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Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
November 5, 2016
dance (n., v.)
I’ve taken many a leap in coming here - to London, and to every unfamiliar experience and mysterious space that I’ve explored over the last year. But tonight was the first time that I consciously realized what it is to have leapt not in a singular direction, but simply, outward. It’s what I’ve done here gradually, and it really hit me today.
I just came back from my second 5Rhythms class, what I foresee becoming a Thursday night ritual that begins and ends with a thirty minute walk to and from a lovely church in Holloway. What occurs in between, I’ll venture to describe as a kind of reverie of movement.
I won’t get into specifics (you can google it), but I will share some reflections, having just come out of a class, glowing with sweat, tired and empty yet quite full and very much alive.
We hold emotions in our body; that’s something I’ve slowly come to realize in my mindfulness practice. When we’re still, we become aware of this and vipassana has taught me the benefit of observing the physical manifestations of emotion to help us detach from it. When we move - consciously - through yoga, any meditative exercise, dance - I think we allow this energy to be released, harnessed, expressed and given form; shaped into something that is more than just ourselves - and that too, helps us detach a bit.
The 5Rhythms class isn’t really all that structured, yet there is a method to the madness as about forty people of all ages and sizes flail around freely in the open space in all sorts of contortions and shapes. The movements - whatever the movement - fall into one of the 5 bodily rhythms (what I think are intrinsic and quite natural for us to dance to when we let go): flowing, staccato, chaos, lyrical and stillness - and these give the mess of bodies a form. We move as separate beings, often with eyes closed, usually not touching, yet we manage to fill the spaces in between each other - with our energy.
I recall my first class last week, when I first walked in to the dim lit church, the high ceilings punctuated with strings of small lights hanging across from each wall. I admired the space. And it took some time, as people started moving to the undulating music playing, to admire not each dancer, but the group as a whole. As the music picked up, and the movements became more pronounced, it was a welcome challenge for me to drop judgment, of others and myself. To stop caring what it all looked like but instead dance with the passive intention to fall into the wave, be carried by it, until all I could is just feel it.
The music plays and we move along to the crescendo, uplifted and lifted and further lifting until we give way to the gradation of rhythms that brings us back to stillness as the music slows down.
One thought I had, as I sweatily rocked from side to side, my arms limp until I had stopped moving altogether: Even stillness is movement, it is the essential pause between one action to the next; except we are more conscious of it. Dancing, I think - when we shed the vanity and the tempting performative aspect of it - is really a tuning into the stillness that creates a rhythm. Sometimes the rhythm is too quick for us to meditate on it, but it’s there. And when we dance, we are aware of it, just not as actively. Perhaps that’s what eventually leads us to fall into trance (from Latin transire “cross over”, associated with the word transient) - when we can follow along deeply enough that we not only dance to the sound but to the silences in between, bridging them with our body.
I found it somewhat odd that the word dance itself - from Old French dancier - is of unknown origin, posited to have come from Low Frankish dintjan, “to tremble, quiver.“ Somewhat melancholic an etymology, but perhaps not surprising given (says google result from Live Science): “dancing was a way for our prehistoric ancestors to bond and communicate, particularly during tough times.”
Previous to “dance”, the word sealtian (Old English) was used, from the Latin salire, “to leap”. Interestingly, this is associated with the word salient, whose denotation of describing something "prominent, striking” was first recorded in 1840, from “salient point” (1670s), which refers to the heart of an embryo, as it seems to leap.
And there it is, what I felt all along. A leaping out of myself, a cognition of my centre, my heart, which with each movement found its way to beat more outward, seemingly synchronised with the music. Sometimes as the music played and I moved with it, it was hard to tell whether it was me dancing along or the music responding to my movements. A sort of mirroring to the point that it’s hard to separate the two. I searched further on google on the origins of dance and quickly learned that our ability to dance to a beat comes from our unique ability (that we only share with some birds, not even apes) - to mimic sound.
And last but not least as I go further down my wormhole…. a beat in music is defined as “a transient grace note, struck immediately before the note it is intended to ornament. The beat always lies half a note beneath its principal, and should be heard so closely upon it, that they may almost seem to be struck together.” [The British Encyclopedia, London, 1809]
And there you have it. A bunch of chaotic ideas that thanks to a burst of momentum, I’ve wrought into flowing form through the interconnectedness of words, a lyrical dance of sorts, slowly coming
January 8, 2016
know (v.)
Spent an afternoon with Mike at the National Gallery attending a free piano concert, as part of the final days of the Goya exhibit. Before the concert, we walked through the rooms as he explained the context of many of the paintings, sharing personal and historical anecdotes, coloured with facts and names.
I am always in awe of people like Mike, who can retain so much information and draw it out at a moment's notice to fill in the gaps of story, which forgetful people like myself leave unfilled when philosophizing about the meanings behind cultural artefacts and the like.
Though I can navigate the systems of the modern world and its many (digital) repositories of knowledge, it had me reflecting on how much I actually know (or rather, don't...or rather, what it is to know at all in today's day and age).
Over coffee earlier in the day, we had spoken about education (Mike being a teacher), and the direction of pedagogy today as a result of technological advances.
