to be (exposed) or not to be (exposed)

I've been pondering the necessity for an artist to be exposed to a variety of influences and experiences, artistic or otherwise. Is it crucial to be fully immersed and engaged in the world (something I've touted on many occasions), or is there something even more valuable in carving an enclosed and even solitary space for oneself as an escape from outside distractions?

This question came to mind recently when I was frustrated about missing certain noteworthy concerts (not my own, of course!) due to various scheduling conflicts. On the one hand, I felt awful at missing the opportunity to witness and hear some of the world's finest performers/conductors/orchestras/productions; although I had legitimate reasons for not making these concerts, I still ended up feeling like I let a one-time-only chance slip through my fingers—the chance to learn and be inspired by top-notch artistry, provocative programming, and, of course, amazing music. (I felt this sensation acutely a couple years ago when I missed seeing one of Coldplay's shows in New Jersey; instead of taking advantage of one of their last stateside appearances before their touring hiatus, I decided to practice for an upcoming audition, and needless to say my practice session that night ended up being woefully unproductive!)

Yet on the flip side many of the artists I admire are those that create or have created in solitude, distanced from the impressions of others. In this way they are able to approach their art purely and individualistically.

But perhaps this shouldn't even be an "either/or" situation: as in everything, there are shades of gray here that I haven't yet touched upon. For one, even those who are far removed from the throng of activity are still affected by its echoes; after all, no man—or in this case, artist—is an island (thank you, John Donne and Thomas Merton).

On that inconclusive note, it's time for me to shut the mind off and get some shut-eye.

Check it out: the emerald city, urban hubbub, etc.

Last weekend I performed a recital at the Seattle Town Hall. Seattle—the birthplace of grunge and Starbucks, and the site of numerous tech company headquarters—is such a wonderful city! I enjoyed fish of the freshest quality, beautiful views, and warm hospitality. Here I am in front of the famed Space Needle:



February has been an exciting month so far, in addition to the Superbowl (which I unfortunately missed as I was on a flight from Seattle) and Super Tuesday (though I refrain from touting my political views, I must say that this is one thrilling race!). I am currently preparing for a concert at Carnegie Hall's Zankel Hall. On Tuesday evening I will be performing Berio's Linea and Steve Reich's City Life with my fantastic Ensemble ACJW colleagues. I'm thoroughly enjoying rehearsals and I'm loving these revolutionary works of the 20th-century repertoire. I'm particularly having a ball on the keyboard in the Reich piece—this is my chance to play samples of car alarms, slamming doors, motors, and other city noises throughout, as well as a relentless riff on "It's been a honeymoon!" in the positively jammin', techno-like central movement. If you're in NYC, come to the concert and "check it out" [which is, incidentally, one of the main speech samples of City Life].