering. With Bach, fingering is essential.<br /><br />I've pretty much memorized the first page and have made some headway into the second. It's such a dense work that this is barely a minute into it, but it's a start. I would never have believed I could play such a piece, not to mention even begin to tackle it after less than two years of lessons, but here I am. But on the other hand, a year ago I had only intended to learn the first part of <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">The Entertainer</span> and save the second part--which seemed incomprehensible to me--for my second year. Now I can play the entire doggone thing.<br /><br />I'm going to New York City next week to attend the Metropolitan Opera for the first time in my life, as well as visit MOMA and the Guggenheim. I'll be so thoroughly steeped in culture I hope it fuels my way through the Sinfonia.<br /><br />On December 4th I'm slated to play <span style="font-style: italic;">Christofori </span>and the first two sections of <span style="font-style: italic;">The Entertainer </span>at a recital, so I'm curious to see how this goes. I've never played for anyone before.Mid-Life Pianisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05431555615800751877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176218940407242913.post-70593459000624680002011-11-04T11:32:00.000-07:002011-11-04T11:36:35.013-07:00God No, A ReviewCharles <span style="font-style: italic;">Cicardi </span>Scott sent me this book, which is subtitled <span style="font-style: italic">"Signs You May Already be an Atheist and Other Magical Tales."</span> Charlie told me he found it on the clearance rack at B&N for a buck, so if you want to read it, there you go. One dollar and about three hours of your life you can't get back.<br /><br />I read it at Starbucks and at the allergist, where I go once a week to get my immunization shots, after which I have to sit for twenty minutes to see if I'm going to die from anaphylaxis. If I die, I want the last thing found clutched in my claws to be a book howling with atheist blasphemy. And this book fills the bill with interest. Penn loves to write about two thing: his genitalia, and how much he hates religion. Each page drips with contempt for piousness and descriptions of his dangling doodle.<br /><br />I am not a fan of P&T. I don't like anyone who attacks the belief system of others for entertainment or for promoting their own agenda--and despite what P&T have said in interviews, both their show and <span style="font-style: italic">Bulls*it</span> are both redolent with Libertarianism and Atheism idealism. Both of which, oddly enough, I share, although not to the fanatical point of shoving down anyone's throats--which they seem intent on doing. So as both an atheist and Libertarian you would think I would like them. But I don't. People who rant and preach tend to make me tune out and go to my happy place, where large costumed people sing opera very loudly and 200-piece orchestras drown out conversation for miles around.<br /><br />But about this book. If you like rants, it's pretty funny in places. He name-drops more than Kreskin (who, in one chapter, he trashes mercilessly and calls a scumbag) and it's obvious he craves attention and if he doesn't get it, he just yells louder and drops his pants--LITERALLY--and like a lot of fat guys (Chris Farley and John Belushi come to mind) he seems to be obsessed with getting naked as often as he can in public. He does this, he says, because he's a freedom-fighter who's making a statement in defense of the Bill of Rights. Groovy, but I'm a Libertarian too, and I have never appeared naked in airports. Perhaps he has blurred the subtle difference between "Libertarian" and "Libertine," which I have also done on occasion; an understandable malapropism.<br /><br />Penn says there's no such thing as an agnostic. He says this is just an academic weaseling from people who are afraid to commit one way or the other. I find I tend to agree with this. Either you believe there is a Higher Power or you don't. Like being a little bit pregnant, this isn't something on which you can hedge your bets. He says "I don't know" is a perfectly acceptable answer and I also agree with this. So did the early, original skeptics who concluded absolute knowledge of anything was impossible. On subjects like creator God, origin of the universe, the existence of a soul, the Buddha said, "Don't waste your time. Work out your own salvation with diligence." Not that I'm comparing Penn with the Buddha. Penn is an oleaginous slob with the social skills of a twelve year old, and I think this book is at least 60% self-serving flapdoodle; that he paints himself as far deeper and more reasonable than he actually is. Like a carny barker, he's presenting himself as a professor