Today is the day of my graduate recital in music composition.
One hour of music written by me, performed by myself and twenty-four other musicians.
While I will share the stage with them, I will not be sharing the program. Every last name listed all the way down the right side of the page is mine.
It is a momentous occasion.
Earlier today my husband and I were wondering aloud to each other why this seems like such a big deal. It’s not the first time I’ve had pieces premiered and performed. Yet, this feels different.
In some ways, it feels like the culmination of an artistic project, because the process of getting ready for the recital requires choosing music, finding musicians, deciding on the order of the pieces, writing the program notes, reserving the hall, running rehearsals, and printing and folding the programs. It’s a lot.
But this recital feels like more than that.
It feels closer in weight to my wedding day and the births of my two children. Not just the culmination of a project, but a life-changing event.
However, unlike the other life-changing events, this one is all about ME. I’m not sharing it with my husband, or my children. I am the sole focus.
Not just for five minutes during a concert shared with other composers.
A full hour that is wholly mine.
I am being birthed.
I am coming out, and my audience is waiting for my arrival.
I am not sure I would have understood the enormity of this moment when I was younger.
Although I did not do a recital as an undergrad, I was quite familiar with them and attended many. Recitals were a big deal, but they seemed more like a requirement than a MOMENT.
But they are, indeed, that MOMENT.
In a college musician’s life, the graduation recital is a presentation to the world that one has crossed the line into “professional.”
I’ve been a “professional” composer for some time, as I have made money from composing, both through commissions and score sales. So, for me, this recital has more personal meaning than professional.
And that is because I don’t have to share.
I have been sharing since I was almost two years old, when my sister was born (and I don’t remember anything from before then!)
As a mom, and as a pastor’s wife for fifteen years, I put myself aside a great deal.
And, unfortunately, for most of my life, I have experienced having my thoughts, ideas, and concerns dismissed. Sometimes simply because I was a girl/woman. Other times because I was in unhealthy relationships where I didn’t have a voice.
But today, I do.
Not only do I have a voice through my compositions, but the performers are there wanting to play, and the audience is there eager to listen.
To me. To only my music. For a full hour.
I am walking onto the stage that is mine for this night.
I am taking up space, stepping into the light.
I feel the transformation happening, and everything is all right.
This is so exciting, Heather. You are so talented and have worked so hard to get to this point. Congratulations!
Thank you so much, Susan!