On Friday, I cut class. It was a gorgeous morning, I didn’t have an individual lesson, and I just couldn’t see sitting through four hours of other people being taught in Italian. So, instead, I went to the piazza, had gelato, sat at a cafe and read, and went to the “Internet Spot” to blog.
Later, I went back up to my dorm room to practice. When I first came to the workshop, I thought I would practice hours and hours everyday, like a real musician. But I’ve never managed more than an hour or so a day–I’ve spent much more time reading, writing, and eating.
It was time to get cracking, I decided, so I practiced all through the afternoon, concentrating on the breathing techniques, phrasing, and articulation Maestro has taught me.
At 5:00, there was a knock at my door. It was Juan Carlo, a very gentlemanly Spaniard who is in my class and also has the dorm room next to mine. “You should have seen what we did in class today!” he said in his beautiful Castillian accent (what we did in clath todie). Turned out, artisan recorder makers had come to demonstrate their lovely–and lovingly hand-made–instruments. “It was incredible!” Juan Carlo said. “The sound was so beautiful!” All I could think was, oh snap. I would have loved that.
So let this be a lesson to you, boys and girls: Skip class and you may miss the best session ever.
Tho now you won’t thkip clath, I thuppoth.
I wish I could have heard and seen those artisan recorder-makers. My recorders are plastic. How embarrathing!
Yeth, mine too. The first thing Maestro said to me was, “But why are you playing with plastic? Plastic is for the beginners.” So I bought a wooden recorder that I couldn’t afford. Though not one hand-made by an artisan.