of erudition he doesn't possess. He's hung out with smart people and picked up some of the lingo but when he parrots it, it rings hollow. I keep in mind he's an illusionist, and that he's continually going for shock reaction, and that he hates religion. The chapter where he feeds bacon cheeseburgers to fallen Hasidim Jews and gloats with demonic glee is a good example. He's not content to simply dismiss the idea of God; he wants to take a crap on His head. Nothing seems to please him more than to piss off a pious person through some expression of outrageous blasphemy. This, to me, is childish. It was funny when you did it in high school, but like wearing a Karl Marx T-Shirt, once past the age of twenty-two it's no longer edgy and rebellious, it's just a lame cry for attention.<br /><br />If you're going to read atheist literature, I guess this is a more entertaining read than Dawkins and if you can get it for a dollar or two why not?Mid-Life Pianisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05431555615800751877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176218940407242913.post-85440033456823939222011-10-25T13:03:00.001-07:002011-10-30T20:15:05.479-07:00My Piano<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2j8g3g6diPpTWHeylfFX1VrF_SzD8NHU23daE9GElpT1AFSHDl23njVrh8uD2tXn_9K-5uZkAoR8XxSTPCe9W5UkQxsIcYbWc28mfUVmbEaNVKCH9e8SzlHxgLYM07vyzsHgLFYLMbghY/s1600/10-30-11.JPG"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://a2.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/306449_10150367487702700_792757699_8082560_607273706_n.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 420px; height: 307px;" src="http://a2.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash4/306449_10150367487702700_792757699_8082560_607273706_n.jpg" alt="" border="0" />And a drawing I did in my recent Life Drawing class:</a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2j8g3g6diPpTWHeylfFX1VrF_SzD8NHU23daE9GElpT1AFSHDl23njVrh8uD2tXn_9K-5uZkAoR8XxSTPCe9W5UkQxsIcYbWc28mfUVmbEaNVKCH9e8SzlHxgLYM07vyzsHgLFYLMbghY/s1600/10-30-11.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2j8g3g6diPpTWHeylfFX1VrF_SzD8NHU23daE9GElpT1AFSHDl23njVrh8uD2tXn_9K-5uZkAoR8XxSTPCe9W5UkQxsIcYbWc28mfUVmbEaNVKCH9e8SzlHxgLYM07vyzsHgLFYLMbghY/s320/10-30-11.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669489111620578514" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSLt7WxLWdRTsJASVaLk2h-nkIzQomwbx6sqWrBPi0OXdqBxyDe4yzJeU9heKK_svnCFgykiUxPMzff8KHn7cN0FWkq4u5OWHy2ZhUPUtkKPKXYFFgdNa52cKklihi7cTUnnJlquk2yCyq/s1600/DSCN0001.JPG"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ4v6C7dpU7x-uR-L8PkeOxpksqmGVsJW_eTquVGg49OCvVwwdhrhd14474Poo6UONJbbeHLbDpCAUp6qmUO9qQ4MkCMHPNC9AY3p7JLiGNf0-W8OtR6bYLQVnw9cbU95zt3mtB-qxA1Pc/s1600/DSCN0001.JPG"><br /></a>Mid-Life Pianisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05431555615800751877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176218940407242913.post-29598312497355166092011-10-19T04:32:00.000-07:002011-10-19T05:50:16.069-07:00Schooling Old School StyleI have made a midlife decision to return to school.<br /><br />For the past couple of years I've been sifting through the dregs of my life in an attempt to re-do or undo all the events from my past which made me unhappy. Taking music lessons was the first step of this process, and all humanity marvels at the benefits the world has reaped from this foray into the musical arts. If nothing else, the literary legacy of this blog will survive the ages as one man's brave journey into the terrifying world of sharps and flats; of tremolos and crescendos; and of scary German composers.<br /><br />But it's time to take the next and even bigger step. One of the major turning points of my life was the derailment of my <span style="font-style: italic;">Plan A </span>into <span style="font-style: italic;">Plan B</span>, which eventually led to my somewhat shaky career as a professional entertainer. <span style="font-style: italic;">Plan A</span> was to pursue a college degree to the PhD level and teach Art. I was going to be a <span style="font-style: italic;">Professor</span>. Various life passages occurred which made this impractical. Then I entered a long, demanding phase of my life where I was too emotionally drained to create artworks. Instead, I got a degree in the Engineering field (I know, a complete 180 degree turn there) and worked in that area for a while, where I wasn't particularly happy, and when the big Recession of the 1990's hit, I segued into entertainment as a way out of a completely miserable situation. It wasn't the work: it was the people. I found I hated over-analytical, opinionated nerds who knew everything. There are several factors contributing to this reaction, involving Jungian archetypes and deep reaction formations, but in summation, if anyone other than me acts in this pernicious manner, I can't stand it.