Summer of 1997, I joined the musical staff of Opera in the Ozark at
Inspiration Point, a summer training program in Eureka Spring, Arkansas. I was told that we would have a German Maestro. Right away, I began imagining meeting a stern and peppery-haired dictator. And, I was worried that my preparations wouldn’t be satisfactory to the “Maestro”.
Wanting to get acquainted to the environment, I arrived early—so early that the hot water had not been turned on. A day later, when I finally settled in, I saw a young man walking passed my trailer. (Yes, the setting was “rustic.”) Judging by his European style clothing, I suspected that he might be the “Maestro.” But it was already dusk. I didn’t approach him.
The following afternoon, I went to the office. The Artist Director
introduced me to this young man. Perhaps because he was facing the glaring sun; perhaps he was a bit jet lagged, Maestro Frank Hube extended a polite but weak hand shake, and threw me a strange look that, to me, seemed to be saying, “What is the Asian woman doing here?” There were casting auditions next day. Since the other pianist was sick, I sat at the bench for most of the day. Afterwards, Maestro was eager to talk to me. This time, it was me that wasn’t so sure about making the connection.
Work brought us close quickly. In the States, most coaches eventually pick up the baton and turn into conductors. I wasn’t sure that would be my path. But I wanted to know more about operatic conducting. Based on my past experiences, I knew that observing rehearsals were the best way to learn. I requested for and was given the permission to sit in orchestra rehearsals.
Because of the limited number of players, reductions were necessary for all the scores. Frank arranged the score for Puccini’s “Suor Angelica.” However, at the first reading, he wasn’t getting responses from the players based on the arrangements. I looked at some parts and realized that they were not copied correctly. We sat for hours at the table recopying the parts based on the markings in his score. The work was tedious, exhausting but necessary.
Realizing that I was comfortable with orchestration and score reading, Frank started communicating with me differently. We began discussing details missing in the piano/vocal scores; we began talking about articulations and colors in the orchestral score. One day, in a staging rehearsal, I played a loud chord with the action of door closing. Frank laughed and said, “That’s only a pizzicato.” So, a banging sound turned into a thud.
By the end of the summer, we have become good friends and ready to work together again in the next season. Many changes took place during that year, I arrived at the festival next summer mentally exhausted and was wondering if the autumn of life had arrived. Frank handed me a handwritten message (auf Deutsch) in a little notebook that he carried with him. I translated it carefully. It turned out to be the poem “Youth,” by Samuel Ullman:
Youth is not a time of life; it is a state of mind;
it is not a matter of rosy cheeks, red lips and supple knees;
it is a matter of the will, a quality of the imagination, a vigor of the emotions;
it is the freshness of the deep springs of life.
Youth means a temperamental predominance of courage over timidity of the appetite,
for adventure over the love of ease.
This often exists in a man of sixty more than a boy of twenty.
Nobody grows old merely by a number of years. We grow old by deserting our
ideals.
Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul.
Worry, fear, self-distrust bows the heart and turns the spirit back to dust.
Whether sixty or sixteen, there is in every human being’s heart
the lure of wonder, the unfailing child-like appetite of what’s next,
and the joy of the game of living.
In the center of your heart and my heart there is a wireless station;
so long as it receives messages of beauty, hope, cheer, courage and power
from men and from the infinite, so long are you young.
When the aerials are down,
and your spirit is covered with snows of cynicism and the ice of pessimism,
then you are grown old, even at twenty,
but as long as your aerials are up, to catch the waves of optimism,
there is hope you may die young at eighty.[1]
I was very touched by the words and understood the message that Frank wanted to pass on to me. From then on, we encouraged each other to maintain a positive attitude, to continue our creative works and to never become bitter. Not an easy task at all time, but a possible thing to do with the support of a good friend.
Having worked on conducting with Dr. Shearer for a year, I asked Frank to help me further my training. We started from the BEGINNING: sensing the weight of our bodies (here we go again: GRAVITY), finding the balance and BREAHTE! I realized for the first time that our muscles
would expand and contract with every breath we took: not only our waist and chest, but also our shoulders and arms. I finally understood how a good conductor, by breathing with the phrases, could lead a group of musicians to make music together. Music BREATHES.
Then, he talked to me about sound productions. Ah, sound! Something that I heard often from Mr. Wustman. Frank explained how the weight of the movements would change the color of the sounds. So, it’s important to sense the air resistance as we moved. Ah, “pushing water!” as Dr. Shearer would say.
The other thing Frank talked about was being a leader. Contrary to common believes, he told me that, in order to lead a group of people, one must be completely open and willing to show one’s vulnerability as music required. Authenticity! Being true to oneself, to our fellow musicians and to the audience.
What I learned that summer was more than moving arms. Music making finally came together as a whole for me. I am still working on opening up my soul. . . something that doesn’t come natural to an Asian person. (Writing blog posts is part of my exercise!) I am still working on the technical exercises that Frank gave me. But I feel free to express
as a musician.
In the following two summers, I selected the orchestra members and organized rehearsals for Frank. We got to know each other even better through work and our common interests: literature and FOOD. Whenever we got tired of cafeteria food, we would take a trip to town for more interesting menus. Some nights, after rehearsals or performances, we
would go out with friends for ice cream, sitting around, joking about what happened during the day. One time, I even managed to borrow the kitchen and prepared a picnic for a few friends.
Twenty some years has gone by since we first met. Frank and I continue to share our musical experiences and support each other during challenging times. He and his lovely family have become an important part of my life. Every year, we exchange books as holiday gifts and
as an indirect way to share our thoughts. I am forever grateful for his
friendship.
BREATHE!
[1] Frank’s quote began with “Vom Stein der Jugen bei der großen Eiche,” and ended with “inschrift in Parco giardino Sigurta, Verona.” An Italian translation of the poem, “Giovinezza di spirito e di cuore,” is inscribed on a rock by a four-century-old great oak tree at the Sigurtà garden park in Verona. Parco-Sigurtà
“Youth” was also General Douglas MacArthur’s favorite poem and was posted on the wall of his office in Japan when he was overseeing
the post-war occupation.
