Lessons Learned at Oxford
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| The Cloisters at St. Stephen's House, Oxford University |
Hi, I’m Susan Nace, from the Upper School Performing Arts
Department. I’m here to share with you lessons learned from my Vegesna Grant
opportunity at St. Stephen’s House at Oxford University this summer.
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| St. Stephen's House |
First of, all I want to encourage you to imagine yourself in a challenging
scenario where you as a teacher can get out of your comfort zone; where you can
do or research something you’ve always wanted. This can be made possible
through a Vegesna Grant. It is like taking
a mini-sabbatical. It will recharge you
and will be the basis for improving your teaching.
I could get all music-geeky with you and talk about the Oxford
Movement and its effects on the Arts in the 19th c through now; the
rhetoric of French Baroque music; delving into Medieval English and where it
intersected with the Anglo-Saxon and its particular place of origin in the West
Midlands; the importance of harmonic rhythm in conducting; and integrating Laban
efforts in conducting, but that wouldn’t be helpful for many of you.
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| "Chant phrases" in the Arts & Crafts architecture in the Church of St. John the Evangelist at St. Stephen's House |
So instead, I will share with you the meta-cognitve experience I
had at Oxford, hoping it will be meaningful for all of you.
The Three things I learned:
- ¯ Ignorance is important
- ¯ Problems or Gaps are creative potentials
- ¯ and Listening is always more important than speaking.
Ignorance is important. I
did all my prep and like a Harker, type A overachiever, did everything I
could. For example, my score prep for
just one three page choral anthem resulted in a sixteen page paper with a two
page Bibliography. YES!!!! Harker
information literacy paid off. The librarians would be so proud!
However, although this foundational knowledge was important, to
truly make meaningful, heartfelt music,
I had to become ignorant, to have what the Zen masters call “beginner’s
mind.”
Every rehearsal was a new day with a whole new set of
circumstances.
Each time I conducted, the piece was new and ephemeral.
It was frightening but it was exhilarating.
With “ignorance,” I learned that the sixteen pages of intellectual exploration was important but ultimately what mattered is that we were open to a new experience, with beginner’s mind, engaging directly with the musical sound in the space, at this particular time, with these particular people, with our open hearts.
With “ignorance,” I learned that the sixteen pages of intellectual exploration was important but ultimately what mattered is that we were open to a new experience, with beginner’s mind, engaging directly with the musical sound in the space, at this particular time, with these particular people, with our open hearts.
The second lesson:
I learned that gaps or problems are the manure that results in wonderful fruit. That is, . . . IF we are willing to acknowledge them. Now we KNOW this as teachers, but we FORGET this as we teach concepts that are as comfortable as old slippers and a hot cup of tea.
I learned that gaps or problems are the manure that results in wonderful fruit. That is, . . . IF we are willing to acknowledge them. Now we KNOW this as teachers, but we FORGET this as we teach concepts that are as comfortable as old slippers and a hot cup of tea.
Gaps are frightening and, being fearful human beings, we ignore
them, suppress them, hope they disappear, or we fill them with more objects,
autocratic procedures, or routine
behavior. That last one, routine
behavior, is the biggest trap for me as a conductor: more technical details,
more methodology, more beating of the arms in what we think are meaningful
gesture, but which are insincere, insensitive, controlling, manipulative, and
hollow.
Yes, this is a strong indictment. This lesson came the evening
after my first rehearsal. Although I approached the choir with my years of experience
and Harker-like knowledge, after the rehearsal, I knew that what I had created gaps
for myself and for the choir. In the quiet solitude of my room, I cried.
Looking at the problems resulted in me acknowledging
(1) being “trapped” by my mind rather than open with my heart AND
(1) being “trapped” by my mind rather than open with my heart AND
(2) my conducting was too complex. It had to be taken apart,
down to its constituent components. The
extraneous gestures had to be jettisoned.
When we ignore gaps or problems, we stifle creative potential,
and in an ensemble where gaps are denied,
those gaps may destroy the unity that is imperative for creative
expression.
Creativity depends upon our ability to recognize and explore the
gaps and yes, it is messy and smelly, and confusing.
Art demands a time of messiness, of chaos, and confusion. Great work will always create gaps between
itself and the conventions of the time.
Convention taught me to
beat patterns, cue, and indicate other musical ideas in certain
set ways,
but when there are gaps or problems,
it may be the conventions need to change to reach the great
work.
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| "Enlightenment in the St. Stephen's Chapel with Dr. Jordan." |
The third lesson I learned is that as you lead your ensemble,
you need to deeply listen to what they have to say to you.
So, when something goes wrong with the rehearsal, what are the
singers saying to me?
- If the breathing or phrasing was off, it was because my breathing was off or non-existent.
- If the intonation suffered, my body core was off-center.
- If the tenors were too loud, it was because I was ignoring them and not giving them the direction they needed.
- If the music didn’t sing, it was because I was in the trap of my mind rather than engaging energetically with my ensemble. I have the videos to prove it!
As a teacher, you are involved in a dialog with your ensemble or
class, and your focus is to create and inhabit the space in which that magical
exchange can occur. It is an act of surrender and an act of trust and love.
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| The Church at St. Stephen's House, St. John the Evangelist |
In conclusion, these three things, “ignorance, gaps, and
listening” will result in new ways of seeing “old things.” No longer will you
be teaching your unit or conducting the “chestnut” for the umpteenth time.
Instead,
- with ignorance, you will see a different world through what your students have to teach you;
- when there are problems or gaps, in attending to them, there will be creative growth;
- and when you listen, with love and with the strength of your calling as a teacher, it is like the ending verses of T.S. Eliot’s famous poem “Little Gidding” from Four Quartets:
We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, unremembered gate When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree.”
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, unremembered gate When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree.”
