“The details of any art form—how to play the violin, how to improvise a raga, how to write English prose, how to make movies, how to teach are of course particular; each instrument or medium comes with its own language and lore.  But there is a kind of metalearning, a metadoing that transfers across styles and forms…While there are certain principles that apply to a particular field, others apply across the board to all fields of creative activity.  Any action can be practiced as an art, as a craft, or as drudgery.”

- Free Play: Improvisation in Life and Art, Stephen Nachmanovitch

You may have heard the story of Joshua Bell, world famous violinist, busking in a subway station in Washington.

Imagine an industrial printer in your home office. Or imagine a home printer trying to serve the needs of a corporate office.  Neither makes sense.  Both are ugly and inappropriate.  I would never presume that one would be appropriate for the other’s circumstances.

“But industrial printers are such beautiful instruments!  They’re works of art!  Pure genius!”

Not in my home office they’re not! If a salesman installed an industrial printer in my home office, I’d consider him incompetent, foolish and out to lunch.

That’s because when it comes a printer, it’s easy to perceive the circumstances for which it was designed. You can’t separate what a printer is, from what it does, and from how it functions in certain circumstances.

Music is no different.

Bach’s music is beautiful in many circumstances.  But not ALL circumstances. If you perform Bach’s music at a hoedown, you have a problem.

When Joshua Bell performed in that subway station, he calibrated himself to sell to the classical, concert-going community.  He also made no effort to communicate to passersbys what his function was. So it’s no surprise to me that he failed miserably to attract any attention.

This experiment would have been more interesting if Bell was dressed in a tux, chairs were set up around him, and he introduced his pieces like he regularly would in a concert hall.  Or if he played fiddle music with a spoon player and tap dancer.

THAT would have gotten people’s attention…maybe.

I say “maybe” because there are no guarantees in selling.  But it’s still foolish to be presumptuous. If you don’t empathize and consider the wants and needs of other people, your chances of rejection and failure are much higher.

That’s what happened to Joshua Bell. He and his collaborators made no effort to recalibrate, so neither did their “audience.”

Joshua Bell is a horrible salesman.

On May 6th, I sat down with Josh Grossman, artistic director of the TD Toronto Jazz Festival. It was part of a series of live interviews Josh is hosting called The Artistic Director’s Guide to Jazz.  We had a great discussion about four artists performing solo shows at the festival:

One of Josh’s questions was about the importance of mentorship.

JOSH: Benny Green has played with many of the biggest names in jazz but what stuck out for me is that, for many years, he played and interacted with musicians at least a generation or two his senior.  For example:  Oscar Peterson selected him for the City of Toronto’s first Glenn Gould International Protégé Prize in Music, and he played in Ray Brown’s trio.  What do you think having these sorts of musical and mentorship opportunities did for Benny’s playing?

I can think of two reasons why mentorship is important.

We’re all familiar with the first one: If you want to be good at something, learn from people who are better than you (preferably the best).  This is the backbone of all learning and skill development, not just for music and jazz.

If you want to be a good musician, athlete, engineer or politician, then study, imitate and learn from the leaders in that field.  Immerse yourself in their teachings, actions, philosophy, routines, recordings and creative output. If you have personal contact with them, that’s a bonus!

Which leads me to the second reason why mentorship is important:

Mentorship as a Selling Point

Consider a few opening lines of a cold call.  I’m trying to get a gig at a jazz club, jazz festival or university.

• “Hi, my name is Chris Donnelly, I’m a jazz pianist, Juno nominee, NJA nominee and instructor at the University of Toronto…”
• “Hi, my name is Chris Donnelly, I’m a jazz pianist, I just finished a string of performances with Ray Brown…”
• “Hi, my name is Chris Donnelly, I’m a jazz pianist, you might know me from my work on Kind of Blue…”

The potential for making the sale is exponentially higher if I played with Ray Brown, and even more so if I played on Kind of Blue.

I say “potential” because there are no guarantees in sales. There are no guarantees because every person in every transaction has a different trigger. If you had never heard of Kind of Blue, or if it’s your most despised jazz album, you’re less likely to buy right?

