Where's Apollo When I Need Him?

Well friends, my jury is over. It was kind of a saga.

I tend to have some troubles with my nerves, so I was very careful to plan out my morning and have plenty of time to breathe and feel centered before I performed. I arrived at the music building at about 9:30am. I had an hour to practice, so I played through everything really slowly, being careful to warm up but not wear out. I took my yoga mat with me and did some sun salutations while listening to soothing music. Then I listened through my program while studying my scores. All this while I'm doing my ujay breathing, and imagining myself giving a wonderful performance, loving the music and having great success. I changed into my concert clothes and put on my coat and gloves (I'm always so cold right before I play), put my headphones on with Kathleen Battle's "Azulao" and "So Many Stars" which always give me such a feeling of abundance, and sat quietly in the hallway waiting for my turn to play.

When they called me in to play, I went down onto the stage and announced my pieces and sat on the bench and took a few more cleansing breaths and played my first two pieces ("Down a Country Lane" and "Midsummer Nocturne" by Copland) with finesse and grace. Then came the Chopin F Minor Ballade. I began it with astounding beauty! The opening is a bit tricky, with a crescendo in the right hand simultaneously with a diminuendo in the left hand. I handled it with perfect artistry. I played with unmatched technic and yet with tremendous love and sensitivity. And then, suddenly, I realized that I had skipped seven pages! Horrors! What to do? I could stop and ask permission to start over, when they were already running behind. That would never do. I decided I had just better finish stronger than ever and make the rest of it very convincing, which I did, thundering down the final run and finishing with a bang.

I took my hands off the keyboard and looked up at my teacher who was sitting in the auditorium. He looked at me with an ever so slight smile on his face. I couldn't look away. There I sat, pleading with my eyes for forgiveness, and yet using every ounce of control not to burst into tears or laughter. "Thank you," he said. I stood and walked the flight of 45 stairs out of the door of the auditorium with tremendous dignity. He followed me out into the hallway.

He said, "That was the most seamless cut I've ever heard! Only, you skipped your favorite part!" He had nice things to say about my playing. I'm not sure if the other teachers noticed or not. I guess I handled it the best way I could have. Well, it's over. I can't take it back. In a performance, you don't start over. You finish, which I did. I finished and kept my game face (more or less). If I were a composer or a writer or an artist, I could create a thing and there it would be for the rest of eternity. Music performance is different, because it only exists in time. It's quite a dilemma to become good at it, because it necessitates having an audience to listen to you time after time so you can get used to the nerves. It's been a lot of years since I was in the swing of performing from memory in public. All I can do is try again. But I do have to say, that I have come a long way this semester. I memorized about 500 measures worth of NEW music, and I'm performing from memory in public again. My hands feel good: my technic is coming along. And best of all, I've spent hundreds of hours practicing Chopin and Rachmaninoff. What could be better than that? Maybe next time Apollo will smile on me.