Plainly put, we criticized more modern methods whereby the onus is more so on the teacher to teach than it is on the student to learn. (I recalled popular terms at my last job at the university such as "flexible learning", which may be a reflection of this philosophy.)
I agree, in part, with the thinking that discipline and work ethic are essential to learning, and that this is something that can't be taught - it must be willed and practiced by the student from her desire to learn. It made me wonder about the balance in education between cramming the brain full of information versus bringing forth wisdom from the student.
But what is to know? I have learned a lot in my life, from living and from studying hard. But much of what I've been taught in school I have not retained. I cannot list, with much degree of certainty, any number of historical details, which I assure you are required to piece together if one wishes to attain a certain level of sophistication in conversation about say, pretty much anything. This is likely because sophistication requires a knowledge of context, which can be a struggle to weave around an idea if you lack information or the ability to connect essential dots.
I notice this a lot when it comes to art - without knowing the evolution of society, the timeline of social changes, it’s hard to ascertain what it meant then and what it means now. What was once a “revolutionary” perspective or technique? Or reflective of that time, or critical, cynical, or metaphorical in relation to the reality of then? Without a point of reference, it’s hard to comment or form any kind of opinion. Increasingly so, my point of reference has been Wikipedia. (There isn’t a lot wrong with this; but it’s not way to have a conversation.)
Like the ballet earlier this week, this evening’s piano concert was my first. The music, as I closed my eyes in the grand hall with its high arches lined in gold with grandiose portraits of important people of the past watching over us (whose names I do not know without a google search), made me, again, think about education, learning, knowing. My ear was growing accustomed to this new sound: Goyescas, subtitled Los majos enamorados (The Gallants in Love), a piano suite written in 1911 by Spanish composer Enrique Granados. As I listened, all I could make reference to was jazz and typical sounds of "classical" music I had heard before. This was different, but I wasn’t sure how. The program mentioned rubato. I had to look it up. (Do you?)
However, it pulled something out of me. I felt I was learning something even if I couldn't find the words to talk about it intelligibly thereafter (hence, this blog post..I apologize!) But I was learning - to experience. And the Stoic in me is mostly satisfied with that.
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| Piano concert at the National Gallery |
Though I can navigate the systems of the modern world and its many (digital) repositories of knowledge, it had me reflecting on how much I actually know (or rather, don't...or rather, what it is to know at all in today's day and age).
Over coffee earlier in the day, we had spoken about education (Mike being a teacher), and the direction of pedagogy today as a result of technological advances.
educate (v.) late Middle English: from past participle of educare "bring up, rear, educate", which is a frequentative of or otherwise related to educere "bring out, lead forth," from ex- "out" + ducere "to lead".
Plainly put, we criticized more modern methods whereby the onus is more so on the teacher to teach than it is on the student to learn. (I recalled popular terms at my last job at the university such as "flexible learning", which may be a reflection of this philosophy.)
I agree, in part, with the thinking that discipline and work ethic are essential to learning, and that this is something that can't be taught - it must be willed and practiced by the student from her desire to learn. It made me wonder about the balance in education between cramming the brain full of information versus bringing forth wisdom from the student.
But what is to know? I have learned a lot in my life, from living and from studying hard. But much of what I've been taught in school I have not retained. I cannot list, with much degree of certainty, any number of historical details, which I assure you are required to piece together if one wishes to attain a certain level of sophistication in conversation about say, pretty much anything. This is likely because sophistication requires a knowledge of context, which can be a struggle to weave around an idea if you lack information or the ability to connect essential dots.
I notice this a lot when it comes to art - without knowing the evolution of society, the timeline of social changes, it’s hard to ascertain what it meant then and what it means now. What was once a “revolutionary” perspective or technique? Or reflective of that time, or critical, cynical, or metaphorical in relation to the reality of then? Without a point of reference, it’s hard to comment or form any kind of opinion. Increasingly so, my point of reference has been Wikipedia. (There isn’t a lot wrong with this; but it’s not way to have a conversation.)
Like the ballet earlier this week, this evening’s piano concert was my first. The music, as I closed my eyes in the grand hall with its high arches lined in gold with grandiose portraits of important people of the past watching over us (whose names I do not know without a google search), made me, again, think about education, learning, knowing. My ear was growing accustomed to this new sound: Goyescas, subtitled Los majos enamorados (The Gallants in Love), a piano suite written in 1911 by Spanish composer Enrique Granados. As I listened, all I could make reference to was jazz and typical sounds of "classical" music I had heard before. This was different, but I wasn’t sure how. The program mentioned rubato. I had to look it up. (Do you?)
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| Sometimes the only way somewhere is through a "passage" - even if you don't know its name. |
know (v.) Old English cnawan, "to know, perceive; acknowledge”
September 20, 2012
voice (v., n.)
I attended Voices in the Park last weekend and I think it's about time I reflected and committed something into words.
