It was my junior year of high school, and the Regional Solo
and Ensemble competition was approaching. My private lesson teacher selected a
Saint-Saëns solo for me to follow the previous year’s performance of “Le
Cygne,” which granted me the opportunity to go to the state competition.
This piece, Allegro Appassionato, however, was far more
challenging and complex than “The Swan.” In my mind, I had mastered the new
piece. Though, there was a section about two-thirds through the piece which
gave me some difficulty. It required playing two notes at once, on two
different strings while shifting positions. I practiced enough that the muscles
in my fingers, hand, and wrist knew where to be and when.
I played through Allegro Appassionato for my teacher and felt
pretty secure with the performance. My teacher assured me that I had mastered
the notes and bowings, but it was missing a key element: emotion. The majority
of the piece was playful, a fairly easy emotion to portray, but that tricky
section with the double stops hid an under-lying emotion I was not comfortable
with: anger.
My teacher looked at me and said, “Erin, I’m sorry, but I
don’t think you can do it.” If you know me well, you know that if I am really
angry, my first physical reaction is to cry. Tears began to blur my vision. I
began to play a few measures before the dreaded section and let my emotions
grow and release, matching the notes, rhythms, and dynamics on the page. I
finished with three resounding chords. I looked over to my teacher. She smiled,
and said, “there you go.”
