Category: Let's talk
As I grow older, I often find myself frustrated with my inability to do what I used to do when I was younger. Although I can do it as well, I can't do
it as fast and I tire more quickly. This often depresses me, but now I will always remember this lesson!!!
On Nov. 18, 1995, Itzhak Perlman, the violinist, came on stage to give a concert at Avery Fisher Hall at Lincoln Center in New York City. If you have ever
been to a Perlman concert, you know that getting on stage is no small achievement for him. He was stricken with polio as a child, and so he has braces
on both legs and walks with the aid of two crutches. To see him walk across the stage one step at a time, painfully and slowly, is an awesome sight.
He walks painfully, yet majestically, until he reaches his chair. Then he sits down, slowly, puts his crutches on the floor, undoes the clasps on his legs,
tucks one foot back and extends the other foot forward. Then he bends down and picks up the violin, puts it under his chin, nods to the conductor and proceeds
to play.
By now, the audience is used to this ritual. They sit quietly while he makes his way across the stage to his chair. They remain reverently silent while
he undoes the clasps on his legs. They wait until he is ready to play.
But this time, something went wrong. Just as he finished the first few bars, one of the strings on his violin broke. You could hear it snap - it went off
like gunfire across the room. There was no mistaking what that sound meant. There was no mistaking what he had to do. We figured that he would have to
get up, put on the clasps again, pick up the crutches and limp his way off stage - to either find another violin or else find another string for this one.
But he didn't. Instead, he waited a moment, closed his eyes and then signaled the conductor to begin again.
The orchestra began, and he played from where he had left off. And he played with such passion and such power and such purity as they had never heard before.
Of course, anyone knows that it is impossible to play a symphonic work with just three strings. I know that, and you know that, but that night Itzhak Perlman
refused to know that.
You could see him modulating, changing, re-composing the piece in his head. At one point, it sounded like he was de-tuning the strings to get new sounds
from them that they had never made before. When he finished, there was an awesome silence in the room. And then people rose and cheered. There was an extraordinary
outburst of applause from every corner of the auditorium. We were all on our feet, screaming and cheering, doing everything we could to show how much we
appreciated what he had done.
He smiled, wiped the sweat from this brow, raised his bow to quiet us, and then he said - not boastfully, but in a quiet, pensive, reverent tone - "You
know, sometimes it is the artist's task to find out how much music you can still make with what you have left."
What a powerful line that is. It has stayed in my mind ever since I heard it. And who knows? Perhaps that is the definition of life - not just for artists
but for all of us. Here is a man who has prepared all his life to make music on a violin of four strings, who, all of a sudden, in the middle of a concert,
finds himself with only three strings; so he makes music with three strings, and the music he made that night with just three strings was more beautiful,
more sacred, more memorable, than any that he had ever made before, when he had four strings.
So, perhaps our task in this shaky, fast-changing, bewildering world in which we live is to make music, at first with all that we have, and then, when that
is no longer possible, to make music with what we have left.
From the sounds of this it seems that on this particular night is when Itzhak Perlman, the violinist
became the REAL Artist. Don't get me wrong for I am not saying that before this night that an
Artist he was not...truth to tell I don't believe I've ever heard him play.
Why I say that on this night he became a Real Artist is that he was no longer for a better example of
a Story to convey on my part than this... He was no longer coloring within the lines of a coloring
book with a full box of 64 crayons... He was no longer simply going on from dot-to-dot hitting the notes.
No, on this night he had to bring forth from everything within him, all memories of the notes and when
making due with what he had (a less than full box of new crayons) ahh THEN the real measure of the
man, the real measure of the artist was given full reign...The real truly talented Artist could shine forth,
unhindered from what it is the "norm" says is the thing to do.
~*Thunderous MidNight*~
I've heard of him he's quite the man with the fiddle.
He's stubborn in not using a chair, but as a paraplegic, I know how hard it is just getting in to places, so I don't blame him for sticking with the crutches.
Thanks for posting this.
Stevie.
This teaches me to make sure I have an extra set of strings on stage or a back up fiddle (well, guitar in my case), the happy go lucky pursue your dreams thing is too American for me but if it works for others that's great. I don't believe I can do anything I want, knowing my limitations for me is as important as knowing my strengths.
Itzhak Perlman is amazing... I had no idea that he was stricken with polio. You learn something new every day.
interesting concept there wildebrew, playing it safe
There are the ones willing to trade in the spare coloring book
as it were, rather reaching out forth
for the canvas blank, without the lines to stay within,
thereby coming into the heights
whereby the qualities of the masterpieces are given to flourish.
~*Thunderous MidNight*~