A Juno nomination, two NJA nominations and being on faculty at the University of Toronto can be excellent selling points, and I’m proud to have them on my resume. But even so, sometimes it doesn’t match a prospect’s triggers and they don’t return my calls.  Then again, sometimes I can get their attention simply by mentioning the fact that I play the piano!  It depends on the prospect.

What Are Your Triggers?

Everyone has triggers.  Skilled salesmen are good at matching selling points with those triggers.

It’s fun to think about what your triggers may be. Personally, for jazz pianists, if you sound good (REALLY good), I’ll be more likely to become interested in your music.  That’s not my only trigger though.  If a person I admire vouches for you and your music, you’ll get my attention. Those are my two main triggers for jazz pianists and music in general.  I usually don’t pay attention to CD reviews, publicity, awards, nominations, flashy resumes or even what most of my colleagues are saying.

That’s just with music though.  I have a completely different set of triggers when it comes to food, clothing and relationships.

I wrote about triggers in a previous post where I explored a spectrum of positive association. Have a read and try to identify your triggers and selling points. Chances are, there are points on that list that, if used in combination, will grab your attention, or will grab your prospect’s attention.

Benny Green’s selling points include his associations and mentorship with Oscar Peterson and Ray Brown (as well as being an amazing pianist). Fortunately for him, these things are powerful triggers in the jazz community. He’s had much success as a result.

That’s why mentorship is important.

On May 6th, I sat down with Josh Grossman, artistic director of the TD Toronto Jazz Festival. It was part of a series of live interviews Josh is hosting called The Artistic Director’s Guide to Jazz.  We had a great discussion about four artists performing solo shows at the festival:

• Kurt Rosenwinkel – June 22nd
• Matt Andersen – June 30th
• Benny Green – June 28th
• Nellie McKay – June 30th

The interview was video recorded, but I’d like to clarify, develop and embellish some of my answers (as well as promote these shows!).

- – - -

Original vs. Non-Original Music

One of Josh’s questions was about performing original compositions:

JOSH: What is your take on performing original compositions vs. performing standards or cover tunes?

For some reason, this reminds me of that funny saying: “There are two types of people in this world, those who divide the world into two types and those who do not.” (Jeremy Bentham, I believe)

The dichotomy between original compositions and non-original compositions is helpful for reference and classification. But in the performance arts, things are more complicated.

Matt Anderson may be writing original music on one level, but at the same time, there are aspects of his performance that are very non-original.

The guitar, for example, is a familiar instrument.  The blues is a recognizable feeling, or style. Most people attending Matt’s concert will be familiar with the English language.  Many of the chord structures and combinations Matt uses in his music have been used millions of times before.

Matt’s performances, and his music are actually very non-original.

But they ARE original – his audiences have never experienced them before.

Conflict.

The nature of this conflict may rest in a language paradox, better observed here. Nevertheless, this is how I address it:

One cannot separate the music from the performance.  They are one of the same.  Nor can you classify a performance simply as being original or non-original. Experience lies on a wide, complex, micro, macro, multi-layered, multi-dimensional spectrum.

So, lately I haven’t been differentiating  between original compositions and non-original compositions.  Every performance, at its core, is original.  Every INSTANCE is original on some level or another.

The best way to classify a performance, experience, and associated variables is in “common ground.”  Common ground is the foundation on which any relationship rests.  Without common ground, any relationship or ritual would fall apart.

(It may seem that I’ve played a trick on myself. I replaced the term “non-original music” with the term “common ground” in which case the conflict described above still applies and I’ve committed some kind of fallacy. But I don’t think this is the case. The term “non-original music” classifies a noun, or a thing. “Common ground” refers to a relationship. It’s the difference between a sheet of music and performing that music.  It’s the difference between what music is and what music does.)

Common Ground in Music

Here are some examples (assuming you’re familiar with Scott Joplin’s The Entertainer):

• I perform the published version of The Entertainer, note for note.
• I perform The Entertainer with slight note variations and inflections.
• I perform The Entertainer, with a rewritten B section.
• I perform The Entertainer in 3/4.
• I perform The Entertainer as a bossa nova.
• I perform The Entertainer very, very slowly.
• I compose and perform a tune based on the Entertainer.
• I improvise a tune in the ragtime style.
• I improvise a 12-tone tune in the ragtime style.