The concert was organized by Sarah McLaghlan to fundraise for her School of Music that she founded in 1990 to bring musical education to underprivileged kids. The line-up was spectacular and even Bill Clinton himself made an appearance commenting on how he owes his presidency to the music instruction he received from an early age. He said music helped build his character so he could better deal with politics, which he referred to as a "contact sport" (no pun intended).
The concert series' cleverly ambiguous name got me thinking about what it means to not only have a voice but to also make your voice heard. I was there to hear the voices of Jann Arden, Stevie Nix, Bryan Adams, and of course, Sarah McLaughlan. But by being there, I was also voicing my support for a good cause.
The reason I pinpoint this particular set-up is because of what I witnessed sitting in Section 2, row 1 that night. It was jarring, cacophonous, inharmonious - and just plain awful.
There was a lady sitting next to us who from the very beginning of the show seemed to have forgotten what brought many of us there in the first place: The desire to hear - and support - artists singing for a good cause. She seemed committed to making sure that those around her were not having a good time - or at least a worse time than she was having. Every few minutes, she'd get up from her seat to shove (yes, shove) someone out of her line of vision and yell out "MOVE!".
The area in front of us was a walkway, yet she took every opportunity to hurry people along by yelling at them and pushing them. She even aggressively pushed a man away who slowed down, leaning on his walking stick, to take a photo of the show. From the place where I was standing, I could see fine - and so could she. But for some reason, her voice seemed to be the most important thing in attendance that evening.
I mentioned that she was being quite rude (though hostile would have been a more accurate description of her behaviour), while others seated farther away gave flashed looks of complete disbelief or repeated and utter disapproval. But none of this seemed to faze her. Our remonstrations seemed only to encourage her.
At one point, even security had to intervene when the lady picked on some semi-inebriated teenage girl who was apparently a bit too Bryan-crazy and anxious to get a closer look at him by standing "too close" to us. I didn't mind at all, and even let the girl share my spot so she could enjoy the show for a bit; but the lady wouldn't have any of it.
But karma did as karma would.
The security people eventually came back. Many of us thought they'd escort this lady out of the show; but instead, whether borne out of intentional wit or not, the security personnel just planted their tall authoritative selves right in front of her for the remainder of the concert. She shut up soon after that (though, believe it or not, she still tried to push one of the security guys away).
There's nothing like having the universe echo your sentiments.
But beyond that, the concert was oh so very moving. Listening to Jann Arden sing "I Would Die For You" with Sarah McLaughlan, cut right into the very core of me. The show had great and well-planned momentum, ramping up with Stevie Nix and Bryan Adams, and as per my taste, closing with some slower music to lull me into the night.
I truly found my peace amongst all the noise that night.
 |
| I kept hoping Bill would play the sax. |
The concert series' cleverly ambiguous name got me thinking about what it means to not only have a voice but to also make your voice heard. I was there to hear the voices of Jann Arden, Stevie Nix, Bryan Adams, and of course, Sarah McLaughlan. But by being there, I was also voicing my support for a good cause.
 |
| Enjoying sunny Stanley Park with Ben! |
Stanley Park was beautiful. We arrived around 4:30pm, grabbed a plate of $10 dim sum from the food truck, and headed to our seats, as close as we could get to the the stage without dropping $285 for the nice chairs. Our view was spectacular (I'm pretty sure Bryan Adams and I made eye contact).
The reason I pinpoint this particular set-up is because of what I witnessed sitting in Section 2, row 1 that night. It was jarring, cacophonous, inharmonious - and just plain awful.
 | |||
| I didn't let myself get too distracted by the obnoxious lady sitting next to me at the concert. Not only did I enjoy the show and getsucked into the music, but I even found a moment to make it ontothe live Twitter feed! (@vishmili) |
The area in front of us was a walkway, yet she took every opportunity to hurry people along by yelling at them and pushing them. She even aggressively pushed a man away who slowed down, leaning on his walking stick, to take a photo of the show. From the place where I was standing, I could see fine - and so could she. But for some reason, her voice seemed to be the most important thing in attendance that evening.
I mentioned that she was being quite rude (though hostile would have been a more accurate description of her behaviour), while others seated farther away gave flashed looks of complete disbelief or repeated and utter disapproval. But none of this seemed to faze her. Our remonstrations seemed only to encourage her.
At one point, even security had to intervene when the lady picked on some semi-inebriated teenage girl who was apparently a bit too Bryan-crazy and anxious to get a closer look at him by standing "too close" to us. I didn't mind at all, and even let the girl share my spot so she could enjoy the show for a bit; but the lady wouldn't have any of it.
But karma did as karma would.
 |
| We are all going to find things that stand in our way. I think that how we deal with those things will determine if they're actually in our way or if we're in our own way. |
There's nothing like having the universe echo your sentiments.
But beyond that, the concert was oh so very moving. Listening to Jann Arden sing "I Would Die For You" with Sarah McLaughlan, cut right into the very core of me. The show had great and well-planned momentum, ramping up with Stevie Nix and Bryan Adams, and as per my taste, closing with some slower music to lull me into the night.
I truly found my peace amongst all the noise that night.
"Each one has to find his peace from within. And peace to be real must be unaffected by outside circumstances." - Mahatma Gandhi
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