<br /><br />My undergraduate career at the University of Tennessee was marked with a series of disasters which would rival Odysseus' adventures. My living quarters burned down, forcing me to seek temporary shelter in the loft over a friend's bar (and try getting quality sleep directly over a jukebox booming until 3 AM--when you have 7:50 classes). Then the death of a parent. An expectant wife, impending parenthood. My car stolen and turning up, engine destroyed, in Evanston Indiana. Seeking various employments to support my family while juggling school. I finally realized this dream of mine wasn't meant to be. I dropped out of school and concentrated on supporting my family. Until I divorced, then I went to State College and earned the degree in the engineering field, and worked there for a while.<br /><br />One of the problems that plagued me all my life was a lack of focus and discipline. My parents never ingrained these values in us. They were too busy engaging in marital warfare to take interest in raising their children to be successful students. I know my parents never made me do homework, nor helped me with it when I halfheartedly tried do it. I don't think either one of my parents could even do math, even if I were foolish enough to ask them to take a break from plotting each other's ruin to help me navigate the puzzling maze of long division. Furthermore, I've decided both my parents were masters of self-destructive behaviors, which they passed on to their kids. I know I've dropped time-bombs along the path of my success pretty much all my life which detonated just at the moment of victory. I've tried to stop doing that but old habits die hard. One other thing I learned over the years if if you have trouble completely wrecking your own success, hook up with a destructive or needy life-partner who will do it for you and save yourself a lot of planning and effort. This is another behavior I've tried to nip in the bud.<br /><br />I was an adult before I figured out discipline. Discipline and focus are the same thing, and both require you to eliminate distractions. If you eliminate distractions from your work environment your mind will become bored and focus on the task at hand. One of the huge problems with our information-laden society is that there are so many <span style="font-style: italic;">interesting </span>distractions all around us. Between Facebook, Tweeting, e-mails, and Internet surfing, it's a wonder anything gets done.<br /><br />Back to my decision to continue my interrupted schooling, it turns out I have to perform a course-by-course credit transfer from my old courses from UT to my current intended college, Indiana University. The complication? When I went to school circa 1982 (yes, thirty years ago) we were on a quarter system, not semester. We also wrote on stone tablets and used abacuses in math class. So transferring credits becomes problematical. There is a concept in math called homogeneity of units, which means you do not perform operations with disparate units. You must convert them to similar units before performing mathematical operations. In other words, you don't multiply inches by feet--you must convert feet to inches first, then multiply or divide. Otherwise, buildings fall down. This type of error is actually more common that you might think--which is why buildings and bridges fall down. So my quarter-to-semester conversion is causing the system to choke, hiccough, sputter, and beat its cybernetic breast. Not since Captain Kirk hurled the Imponderable Paradox to Nomad has a computer system been presented with a more baffling conundrum. So far I've been sent to four different departments and spoken with six department heads. Nobody seems to know quite what to do with me. But the Admissions Department is processing my application for Spring semester (not quarter) so the gears are turning.<br /><br />I am both excited and apprehensive. I have no doubt I'll ace the classroom studies. But the studio art classes? Well...it's been a very long time since I've spread my artistic wings. This may be a good thing as my former works were a bit childish. Although well-executed at times the concepts were usually immature. I have grown a bit in the past thirty years and look forward to seeing what visions erupt from my long-repressed artsy side.