Hopefully these examples demonstrate some kind of spectrum, and various explorations of common ground in music. But these examples only consider the music – common ground is experienced in all aspects of a performance. Consider these examples:

• I perform the published version of The Entertainer on the guitar.
• I perform The Entertainer on the spoons.
• I sing The Entertainer in English.
• I sing The Entertainer in Gibberish.
• I perform the published vision of The Entertainer in the dark.
• I perform the published version of The Entertainer with a gorilla on stage.
• The person next to you isn’t wearing pants.
• The concert is scheduled to begin at 4:30am.
• The concert features the local symphony at the local pub.

Some of these examples make no mention of the music.  That’s because circumstances and environment are equally important to the overall experience of a performance or ritual.

Common Ground in Society

I say “ritual” because these ideas of originality, non-originality, familiarity and common ground apply to activities other than music, concerts and performances.

Consider the ritual of going to a restaurant.  All restaurants follow similar patterns – host greets you, host seats you, waiter takes drinks order, waiter brings drinks, waiter takes food orders, waiter brings food, waiter asks “how’s everything?” etc.

This isn’t just robotic behavior, it’s maintaining common ground.  Going out for dinner would be impossible without it.  Events and circumstances need to unfold in some familiar fashion in order for everything to function.

Of course, every restaurant has variations, which could be considered a creative exploration of common ground. Think about what happens when you order bacon & eggs. No two restaurants make bacon & eggs the same. But reading “bacon & eggs” on the menu will give you an idea of what to expect.  That’s common ground.  Hopefully they’ll meet or exceed your expectations!

Now think about what happens when you order the chef’s signature dish.  Even the most unfamiliar dishes are probably derived from ingredients that you’re familiar with. To establish common ground, a restaurant may list those ingredients in the menu.  If they’re NOT listed in the menu, then common ground may be established through the chef’s reputation. Or perhaps common ground is inherent in government food & safety regulations.

Common ground is inherent in all these things – interacting, playing and feed backing off one another. They’re all part of a complex system that forms our routines and rituals.  The dichotomy between original and non-original music is too simple and inconsistent to explain such a system.

Of course, the irony in this discussion occurs every time I introduce my music: “Next, I’d like to perform an original composition I wrote…..”

I suppose this dichotomy has its uses…  ;)

(Can’t see the video? Click here)

On May 6th, I sat down with Josh Grossman, artistic director of the TD Toronto Jazz Festival. It was part of a series of live interviews Josh is hosting called The Artistic Director’s Guide to Jazz.  We had a great discussion about four artists performing solo shows at the festival:

• Kurt Rosenwinkel – June 22nd
• Matt Andersen – June 30th
• Benny Green – June 28th
• Nellie McKay – June 30th

The interview was video recorded, but I’d like to clarify, develop and embellish some of my answers (as well as promote these shows!).

- – - -

One of Josh’s questions was about technical facility:

JOSH:   ”I saw Kurt Rosenwinkel in concert two years ago.  He was doing things I didn’t think were possible on the guitar.  Do you feel that solid technique is even more important for an artist playing solo?”

First, clarification: “What do you mean by “technical facility?”

One of my earlier posts on this blog was about perfect technique. It’s not usual that I can look back on previous posts and agree with what I’ve written, but my idea about perfect technique still holds:

• You have perfect technique if you sound exactly how you want to sound.
• Your listeners will think you have perfect technique if you satisfy their tastes.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about technique as another word for “replication.” If we can replicate something, we have good technique. Improvising jazz musicians, with good technique, are good at replicating what they’re hearing, replicating their role models and replicating the jazz tradition among other things.

(Interestingly, as my friend Dan Fortin noted, this idea applies to other art forms – dance, visual arts, wood carving, cooking, fashion etc. I wonder if it can apply to sports too – squash, boxing, running etc. Another post perhaps…)

Technical facility then, is like copying technology.  Certain copiers are better, faster and more efficient at replicating than other copiers are.

