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BEAVER’S EMBRACE the tedium of practice—for a while. But this beaver (aka me) doesn’t always recognize when practice turns to rote repetition; then I repeat mistakes and make more. When the sounds turn sour, I’ll often work harder, hoping for a improvement. Usually the music gets worse. I’m better at composing music than playing it.
At times, however, all effort seems to dissolve; my ears open to hear overtones, harmonies, and patterns; mechanical practice turns into an adventure of exploration and discovery. It’s exciting when a scale or arpeggio transcends the limits of my small talent and limited skill. When that happens, the clock stops; the music enters spatial time and I experience it whole, as if in a moment, like a picture or a sculpture. It’s a point in time, a dance, when notes move into music.