<br /><br />I want to make it plain this decision isn't simply a mid-life whim nor an attempt to return to my youth. I'm redirecting my career path. I plan on going for a Master's degree with the intention of eventually teaching on the college level; which was my original plan. I can finish this program well before my mid-fifties. It's within the realm of possibility. Barring house fires, the earth swallowing me, my head exploding, or someone dropping a nuke on the Midwest, I foresee smooth sailing.Mid-Life Pianisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05431555615800751877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176218940407242913.post-3982121213026993142011-10-14T12:14:00.000-07:002011-10-14T12:23:27.522-07:00New BeginningsAs I put the finishing touches on <span style="font-weight:bold;">THE ENTERTAINER</span> (not quite mastered it yet, but have learned the entire opus, and am polishing the final two sections with laser-like diligence) Teacher and I set out to make a plan.We will finish out the year going over <span style="font-style: italic;">Cristofori's Dream</span> line by line, polishing out the lumps, and I'll place it and <span style="font-style: italic;">The Entertainer</span> on the practice list, and then we'll start on a new and exciting piece of music. I found a piano transcription, by none other than Camille Saint-Saens, of one of my favorite Bach pieces: The <span style="font-style: italic;">Sinfonia to Cantata Number 29</span>. I first heard this in the 9th or 10th Grade I think, on an album of Bach pieces, and it has remained dear to me. It puts me in a happy place. Bach must have loved it too, as he recycled the piece at least a couple of times, as a Viola Partita and as a Lute Sonata.<br /><br />I've included two videos here, both the original organ presentation of the Sinfona and the Saint-Saens piano transcription. I look forward to tackling this. I suppose it will take me a year or so to be able to play it at all. How long it will take to play it skillfully--who knows. But I love this piece so much I'm a highly motivated learner.<br /><br /><br /><iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/-Jt0fnSy8Oc" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" width="420"></iframe><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/YsJgxyHsAt8" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" width="420"></iframe>Mid-Life Pianisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05431555615800751877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176218940407242913.post-18815592760534096962011-10-03T19:23:00.000-07:002011-10-03T19:28:14.124-07:00OctoberfestIt's now October, and I'm working on finishing up <span style="font-style: italic;">The Entertainer</span>. I'm also looking into going back to school: Grad School that is, to work on a Masters Degree. A MFA, aka Masters of Fine Art. I will either focus on Art or Creative writing with the intent of teaching. I feel very peaceful at the thought of actually working toward a future, and not having to get up at the age of 75 and going out to perform shows.<br /><br />I guess you're never too old to take care of unfinished business.Mid-Life Pianisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05431555615800751877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176218940407242913.post-61174707165323857302011-09-11T09:04:00.000-07:002011-09-11T09:12:15.272-07:00SedimentThat goddamned <span style="font-style: italic;">D</span> section of <span style="font-style: italic;">The Entertainer</span> is finally sinking in and coming together, which is a relief, as it really isn't all that hard and I was afraid I was suffering brain damage from my new meds or from malnutrition from my recent fifteen pound weight reduction. But apparently my constant practice is paying off because today I've been playing it fairly smoothly. I also began work on the final verse, the <span style="font-style: italic;">E</span> section, which is also fairly easy.<br /><br />This is the tenth anniversary of the 9-11 attack by criminals against the country, so the mood today is somber. I also found out the cemetery where my dad's buried has been bought, so apparently I need to deal with this odd situation.Mid-Life Pianisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05431555615800751877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1176218940407242913.post-41940233848855640552011-09-05T08:34:00.000-07:002011-09-05T09:57:08.115-07:00Father Guido<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/2/2b/Statue_of_Guido_of_Arezzo.jpg/298px-Statue_of_Guido_of_Arezzo.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 164px; height: 313px;" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/2/2b/Statue_of_Guido_of_Arezzo.jpg/298px-Statue_of_Guido_of_Arezzo.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Virtually all musical compositions are recorded for posterity (for better or worse) in musical notation which has become systematized over a period of several centuries. <span style="font-style: italic;">The Grand Staff</span> is a familiar icon even to non-musicians. Everyone recognizes sheet music.<br /><br />But who came up with the idea of recording musical ideas as a line of dots and dashes on a grid of horizontal lines?