HOWEVER!  What if your poor, slow and inefficient copier is serving your needs perfectly?  When discussing technical facility, it’s important to consider the circumstances for which you are replicating.

For example, I use a Brother MFC 7840n for all my printing, scanning and copying needs. I love this machine. It’s fast, reliable, wireless and fits perfectly under my desk. Now consider industrial printers. We may marvel at the fact that they can print 200 pages a minute, double sided, stapled, enlarged, in colour, etc, but there’s no way these beast machines would fit  (or look good) in my studio.  It’s totally inappropriate for my circumstances for many reasons.  This machine would have terrible technique.

An artist like Kurt Rosenwinkel may have the technique of an industrial printer, but he may not fit in my home office!

Technical facility then, is no more important when playing solo than when playing in a band.  The reason we think solo playing requires more technique is because we’re not used to replicating under those circumstances.

It requires different skills, different technology. Not better, just different.

HOWEVER!!

I’ll revert back to a more common view of technique – playing impressively fast, for example.

Playing impressively fast is one of the best ways to demonstrate an artist’s proficiency. It’s like a universal benchmark, no matter how skilled his or her audience.

In this sense, technical facility can act as common ground between performer and audience. Once common ground is established, a relationship can be developed.  That’s important.

So, “Is technical facility important when playing solo?”

Final answer: Yes and No.

(Can’t see the video? Click here)

“And now, ladies and gentleman, we’re going to perform Brahms’s F minor clarinet sonata, written in 4 movements.”

Elephant in the room!!

Do you feel it?

If you’ve ever been to a performance of classical music that’s written in multiple movements, you know exactly what I’m referring to.

Do you clap between movements?!

I’m going to settle this matter, once and for all.  This is what all performers should do:

Ask the audience.

Some listeners like to show their appreciation between movements. That’s fine!  Others prefer silence after each movement. That’s also fine!  Clearly, diversity exists in how listeners express themselves.

The issue isn’t whether applause is appropriate for the piece, or what the performers prefer, or what the composer wants (or wanted!). The issue is the unwritten expectation during classical performances that the audience should be unified in how they show appreciation, approval and/or disapproval.  The audience usually arrives, leaves, claps and behaves as a unified entity.  The issue of applause between movements disrupts this unity, causing anxiety, tension, bad feelings, debate, and one big elephant.

The solution then, is easy.  Unify the audience.  This can be done simply, respectfully and elegantly:

Ask the audience.

Take a vote. Have fun with it!  “Clap if you want to clap between movements. Now clap if you DON’T want to clap between movements.”

Performers can vote too!  Personally, I’m indifferent.  And I’ll make that clear to my audience.  No judgement.  No stress.  Just an easy vote.  After the vote, everything is clear.

This accomplishes three things. First, as I mentioned, it unifies the audience.  No more anxiety, dirty looks, bad feelings, and no more elephants!

Second, it engages the audience.  They’re no longer strict observers. They are participants interacting with the performance and making a contribution to the finished product. That’s important.

Lastly, it gives the performance a hint of spontaneity. That’s magical.

Just ask the audience!

In my previous post, I mentioned that I recently returned from a month long creative residency in Bamfield, BC.  This was the result of a collaboration between Bamfield residents Nancy Hendry and Steve Clarke, and Music By the Sea.  I then reflected on the purpose of such residencies and some of the benefits that artists can gain from them.

In this post, I’d like to be more specific about what I learned and accomplished after a month in Bamfield.  Here are 9 reflections – in no particular order – on my experience in Bamfield.

1. Living Without Alarm Clocks

I’m convinced that sleep deprivation issues would be solved if we didn’t set morning alarm clocks.  Go to sleep when you’re tired, and wake up when you’re awake.  Listen to your body!

In Bamfield, I was usually asleep by 10:30pm and would wake up anywhere between 4:00am and 8:00am.  Also, if I went to bed later, I didn’t necessarily wake up later.  When I was ready to get up, I got up, and felt much better having listened to my body.

2. Practicing Away from the Piano

I’ve read that visualizing a task activates the same parts of the brain as if you were actively carrying it out.  Here’s where you can read about mirror neurons and mental imagery. The study I’m referring to is here.

