Not That Anyone Asked...

...But writing an Artist Statement makes you feel like more of an Artist.

In addition to being a proud member of the brass faculty, I teach a professional development course at Berklee. I fell into it, with thanks and praise to one of Berklee's own Royal Court, Barbara LaFitte. I was grateful to add this feather to my cap initially because it made an exorbitant commute make financial sense; I live in Baltimore, MD and Berklee is in Boston, MA. The course seemed new and broad and interesting to me, but when I took it on, I had NO idea whatsoever how much I would learn and grow from it. Or how much it would kick my ass. Or how it would totally change my level of investment in teaching in general. If I was to do it at all, I was going to do it right. And that ended up meaning one thing: putting my money where my mouth is.

Describing the written requirements of this course is the stuff of multiple blog posts, so I'll stick to one for now: my syllabus requires students to compose an Artist Statement. A manifesto, of sorts. A detailed, deeply personal, soul-baring essay written in the first person that helps others understand WHY we do what we do. Who are we? What do we care about? What is our process? Do we even care? If so, what is most important? I gotta say...I felt more than a little guilty (and slightly overwhelmed) as I lectured about the importance of such proclamations when I'd never even considered -- let alone written about -- even half of these heady questions. When I was in music school, I cared about long tones, clean attacks, and when -- please GOD -- will I ever get the chance to play Ein Heldenleben and Shostakovich 7? And maybe on the same concert program? It took me one shameful and hypocritical semester of "good luck everyone!" and "better you all than me, har har!" to sit down and do it myself. These statements are not only good for the soul, but practical as well: grad school applications, grant proposals, press kits, website copy, etc, etc, but whats more....they really do help us to know ourselves. I knew I had to write one if I was going to be an effective professor, and if I wanted to sleep at night. I truly felt dumb up there pontificating about something I knew nothing about. Having finally written one, even at my age, with numerous Heldenlebens and Shostie 7s behind me (though NOT on the same program, thank the baby Jesus), I benefitted from the perspective and just the exercise of sitting down and considering what I care about and why. Have I changed since I was 20? LOLOMG. Just a little. But I see more clearly now, despite battling perimenopausal insomnia and occasional brain fog (thanks, COVID!). I see what, and why, and how, and who, and for how long. And it's pretty goddamn wonderful. 10/10 recommend. You should try it too!

Artist Statement, Shelagh Abate 1/20/24

I’ve always been a truth seeker. I strive to be a truth teller, for better or for worse. I have completely destroyed relationships by speaking my truth, but I know I’ve also saved lives – most especially my own. In music, you know you are hearing someone’s truth when their playing transcends the instrument they’re holding. That is my goal, always. That said, I can remember only a couple of times that I have actually done it. I doubt I’d need the fingers of more than one hand to count – but no matter. It’s worth it to even come close. It feels like flying. Like an out of body experience. We practice diligently, endlessly to achieve and maintain fluency on our instruments so that we may express ourselves without the burden of technical cares. And so it goes when I practice, it’s always nuts and bolts, pushups and situps so that I can build castles in the sky when it really matters. And when does it matter? That changes. Doesn’t need to be a gig. There is no need for an audience. It matters when it works out. When I am ready, whether I know it or not. Sad to say, when I have some kind of agenda, a hope or a plan for it to occur, more often than not, it eludes me.

The great composers and songwriters build the doorways, but we are the ones to walk through the portals when we succeed in real expression. For me, the ultimate version of this takes place when I am joined by others in an ensemble. I’ve never been big into being a soloist. There is so little about it that I enjoy. I hate to sound churlish, but it’s true. All I have ever wanted is to make great music with great people. Sometimes it clicks when it’s a big group, other times with an intimate number. Chamber music is the medium in which I feel most enabled to spread my wings and fly, but it’s also happened during Mahler and Shostakovich finales. And when it happens, it's pure magic. Impossible to describe, because you must be there – see it and hear it – to feel the truth of it.

I am always left awed. Grateful, sated, connected to something bigger and far more important than me. Also usually trembling, trying to keep my shit together, thinking that finally, my battery is fully charged again. Now, ever the Capricorn, I can begin the next big climb to the next time I’m lucky enough to touch upon it: The Truth.