<br /><br />The answer is found in a Medieval text called the <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Micrologus, </span><span>written</span> <span>around 1026</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>by a Benedictine monk by the name of <b>Guido of Arezzo. </b>The<b> <span style="font-style: italic;">Micrologus</span> </b>became the most widely circulated treatise on musical theory during the middle ages<b>, </b>(which probably meant it was read by a hundred people) but what concerns us for the moment is that Fra. Guido, in this treatise, invented for the first time musical staff notation.<b> </b>Before then, the standard was <span style="font-style: italic;">Neumatic </span>notation, an example of which is sh<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/d/d1/Neume2.jpg/800px-Neume2.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 310px; height: 193px;" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/d/d1/Neume2.jpg/800px-Neume2.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>own below, useful for Gregorian Chants and other monophonic works but for polyphonic compositions, well, something a little more sophisticated was required.<br /><br />Fra. Guido noticed singers struggled to remember these Gregorian Chants and thought there had to be a better way than these somewhat arbitrary markings. As it turned out, there was. He published <b><span style="font-style: italic;">Micrologus </span></b><span>and revolutionized music forever</span><span style="font-style: italic;">.</span> If you look at the page from the Micrologus below, you'll see it isn't all that different from modern sheet music.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.fulltable.com/vts/m/mn/music/79.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 391px; height: 313px;" src="http://www.fulltable.com/vts/m/mn/music/79.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />Take a moment to think about the momentousness of this accomplishment. In the 7th century musical scholar Isidore of Seville had written that it was impossible to accurately notate music. However, attempts to do so go back to 2000 BCE, although these efforts were very crude. An exact, scientific systematic approach had yet to be created. Guido took the first steps toward modern musical notation, and continued to develop musical instruction and notation all his life.<br /><br />Apparently Fra. Guido's radical theories attracted the hostility of the other monks at the Abby at Pomposa, and he had to move to Arezzo, a more progressive town, to further pursue his musical experimentation. Arezzo had no Abby, but it did have a plethora of cathedral singers, whose training Bishop Tedald invited him to undertake. In subsequent years Fra. Guido developed valuable techniques, including a mnemonic which was the forerunner of our <span style="font-style: italic;">"Do-Re-Mi"</span> system. He taught the use of "Solmization" syllables based on a hymn to Saint John the Baptist which begins <span style="font-style: italic;">"Ut Queant Laxis"</span> and was written by the Lombard historian Paul the Deacon. The first stanza is: <ol><li><b>Ut</b> queant laxis</li><li><b>re</b>sonare fibris,</li><li><b>Mi</b>ra gestorum</li><li><b>fa</b>muli tuorum,</li><li><b>Sol</b>ve polluti</li><li><b>la</b>bii reatum,</li><li><b>S</b>ancte <b>I</b>ohannes.</li></ol> Guido used the first syllable of each line, <span style="font-style: italic;">Ut, Re, Mi, Fa, Sol</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">La</span>, to read notated music in terms of <span style="font-style: italic;">hexachords</span>; they were not note names, and each could, depending on context, be applied to<span style="font-style: italic;"> any</span> note. In the 17th century, <span style="font-style: italic;">Ut</span> was changed in most countries except France to the easily articulated <span style="font-style: italic;">Do</span>, derived from the name of the Italian theorist Giovanni Battista Doni. Si, which has the S of <i>Sancte</i> and the I of <i>Iohannes</i>, was added in modern times.<br /><br />Fra. Guido, who seemed sympathetic to the plight of musicians plagued with the task of memorizing abstract concepts of musical theory, also developed an interesting technique for mapping musical tones to the human hand.<br /><br />Little is known of Guido d/Arrezzo's later years. It's known he attracted the attention of Pope John XIX, who invited him to Rome, where he went in 1028, but he returned to Arezzo soon due to poor health. After that, there is no information available about him, but his legacy to music--the Grand Staff--changed the world.Mid-Life Pianisthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05431555615800751877noreply@blogger.com1