Flaws

Last night it became too much. I opened the closet in the backroom, gripped it's black handle and carried it out to the living room. I unlocked the buckle, unzipped the silver strip. My fingers raced toward it's neck and then drew back, gently tracing the iron strips, the old worn wood.

 I spent the better part of an hour between pitches - searching for a note. After all, it has been close to a year since I have held my violin. Last night, last night it became too much. It's for a dozen reasons I haven't. Too busy. Too noisy. Too terrible to torture my roommate and landlady with that kind of howling in the night. But mostly, I think it's a disspointment and a fear. The frustration that I will never be great. And there is this deep, intense longing inside of me to be great - not concert hall great - not great for any other being in the world - only great. To tuck my fiddle under my chin and rest my bow upon my thumb and play something beautiful, something that makes my soul unleash, unleash and flow and rage and dance as it does when I hear music like this:


 

[Thank you Samara for sharing this beautiful video]

res·o·nance [ rézzənənss ]

1.underlying meaning: the effect of an event or work of art beyond its immediate or surface meaning


2.amplified sound: an intense and prolonged sound produced by sympathetic vibration

3.ringing quality of instrument or voice: an amplification of a sound, e.g. that of an instrument or the human voice, caused by sympathetic vibration in a chamber such as an auditorium or a singer's chest

Beautiful writing makes me want to write.  Especially the more it sounds like my own style.  As if the vibrations of that story strike up the strings in my own creative self.  When the sentence ends, I find myself still humming along.   Reminds me of my violin teacher's instruction regarding resonance.  When you strike a certain key on one string, others which share an overtone will begin to vibrate, aka, resonate.

Amazing how art resonates, in ways that can be measured in waves and in ways that cannot.



Via Wikipedia:  "String resonance occurs on string instruments. Strings or parts of strings may resonate at their fundamental or overtone frequencies when other strings are sounded. For example, an A string at 440 Hz will cause an E string at 330 Hz to resonate, because they share an overtone of 1320 Hz (3rd overtone of A and 4th overtone of E)."  > oh how I wish I really understood that.

I owe you a few blog posts. And now that I have some time, I plan to catch up on some of those highlights from the past few weeks. Last Tuesday dad I am went to see Julia Fischer at Benaroya Hall. If I were completely honest, I'd have to admit I was a little afraid I'd end up being bored... much as I wanted to love the experience. My fears were unwarranted - I was spellbound! Truly. She played with such passion and skill. I loved every moment of it. :)

Beginning to love these lines cut into my finger tips.

Undecided.

:)

Craving violin strings on my finger tips.  That sharp straight pain that just melts into music.  Usually in the quiet of the morning I think of it most.... it's also when I definitely can't pull it out unless just to hold it, slide my fingers from position to position in my unsteady and unsure way. 

Someday, at 7am, I will pull it out and play away.... though that day is probably a VERY long way away.  ;) 

Is that a viola?  Might be. 

I don't know exactly what to do with this girl, but I think I like her and her quirky self.
And I know I wish I could play like her. 

Lindsey Stirling

Why am I up at 11, watching YouTube videos of violinists.... really, Kati? 

.

Just listen...

(I think that's actually a Viola, huh?)

I get home from work these days and debate: gym, violin, reading, write, clean, sleep?  I usually have time for one.  Maybe two.... And seem to need more sleep than ever.

Tonight, I chose laundry and violin.  And after a few repetitions I shouted to my mom in the other room "That was good! - for the record."  To which she yelled back (from the other room), "I know, I almost recognized it!"

My mom gets two points.  If I ever become a great published author, my dad will take most of the credit.  He's been calling it out of me since I was 12 probably.  He often talks about the "oneday" when he'll have a book on his shelf with my name on it.  However, if I become a famous violinist, my mom will deserve ALL the credit.  Sadly, I don't think her chances are all too good.  And, she therefore deserves credit all the more.  It's not all my dad's fault.  He just doesn't like the violin much.  He definitely doesn't like fiddling.  And he especially doesn't like it played poorly.  :/  I mostly practice when he's not home.  I mostly practice in the evenings... or at night.  Or last week, at 11:30pm.  My cell phone rang, "Honey, you're not good enough to put me to sleep yet." And that's why mom mom gets TWO points.  She's patient with my practice - AND she's funny.  :)

My point is this:  dreaming takes work.  And doing anything more than just dreaming, takes a lot of work.  And while part of me wants to believe that it will be easier to do the work at some later time in life, experience thus far has only shown the opposite.  The longer we wait, the more responsibilities and commitments and challenges will stand in our ways... it's best we begin today, or tonight.   So once again, here's to doing the hard thing, once again.

The debate: Tomorrow. Do I go the productive route? Violin lesson, gym, to the office to make up some hours, church, evening with friend. Or? Do I return from my lesson and spend the day like this? Blankets, book, coffee and the porch swing.  I'm pretty sure I'll go with the first, but I'm indulging momentarily in daydreaming about the second.   Perhaps, I will make that the majority of my Sunday.  That, and a fun birthday gift project I've been thinking up... :) Oh weekends, you are lovely.

A, it's Zooey Deschamel and I love her.  B, she's playing the violin.  C, yeah.  I play this song.  I know. Be impressed.


PS, She and Him are actually pretty great... in my mind. But that's the sort of music Kristin still teases me for... and my dad likes to comment that it sounds straight out of the 60s or something. I sort of love it. :)

Seventeenth-Century Italian Violin Pattern.

The name of Antonio Stradivari and the date, 1737, both written on the pattern, have been attributed to the hand of Count Ignazio Alessandro Cozio di Salabue (1744-1840), the Italian collector who obtained it from Stradivari’s son, Paolo.

Credit.  (Word.)

Dear future husband,

I know you'll one day have to put up with my late-night reading, and perhaps my late night silliness. You'll discover that Kelly women have a terrible habit of sometimes getting an unendurable desire to clean at the midnight hour (usually, it's stress, sometimes not). And if you're so wonderful as to put up with this- dare I ask one more? Would you mind if I played my violin? Say, when I can't fall asleep?



Tonight- it's no sweet sound. But my mom is rearranging and vacuuming right above me- so when I meant to go to sleep at 10 and couldn't, I pulled out my violin. And played for an hour. Our of tune. Yes, it probably hurt me more than her, but somehow it felt like a good retaliation. I kept thinking of my mom saying "This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you." And yes, that 'discipline' for the past hour probably did hurt me more than her. My tuner is broken. The batteries died on the one I borrowed from Tif. And I needed to practice, and what's more I felt like playing. My finger tips on my left hand were beginning to feel less raw and I knew that meant it had been too long. For days the tip of my left pointer has tingled. Today, not so much.


And Dear Future Roommate, I know what you are thinking, and you're right. He may be so lucky as to get me when I've improved a bit- you'll have me in a few months. I'm pretty sure you'll lock my violin away if I try to play it around 11pm. :/ But what if I buy you a tambourine? When then? Ay?

PS, I miss you. I miss you both. Known and unknown.

I spotted this at Vita this morning. I asked the woman and she said that her and a friend made it from 4 old leather belts (well, she bought the belts and designed it, her friend made it). I want one.

I have the greatest friend, who regularly sends me photos such as these, just because they make her think of me.


Megs, you brighten my days. So grateful for you. Love you!

Copy of Stradivar,
Made in Germany
ca. 1920

Love.