At a final recital for the holiday season, I had several students in the same room who hadn’t met before, and when I asked them to each tell their name, I also asked for each to share why they play their instrument. Of course, the question caught most of them off-guard, and the answers were pretty much the standard “I like it” or something similar. One student shared her desire to play like her mom, who performs in the symphony. Another student said she liked her instrument better than any other instrument.
My mind couldn’t let go of the general gist, though, of the answers: every student who answered said something about enjoyment. For each student, the first thought about the “why” behind playing involved joy derived from the playing experience. As a teacher, that’s what I try to cultivate in my students.
I can relate, too- I remember how much fun it was to learn a new instrument. I competed against other players in the discipline almost as soon as I picked up the instrument, so much of my fun involved seeing who could learn best a new skill or how fast the passage could be played accurately. To me, competition was such fun.
My favorite aspect of playing violin MUST be learning something new. Challenge breeds all sorts of wonderful things in any type of student, whether it be one of mine in the studio or myself with a miter saw: challenge enhances engagement. It’s the thought, “I’m here, and my goal’s over there. How do I get there?” which escorts us through the processes of self-reflection, critical thinking, and problem-solving, muddling through new facts and techniques on our way to mastery. Even as a teacher, the challenge my students pose on a daily basis offers me joy, ultimately- because not only do I get to help the student figure out how to straighten up a bow stroke or learn to read music in third position, I get to watch their journey as they rise to the challenge. THIS is why I teach: I get a bird’s eye view.
We are fast approaching the busiest competition season for orchestra members: contest (or festival). Like I noted before, I have a great love for competition, both informal and organized, and I believe in its power to create challenges not accessible elsewhere. As my students prepare, I find myself walking a very fine balance: I want to give my students pieces which are challenging and showcase new skills; pieces which do justice to my students’ level of effort. I must temper this challenge, however, by making sure whatever piece I assign isn’t too difficult, so as to make a flawless performance unattainable. I also don’t want to assign a piece as the result of fear of not gaining a certain rating at contest, because it would fail to reward my student for all the wonderful effort put into advancing in the discipline. This is actually a point of contention between myself and orchestra teachers in the district, truth be told.
Herein lies my true balance beam: how does one successfully marry challenge and competition in such a manner as to most benefit a student?
If you’ll notice, my statement omits any details about what’s best for myself, for orchestra teachers, for a school program… I mention students alone.
I understand the precarious perch of an orchestra program in a public school district. That red “X” for removal constantly adorns almost every door. Students who provide superior ratings help administrators blind to any other markers of worth find reason to slash budgets elsewhere. Those ratings statistics also benefit orchestra teachers, who are overworked and grossly underpaid and selflessly fly around like hummingbirds to make sure each student is prepared. I am in awe of these teachers, and I respect and revere their work, and if I can help their students to gain ratings which reflect the very best of their students, I want to do so.
HOWEVER. I refuse to allow a student to play a piece too easy for their abilities so the judge for whom the student plays will give top marks. No student should have to bear any other responsibilities besides working toward a challenge and showing a judge just how far he or she has come. And I, the private teacher, bear the weight of literature choice and every other ramification attached to it.
So when a student comes out of lessons with a particular piece to practice, know that piece was not chosen lightly.