Practicing requires lots of physical energy and mental focus.  In Bamfield, I didn’t always have convenient access to a piano. Considering all these things while I was in Bamfield, I tried something that I’ve been meaning to experiment with for a long time – practicing away from the piano.

I took a piece of music that I had already memorized (Brahms clarinet sonata) and practiced visualizing it. I would visualize the piano, my fingers and the music. I would visualize these things at slow tempos, fast tempos, with the music, without the music, listening to a recording, or in silence.

Interestingly, while doing this, I never made “mistakes.” I never flubbed a note. Instead, where my memory was incomplete, my visualizations would become blurry. This is fixed simply with visualizing the music at a slower pace, and repeating smaller sections.

I hope this kind of practice better reinforces an archetype in my memory. Though I plan on experimenting with this more, my first impressions is that it is more efficient and longer lasting than practicing in front of the piano (at least where memory is concerned).

3. West Coast Living

Here are some pictures of Bamfield and Vancovuer Island.  One of the most beautiful places I’ve visited.  I already miss the fresh air and the smell of the ocean.

4. Exercising Daily

I’m in the best shape of my life.  This is because I exercise almost everyday.  For the past 6 months, I’ve been exercising to a combination of P90X and Insanity.  I kept up this habit in Bamfield.

I’ve noticed three things. First, my energy and well being is much more abundant and focused. Second, taking time away from work to do something completely different has enhanced my work.

Third, since exercising daily in Bamfield, I feared that it would be difficult to keep up the habit when back at home in Toronto.  In fact, taking time off from exercise now feels unusual.  My body craves it, and it feels great to oblige!

5. A New Practicing Philosophy

One of my main goals in Bamfield was to listen to my body.  If tired, sleep. If hungry, eat.  If full, stop eating!  Simple right?

But sometimes our habits make this easier said than done. I used to practice as if it was a day job, from 9 to 5, with minimal breaks.  That was four years ago, and I’m still recovering from the negative associations my mind and body have with practicing.

In Bamfield, I strived to break that association. Again, easier said than done, but it started with listening to my body.  If I ached, I stopped.  If I still ached, I figured out why.  If my mind wavered and I thought about stopping, I stopped and did something else.

This is still a work in progress and is something I’ll be monitoring and correcting for as long as I’m practicing. In the end, I may only practice for 15 minutes at a time, but it would be more focused, efficient and agreeable with my well being.  I much prefer that.

We’re pummeled with images of the devout, inflicted artist spending hours and hours everyday practicing and perfecting her craft.  I would only encourage a student to practice eight hours a day to explore her extremities.  Then she can figure out what works for her.  Most likely, she would discover that extreme, disciplined practicing isn’t normal and does more harm than good.

6. Bamfield as a Microcosm

One great thing about living in and interacting with a small community like Bamfield is that you see how it’s a microcosm of larger societal structures.  The issues cities face are generally the same issues that Bamfield faces, but on a larger, more complicated scale.  Further, after living in a small community, it becomes more apparent how communities are built, sustained, developed and/or destroyed. For a city-grown boy like me, this can be eye-opening. City living is quite complex, with many things taken for granted.

For example, in Bamfield, it’s common for the power to go out, especially after a storm.  Outages can last anywhere from a few hours to a few days, depending on the severity of the storm.  It’s one thing to learn how to entertain yourself during a power out. It’s another thing to learn how the problem is fixed and how the system evolved that way.

Small communities may have ingenious solutions to these kinds of issues.  It would be prudent to study their efficiencies and see if/how they can be related to larger communities.  In fact, I bet the best city planners, politicians and the like already do this.

Power is one issue. There are also issues of food, water, job creation, transportation, crime, education, growth and many others. Even in Bamfield, these issues are complex.  Solving them requires expertise completely unknown to me.

7. Eating Healthy, Eating Small and Eating Frequently

While in Bamfield, I tried eating 5 or 6 small meals/snacks everyday rather than 3 large meals. Not that my eating habits are a problem, this was an experiment more than anything.  I’m not even sure eating 5-6 small meals a day is a healthier option.  My plan was to listen to my body.

