Polyphony: art as process

American Music Teacher, April-May, 2004 by Jane Magrath

Q: What inspired you to write this column about "art as process"?

A: Recently, I participated in a conversation with five individuals who were enrolled in an art workshop. It was at the beginning of the multi-day gathering, and they clearly were eager. Some were professional artists, but most were not, and all were attending a week-long workshop titled "Painting, Passion, Art." They were all ages and from all over the country and had diverse backgrounds and painting experiences, from a young mother who stated that in her experience she had only painted walls; to a woman from Albuquerque in her 60s who painted off and on to express herself; to a man from Chicago who acknowledged himself as an artist and made a living professionally, he said, as a massage therapist and also by selling church collection envelopes to churches (you decide this one).

When I asked about what mediums they would be working with and what the structure of their week looked like, the mother/wall painter quickly told me this was about "art as process." We talked a bit more, and someone else said she had come because it was a week about "process, art as process." It became evident they were clear with what they expected in the workshop, and what they wanted and needed at the time--to connect or reconnect with a love of creating art. They would tell me they had no idea what they would paint that day; no idea the scope or size of the painting; no idea how long it would take them to complete this project; and no idea how many paintings they would do in a week.

It was clear that inclinations toward judging their own and others' work were put away. These were individuals who were most interested in the process and their own experience with the brush, canvas and paints during that week. Little to no viewing, evaluating and critiquing inwardly or at the outer level would be part of the process, this "art as process." The instructor was a facilitator, a convener, and provided the external structure and gentle encouragement to allow the process to occur.

Later, when I saw some of them during this workshop at meals, they clearly were feeling freer and more expansive in their lives. They seemed more relaxed, not only with the group, but in general. They somehow were allowing a process to occur and evolve.

Still later, I saw several of the people in the singing workshop also taking place that week, a workshop for professionals and amateurs alike. This is a world I know more about, and still I was amazed to overhear an excited conversation between two singers during a break. One was euphoric to be there with a chance to make music, to get some help with his work. He knew what he wanted and couldn't wait to get into the classes. I was not looking at him as a potential student, as we all have in similar situations at times, but only seeing him as an individual ecstatic over having a week to delve into something he loved.

Q: Are you alluding to our own return to music making, to some regular practicing, as a way to stay in touch with the reason we started music study in the first place?

A: Yes, in this column I wanted to talk about our own participation in music making as a process--not for our students, but for ourselves--as a means of keeping ourselves grounded and evolving. All of us learned to play an instrument or sing before we became such passionate teachers. That love of music drew us to the instrument and the process of spending time with the musical scores, our ears and our instruments to create sound and music in a meaningful way.

Then we learned to judge ourselves, to become unbalanced critics of our own work, perhaps. And many or most of us ceased practicing. For some, the process left during the college years. The thrill and euphoria turned into an obligation to practice, and perhaps we were encouraged too strongly to work for goals with undue pressure to reach them--pressure that might or might not have worked with our personalities. We became so critical and judgmental of ourselves, that we wouldn't allow ourselves to be balanced musicians after college. We stopped playing or singing because we believed we did not have time and told ourselves conveniently that we were out of practice. We thought we didn't like our playing (or singing), that we had lost the "touch." We had begun to play in our minds for external judges and audiences; what we missed was playing for ourselves, to communicate with our souls, to express our feelings in music.

So, when we had a life change, such as beginning a busy teaching position, or getting married and starting a family or finding work outside the musical profession, we found it easy to have little to no time for making music. We put our music making aside for other events in the life evolution.

Q: It seems impossible to have time in our busy lives to play for our own refreshment and personal nurturing, especially at this time of year when many of us are running ragged. This is the most pressured time in the teaching year for many of us. There seems to be no way to fit this in.