Few months ago I decided to split my work into two categories.
The things that bring financial stability in my life and the things that bring joy in my life.
It might be an unfortunate and maybe even unfair phrasing of the reality, because those things definitely have some common ground. The work I do that provides for me is often fun and brings satisfaction. I also know that the things that bring joy can in time turn some profit. Nonetheless, at least for now, one cannot compete with the other’s prime objective.
It took some time for me to truly come to peace with that divide. At first it was extremely easy to get back to old patterns and blame Work A for the troubles (or initial non-existence) of Work B. Slowly, thankfully, some progress with the joyful work had begun. It’s definitely different from how it all looked a year or two ago, because now I feel I have to decide on what to spend time on much more carefully.
With that came a change in perspective. I think I can fully state that although the fame that could come with any sort of success from my artistic endeavours still is tempting on occasion, I really don’t care for it. Fame may have been a factor in the past, but now I really just want to write better with every piece that I compose.
Yesterday was John Williams 93rd birthday and to celebrate it I watched his concert with the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra from a couple of years back. In all that exquisite show of purest artistry and virtuosity from the players, unprecedented level of humility from the Maestro and the overall awe of such an event, the thing that stuck the most with me was a fine gentleman with a woodwinds instrument.
The man’s experience could be heard when he flourished at wonderful passages on the piccolo, but also seen in grey strands of hair adorning his head. It might have been that he played both the flute and piccolo, switching the instruments when necessary, but it was his skill and passion with the smaller of the instruments that caught my attention.
I saw beauty in what I imagined being an entire career dedicated to becoming perfect at a instrument not much bigger than a palm of a hand. A life’s pursuit of virtuosity at the most inconspicuous flute. And the player performed wonders with it.
I felt that journey and it created a longing. I cannot imagine such level of passion to be fuelled by something other than fulfilment.
I saw a vision of an older version of myself still going to his studio, continuing on his quest to become a little bit better with each track.