This was an easy habit to establish in Bamfield because I was living more independently – I was free of all the circumstances in Toronto that I positively associate with eating.  Plus, there are no restaurants in Bamfield!

Creative residencies are great opportunities in this respect.  It’s easier to free yourself from all the associations, habits and guilty pleasures that cause you to act against your well being.  If you want to quit smoking for example, participating in a creative residency may be a great way to start that process.  That being said, eating healthy, eating small and eating frequently has been difficult to keep up since returning to Toronto.  Societal pressures can be very hard to manage!

It makes me wonder about some of the other structures society has set up for itself.  Why 3-meals a day? Why 7-days in a week? Why are there 5 days in a work week?  Why is school out in the summer months? Are these structures truly beneficial? Or were they created in a different time, for different circumstances?

8. Reading Reading Reading

I read four books while in Bamfield:

• Collapse by Jared Diamond
• The Interpretation of Cultures by Clifford Geertz
• Thinking, Fast and Slow by Daniel Kahneman
• The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz by Mordecai Richler

I also started, and am half way through Barney’s Version, also by Richler.

The Geertz was the most insightful, yet heaviest book to read.  The first 100 pages, all dedicated to theories, concepts and the growth of culture are enough to keep me studying for a long time!  Here’s an excerpt:

“Undirected by culture patterns – organized systems of significant symbols – man’s behavior would be virtually ungovernable, a mere chaos of pointless acts and exploding emotions, his experience virtually shapeless.  Culture, the accumulated totality of such patterns, is not just an ornament of human existence but – the principal basis of its specificity – and essential condition for it.”

Barney’s Version, by the way, is hysterical – I highly recommend it.

9. Discipline is a Weight

One of the most significant things I’ve learned is that it’s ineffective for me to keep a daily, disciplined work routine. After a while, my work time will become less productive.

Practicing every day at 10:00am is effective if it happens naturally and spontaneously.  But if I make deliberate, disciplined efforts to practice everyday at 10:00am, I get uncomfortable, unhappy and after long periods of time, depressed.  My time is better spent if I spontaneously oscillate between three or four projects, which may or may not include practicing.

Discipline is a weight.  Managing disciplined schedules and activities is weight lifting.  After a few days, engaging in a disciplined activity at a disciplined time becomes too much for me to handle. If I’m more free and spontaneous with either the activity or its scheduling, I’m more productive and more content.

In Bamfield, I got to experiment with weights, though they involved more than working and practicing. This point encompasses the whole purpose of my residency in Bamfield – to learn how to live!

I recently returned from a month long winter residency in Bamfield, BC. This was the result of a collaboration between Bamfield residents Nancy Hendry and Steve Clarke, and Music By the Sea. In case you haven’t heard of this place, Bamfield is one of the most beautiful places I’ve visited in Canada. Developed by Chris Donison, Music By the Sea is an exciting project which includes a summer festival, artist residencies, music education and community outreach.

My next few posts will be a reflection on creative residencies and my experience in Bamfield.

The Purpose of Residencies

Artists take advantage of creative residencies for many reasons – to practice, compose, rehearse, network, or a combination of all these. The main reason though, relates to my favourite dichotomy – to explore structure and freedom.

Residencies offer artists a clean slate, an opportunity to discover (or rediscover) what variables optimize their creative capacities and overall well being. Artists can free themselves of the habits that define their circumstances at home. They can start over. Rebuild. Redefine.

Exploring Structure and Freedom

Artists are offered a brand new equilibrium between structure and freedom. Ideally, they also have the power to manipulate these variables at will. For example, suppose circumstances at home restrict an artist to practicing between 11am and 4pm. An ideal residence could support practicing at any and all hours. Through this process of discovery, the artist may realize that her best work is done first thing in the morning, after drinking some pulp-free orange juice, while hearing birds sing and experiencing the smell of low tide.

This seems trivial, but these are the factors that could be crucial to an artist’s work and well being. It’s not just the orange juice that she discovers, it’s the ritual of drinking the orange juice at a certain time of day, before carrying out a certain activity. Further, when she returns home, hopefully she has learned that it isn’t necessarily orange juice that she needs, (maybe orange juice isn’t even available at home!), but some kind of ritual to start her day and prepare her creative faculties.

