Marta, signing off

Having invaded Elizabeth's blog long enough, I will now return to my previous role of vicarious parasite and read instead of write. As my swan song, I would like to somehow put into words what this whole experience has given me as a harpist and as a human being.

In my life as a harp student, I have done many competitions, mostly small or medium-sized ones, never more than three stages long. On paper, I always did well (three 1st prizes, two 2nd prizes, three 3rd prizes out of 10 competitions... not bad, right?). However, with each new competition, the experience became increasingly stressful, competitive, and generally negative, despite the good results. I was frustrated by my weaknesses (memory problems, small finger-slips, lack of concentration under stress), by the wildly different reactions I was evoking from jury members, and lastly by my inability to prepare properly because of my work schedule. Finally, I decided that competitions were not for me, and that I should just accept my new life as a dinky little harp teacher who plays a dinky little poorly-payed concert once in a while. Sigh. Shrug.

When Elizabeth and I decided together to begin learning the repertoire for Israel, I felt somewhere in the back of my mind that this was my last chance at becoming a real harpist. After learning my two Scarlatti Sonatas, failing to play them perfectly up to my high standards at my diploma exam, I gave up, realizing that even if I had the energy to go through with it, I didn't have the time. I suddenly felt the gush of relief that comes with being exempt from an arduous requirement, but mixed with bitter thoughts of remorse, self-pity and spite. After six years of dedicating my life to my instrument, to the detriment of many friendships, enriching experiences, and my desire for the accumulation of general knowledge, I was regretting it all. Over the past two years, I slowly came to terms with my situation, surprised to find joy in what the music world deems an occupation for those musicians who just weren't good enough (ranking only slightly above the basest of all musical careers - the musicologist). At the same time, watching Elizabeth's energy-consuming preparation made me thankful for the time I could spend on enriching relationships with my family and friends, and on keeping myself healthy and sane.

As the competition approached, and though I had accepted the life that Fortune had thrown in my path, I was preparing myself mentally for a resurgence of past griefs. I expected to feel as I did listening to the Lily Laskine competition in Paris last year: angry at myself for not participating during the first two stages ("after all, I'm just as good as they are..."), depressed because of the high technical level of the participants in the last stages ("how do they manage to not make any mistakes? It's not fair!"), and generally bitter that I didn't have the time to dedicate to achieving perfect playing.

I was totally taken by surprise. Listening to all of the harpists was a very profound experience for me. I did not automatically compare my abilities to each person playing as I have in the past. Rather, what I retained was a sense of positive reinforcement of my strong points, which had been in dire need of attention. I finally really and truly understood that perfection is not what makes a performance special. I saw for myself how engrossing sincere and natural musicality can be, how boring pure technique is, and how important an open personality is on stage. It is ironic that competitions as an institution are both what infected me with an obsession about perfection and what finally cured me of it. I gained more from listening to this competition than I did from all of the others in which I had played.

The harp aside, the two weeks we spent in Israel were beneficial in their own right. For me,"the country of Israel" had begun as a utopian place deserving of our pity and protection as I had heard during my childhood in America, then as an evil hypocritical place that brought on its own woes that I hear about as an adult in Europe. Now I have seen for myself, with my own eyes, how many shades of grey this part of the world holds, and how, depending on the angle of the lens, each society can be seen en rose or en noire. However, seeing people, institutions, and places of worship from different religions all mixed together on one street, seeming to live together in perfect harmony gave me a sense of hope - after all, here on this street it's possible, why not everywhere else? This may be obvious to some people, but having grown up in a white town in northern Michigan, and lived in snobby rich Paris where the religious and ethnic minorities all live in the dangerous suburbs, actually witnessing the mishmash of cultures made me realize that a solution to the problems of the region should be possible.

To conclude, I must thank Elizabeth for letting me tag along. If she had not persevered with her goal, I would never have been able to experience all of this. And now that Life After Israel has begun, and I have my duet partner back, we can work on conquering the world together. Watch out, everyone, here we come!