Some days are like whole philosophies in themselves that suggest to us new interpretations of life, marginal notes full of the acutest criticism in the book of our universal destiny. I feel that this is one such day. The foolish thought strikes me that my heavy eyes and my empty head are the absurd pencil shaping the letters of that futile and profound statement.
—Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet
For a little over a year, I have been maintaining this Substack account, intended as a collection of writings and creative exercises related to music. Though I was never good at keeping up with a diary, I had always excelled in English courses and grant writing during university. It was also a skill I had to exercise after my mother’s stroke in 2018, communicating with my parents’ very large support group on her recovery through CaringBridge, in order to maximize time spent with her, without having to repeat myself updating family and friends on her condition. It goes without saying, that it is very traumatic to watch a loved one suffer. Journaling my mother’s progress, connecting online with those who loved her, gave some relief to the helplessness I felt watching her struggle in the hospital during that year.
After moving back to Europe in 2019, I noticed a cloud of half-formulated ideas, connections, anecdotes and existential questions circling around me that I did not know what to do with. I was presented with memories, literature, and music almost synchronistically, as they related to whatever I was thinking about in the moment. Additionally, after productions and performances concluded, I felt a lack of closure with these projects, a sense that there was more to be said about those experiences. The idea became to put these thoughts down to writing in order to clear space in my head and get on with daily life.
I think this information should give the reader an idea of the impetus for creating this Substack blog. My approach has been very similar to my musical life, in that it is an effort in interpretation. I am writing, not to contribute original thought, but to take a subject and thread together my own life experiences and other sources of meaning and influence. As I shared in the personal statement of my first post last year, it has never been my intention to try to persuade or take sides, but rather to use it as an exercise in embracing multivalence, sharing pipe dreams, and relating music to how I am living my life.
Having noticed a behavioral pattern of inflation and self-righteous indignation when it came to personal self-expression and engaging in online discussion, I only shared the project with a handful of friends and colleagues. I thought I would appear self-absorbed if I were to publish it, whereas keeping it private would allow me to remain introspective. I even named the blog Soprano Drivel, so as not to be taken seriously, or to associate myself with the trend of polarizing proclamations and reactive virtue signaling. Considering the degree to which cancellation and censorship have stifled creativity through ideological conformity, there seemed to be no logical reason to create this blog in the first place. Simply put: why say anything, and if anything, why online? Referring back to how I reflected on this in my first post:
This of course begs the question: "Why write publicly about anything, if the motivation is purely out of self-reflection?" The most honest answer I can offer, is to compare it with learning new repertoire: no matter how beneficial it might be for me, personally or professionally, if a performance of it is not in my calendar, I am just not going to do it. This suggests to me that my creative libido might be at least partially motivated by the risk of social pain, but perhaps for now I will wait and address that in a future post!
Considering this is an anniversary post of sorts, and the fact that what is quoted includes a question for self-reflection, I realize that perhaps I am obliged to finally address that last sentence. Please tolerate this tangent in self-analysis, I will circle back to it in the concluding paragraph, I promise! I played singles tennis in high school and one day at the end of a match, my coach confronted me. He said he observed a pattern in my playing during the season, where I would underperform for first half of the match, and then suddenly race to catch up at the end, not always successfully. My coach asked me, “Are you bored, or do you just enjoy putting pressure on yourself?” He gave me a doubles partner and after that, I rarely lost a match. This tells me the following about myself, as I apply it to “creative libido” and music. One is that I am uninspired by the preparation phase of studying music before the rehearsal period, because one is alone. Why bother learning new repertoire if it will not be an endeavor involving others in the immediate future? The other thought that comes to mind, is that either I am uninterested in the competitive nature of humans as a driving force for excellence and interaction, regardless of how the outcome is seen from the outside, OR that I simply enjoy the drama of being underestimated.
Moving on.
Professional artists have an excess of creative drive, which cannot always be satisfied by one’s performance schedule. Naturally, we need time to regenerate, to avoid the risk of burnout and spreading ourselves too thin creatively and energetically. There are also periods of unemployment, the pandemic being a striking example that all performing artists can relate to. Whether one is experiencing these phases as downtime or deprivation, how do we pacify the inner muse? Where do we direct these intense creative impulses of self-expression? Moreover, if working artists feel they are either not living to their full potential, or are making compromises for the sake of financial obligations, how might that affect inspiration and output?
It has been interesting to experience and observe the creative process while engaging in another medium that is not my area of expertise. Without the weight and pressure of labeling myself a writer, I have nothing to prove, and therefore can simply enjoy it for what it is, much like the belting lessons I took in grad school. More importantly, since this creative exercise is still related to music, I feel like I can represent myself wholistically and authentically as it applies to my professional life, more so at least than the “branding strategies” of self-promotion and public image. I have noticed how differently I experience and manage the onset of these waves of inspiration or creative flow within these different mediums. With singing, there is the practice of building momentum during the day to put myself in an emotional and physical state to be open for those impulses to come through during a performance. Conversely, with writing, I am not performing in real time, and therefore it is more a matter of having my notebook on hand to catch the puzzle pieces for me to put together later. This is not to say that I prefer one over the other, or that creativity is best cultivated under the ideal circumstances where one can luxuriate in their process. In fact, it can often be quite the opposite. It is tempting to digress here into the discussion of how creative potential can also be stimulated by limitations and obstacles, but perhaps I will save that for the next anniversary post!
Returning to my tennis coach’s inquiry, I am faced now with a similar question in a different context— Am I bored, writing without an audience? Would publishing my thoughts online help my writing evolve? The blog’s origins stemmed from a similar intent, love and devotion to the subject matter as with my mother’s online health journal. Naturally, the fear in sharing one’s thoughts is of criticism from the outside, and the cringe of the future self reading statements from the past that retrospectively might seem naive or misguided. However, one of the benefits in doing this kind of work in the first place, is that it is an exercise in critical thinking for the intellect and the spirit, for the sake of growth and expansion. As to these concerns, perhaps I should instead consider the German expression: “Wer sich ändert, bleibt sich treu”, which translates to “Those who change themselves, stay true to themselves.”
It is really true what philosophy tells us, that life must be understood backwards. But with this, one forgets the second proposition, that it must be lived forwards. A proposition which, the more it is subjected to careful thought, the more it ends up concluding precisely that life at any given moment cannot really ever be fully understood; exactly because there is no single moment where time stops completely in order for me to take position [to do this]: going backwards.
—Søren Kierkegaard