I say “well being” because work and art are only part of the picture. Residencies are also opportunities to explore lifestyle, not just the creative process. Working and living are intimately linked. An ideal residence, then, can support a diverse range of lifestyles and give artists the freedom to explore them.

For example, we often hear people complain about being connected to the Internet. Our lives are structured such that email, social networking and StumbleUpon result in many wasted hours that could be more beneficially dedicated to our work. During an ideal residency, artists have the option to disconnect, or at least explore their relationship with the Internet. Being totally disconnected may cause anxiety. However, restricting herself to only checking email in the morning may be a perfect ritual to starting her day and doing good work.

The point is that during a residency, the artist has the freedom to figure this out. The same can be said for health, nutrition, social activities, hobbies, and other things that contribute to a lifestyle.

The Ideal Residence vs. The Ideal Artist

I’ve made reference to an “ideal residency,” where artists have the ultimate freedom to explore and manipulate their circumstances. Of course, this doesn’t exist. There will always be variables outside an artist’s control.

Further, an artist will face unique variables depending on local circumstances. A residency in Banff would be much different than a residency in Bamfield. Not necessarily better, just different.

But this is part of the novelty of being an artist-in-residence. Each locale provides unique circumstances and challenges to the artist who wants to live and work there. This can be exciting for the artist, who may discover new structures once taken for granted. It can also be exciting for the local hosts, who get to witness creative solutions to structures they take for granted.

If artists are searching for the “ideal residence,” residencies should be searching for the “ideal artist” – someone who can adapt and restructure to any circumstances. Of course, this doesn’t exist either. The point is that these endeavors are partnerships. Successful residencies require trust, understanding and patience between artists and their hosts.

Returning Home

Residencies aren’t permanent and can last anywhere from a few weeks to several months. Depending on the purpose of the residency, an artist may return home with a new composition, or new repertoire. These things are more tangible than some of the deeper benefits that can be gained.

Hopefully, the artist can also return home with some principles to guide her life and work. This can be difficult because routines and rituals established in Bamfield, may not translate when living in Toronto.

But as I mentioned earlier, it may not be the orange juice that’s important to her creative endeavors, but having some kind of morning ritual. Realizing this can mean the difference between a residency lasting two months, and a residency lasting a lifetime.

And the winner is….

Well, there is no winner. There were no entries.

A bit disappointed, yes, but on the brighter side, I’m up $200 bucks! I also learned enough to make the next competition more successful. There are many possible reasons why I didn’t get any entries:

• Maybe it’s too busy a time for students.
• Maybe I didn’t promote it enough.
• Maybe $200 isn’t worth a student’s time.
• Maybe the topic is uninteresting.
• Maybe it should have included non-Canadians.
• Maybe blogging is passé.
• Maybe competitions are dumb.

Regarding promotion, for your interest, I emailed the director of every jazz school across Canada, asking them to forward the competition info to their students. I got three responses. Special thanks to my friends and colleagues who mentioned the competition on their blog – Ron Davis, Peter Hum, Josh Rager, Ted Warren and Jesse Cahill.

Will try again soon. Stay tuned!

Consider this hypothetical experiment:

You’re at a coffee house, and you intentionally drop a $10 bill on the floor in front of a cashier.  You sit at a table and observe how customers react (you also have plenty of replacement bills!).

I imagine a multitude of ways people may react:

• Some people wouldn’t notice the $10 on the floor.
• Some people would notice, but ignore it.
• Some would pick it up and buy themselves a coffee.
• Some may pick it up, and tell the next person in line that they just found $10!
• Some may pick it up and buy two coffees – one for themselves and one for the next person.
• Some may hand it in to the cashier.

What would you do?

When I think about “luck,” I think about people who know how to take advantage of opportunities and translate them into success.  The unlucky person doesn’t notice the $10 on the floor.  Though, maybe he does notice it, but doesn’t know how to gain mileage.

We are confronted with circumstances like these every day.  There are figurative $10 bills all around us.  Anybody can pick them up.  Why don’t they?

That’s complicated.

Recognizing and acting on opportunity is a creative endeavor.  It takes study and practice!