Last week, I picked up my cello for the first time in 14 months. I took it to a rehearsal I was assigned to photograph, though I left the cello in the car. It wasn’t a full rehearsal, it was just the strings, but the lovely conductor had invited me to play, if I wanted to.
So yeah, the cello sat in the car for a few hours.
I soon realised I wanted to take the cello out of the car, having photographed all I could under the circumstances, but I still wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to actually play it. So I spent maybe 15 minutes trying not to work myself into a frenzy, then took my cello out and sat down.
Of course they were all really welcoming; I couldn’t have asked for them to be lovelier about it.
But it felt weird. It didn’t feel wrong, but it didn’t exactly feel right.
I mean, I could still play, and all, but playing felt very detached, almost alien to me. There was little emotion in what I was playing (didn’t help that it was Mozart, who quite honestly, makes me want to ram my bow in my ear until it comes out the other side, and then move it back and forth desperately hoping to make my own music), and there was that immediate, weird sense of playing because I had to, rather than playing because I wanted to. It didn’t feel crap, but it didn’t feel good.
I think I was always one who never wanted to conform to the dots on the page.
I think this, because I do still want to get my cello out. I don’t want to play for anyone, I just want to play. I don’t know what, but that’s all there is to it. The danger there, though, is that I’ll get to the point where I’ll want someone to hear me play (lord only knows why), whether solo or orchestral. Perhaps because that’s all I know.
I’d love to get back into playing with a band, but so much of it was mundane, and the ONE band I adored playing with stopped performing shortly after I left.
I wondered if picking up my cello and playing again would be like slipping on a pair of jogging bottoms, you know, the favourite pair you’ve had for about 10 years, which you put back on as soon as they’re washed and dried, because they’re comfy; they’re your shape; they’re just right for you.
But it didn’t feel anything like that. Not at all. I’m not surprised, but I’m…I think I’m a little disappointed. I wanted to want to play. It wasn’t there. the spark is still dull.
I wonder if it will ever come back in full force?
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Play, play if you can, for yourself, for the music, for the joy & expression. I've been playing guitar for more than 30 years and when I have to be away from home for chunks of time for work I really miss losing myself in music. It doesn't have to be for anyone, just playing is a Good Thing to do.
Maybe you're not ready yet. I'm the same with my harp, since having the children I can't get back into it. I bet it will come back. xx
I used to be passionate about singing. I adored it, I sang in a jazz band and found nothing more sublime than riding on the waves of music. And then I had a child. And practice became impossible. Five years later when I did have 20 minutes here or there in which to play with some tunes, it felt like going through the motions. I have found this perplexing. Who is this person who is no longer passionate about making music? Can it really be me? Will I ever want to sing again? Should I knuckle down and practice until the desire returns? Should I just allow it to visit me when its ready? These are the questions I'm asking.
Whatever you decide, do it for you and for nobody else.