Discipline

This entry is part 4 of 17 in the series Guiding Hands

Lots of things happened in the months before I turned 13. I was accepted to Wesley Girls’ High; I was anxiously getting ready to leave home. During this transitional period, Prof. Wu sent me to work with Ms. Lin Pai-Ho (林百合) a well-known pedagogue. A successful teacher of her own right, Ms. Lin was close friends with many other teachers. She knew their technical and stylistic preferences well. Henceforth she became the go-to person when another pair of ears and hands were needed.

Ms. Lin came from a musical family. Two of her sisters were also piano teachers. A tall lady, when standing by the piano, she always seemed like a giant statue towering over me. Even with big glasses softening her facial features, there was still a seriousness about her. Yet, even back then, I knew that she cared about all her students deeply.

In the years that I studied with her, Ms. Lin moved a few times. Every apartment that she lived in had a few small rooms where upright pianos were placed for students to practice or warmup for lessons. From time to time, Ms. Lin would get tied up with other students’ need and forgot that I was still practicing and waiting. It was in those little rooms, facing the piano alone for long hours, that I gradually figured out how my fingers and arms worked. I graduated from lifting fingers to playing scales; from simple pieces to more demanding works.

Knowing that I had limited time to practice at school during the week, Ms. Lin often had me over to do some extra work on weekends. Her goal was to set me on the right path so I could eventually return to working with Prof. Wu. She was patient and very detail-oriented. Still, my slow progress often frustrated her. Whenever she asked me if I was serious about continuing, I knew that I must work harder—not so much about spending more time at the keyboard, but more about working correctly.

I learned the importance of tenacity and organization in those years. Listening to the sounds of other students playing through the doors, I knew there were many kids more talented than I was. I understood that, in order to be competitive, I must work effectively. Studying music became a conscious choice and an enterprise for me.

I remained in contact with Ms. Lin years after coming to the States. After retiring, she picked up Chinese calligraphy and painting. One holiday season, I received a collection of postcards with her artworks. From time to time, I would pull these cards out of my drawer and imagine the beautiful hand movements that created them.

墨蝦 (Fresh Water Shrimps), 2000
蟠桃何紅點頦 (Peach and Rubythroat), 2000
香遠益清 (Lotus Pond), 2001

Purple Waves (III)—Lilac

This entry is part 3 of 5 in the series Trees

Among my pet plants there is a dwarf Korean lilac (Syringa meyeri ‘Palibin’). Since lilac required plenty sunlight and good soil condition, our options of planting locations were limited. I chose a dwarf variety and hid the plant behind a line of boxwoods near our staircase, so passers-by would be able to enjoy the fragrant air but not walk away with the blooming branches. The plant responds to my care with steady growth and plenty of blossoms every year. These light purple flowers have a simple elegance, demure yet content. I always cut a few stems and place them in the lobby.  Their enchanting fragrance fills up the space and brings smiles to people hurrying in and out of the building.

Taiwanese climate was too warm for lilac. So, growing up, I only knew lilac by names. While living in the Midwest, I became familiar with the blossoms and fragrance of lilac. However, it took me a long time to connect the dots.

Unlike paulownia and wisteria, lilac grows mostly in cultivation. The few specimens in the wild are probably escapees or survivors of old gardens. Cultivars are developed for color varieties—from snow white to dark purple, for exquisiteness and volume of blooms, and for intensity of fragrance.[1] Common lilac (Syringa vulgaris), widely grown in North America, has Southeastern European roots.

The variety known as Chinese lilac is a hybrid of common lilac and Persian lilac, discovered in Rouen, France in 1777.[2] On the other hand, references in Chinese language indicate that lilac has been grown in China over a thousand years. Because unopened lilac flowers shaped like tiny knots (on the heart)—心結, they were used as symbols of entangled thoughts or unresolved love in many poems in Tang (618-907) and Sung (960-1279) Dynasties.[3] Images of lilacs, purple and white, came alive in paintings and vases.[4] In 草花譜 (Catalogue of Herbs and Flowers, 1591), 高濂 (Gao Lian) gave detail descriptions as well as cultivation methods of lilac. In 1934 plant pathologist 陳善銘 (Chang Shanming) published “Chinese Lilacs,” documenting classifications and distributions of twenty-two varieties of lilacs originated from China.

Which were the varieties that inspired poets and artists alike for centuries? Which were the ones that scented many a sweet dream? Perhaps we should leave the identification to the experts and allow ourselves to simply enjoy the beauty and fragrance of lilac.


[1] Guides-New-York-Botanical-Garden: A long list of “garden-varieties” lilac.
[2]Syringa-x-chinensis-Mirrouri-Botanical-Garden
[3]There are literary references of lilac from earlier period. Nonetheless, Chinese poetry reached its height during Tang and Sung Dynasties.
[4]Giuseppe Castiglione: Lilacs, white and purple; Vase with white lilac