Improvisation . . . (gulp)

In the work that a Certified Music Practitioner performs -- whether in a hospital, nursing home setting, or someone's home -- I will be called upon to improvise at times. One of my jobs is to attempt to match or reflect the mood of a patient with music in order to make a connection with them. After that connection is made, I will then attempt to help them become either more alert or more peaceful by ever-so-slightly changing the music in either direction. Sometimes, I will want to maintain the status quo.

Improvisation could manifest itself in simply changing the tempo or volume of a given song. It could also mean coming up with and playing a chord progression that fits the situation. In working with the actively dying (someone who is within hours or minutes of passing on), it means creating chords or vocal sounds that complement the patient's breathing patterns.

Okay ... let's put it out there. Improvisation scares the pants off me.

I am a classically trained musician. We sing and play from notated music. We like form and structure. Who am I to think I could come up with something better than Bach or Mozart or Brahms?

At the same time, one of my greatest hidden desires is to be able to compose and freely improvise. I have no idea if the talent is even part of my wiring. To date, I have not discovered it. My admiration for people who can write music almost borders on idolatry. Honest.

I'm fairly confident in my vocal abilities. For me, improvising vocally is a piece of cake. But my piano skills and the perceived lack thereof have literally kept me awake at night in the past.

This is precisely why the folks at MHTP have the students read incredibly cool books about the subject. Currently, I am in the middle of a book called Free Play: Improvisation in Life and Art. I highly recommend it -- even for people who aren't musicians. So much of what Stephen Nachmanovitch writes about applies to life in general. Here is a quote that grabbed me:

The creation of something new is not accomplished by the intellect but by the play instinct acting from inner necessity. The creative mind plays with the objects it loves. (Carl Jung)

Nachmanovitch goes on to say,

"Improvisation, composition, writing, painting, theater, invention, all creative acts are forms of play, the starting place of creativity in the human growth cycle, and one of the great primal life functions. Without play, learning ... is impossible. Play is the taproot from which original art springs; it is the raw stuff that the artist channels and organizes with all his learning and technique ... Creative work is play; it is free speculation using the materials of one's chosen form. The creative mind plays with the objects it loves.

"... Creativity exists in the searching even more than in the finding or being found. We take pleasure in energetic repetition, practice, ritual. As play, the act is its own destination. The focus is on process, not product. Play is intrinsically satisfying. It is not conditioned on anything else. Play, creativity, art, spontaneity, all these esxperiences are their own rewards and are blocked when we perform for reward or punishment, profit or loss ...

PLAY sounds like fun! But what is it inside me that demands order, perfection, no room for mistakes, etc. It's actually a rare moment when I do allow myself to let down my defenses and play. Especially musically. However, I believe there is release and healing for my bound-up mind in what this particular chapter is saying. It's a bit like falling off a cliff. But I'm going to give it a try.

In fact, Nachmanovitch has something to say about we classically trained people:

"... This is what classically trained musicians feel when they discover that they can play without a score. It is like throwing down a crutch ... what we learn from our newly improvising body is that it can be debilitating to depend on the creativity of others. When this creative power that depends on no one else is aroused, there is a release of energy, simplicity, enthusiasm. The word enthusiasm is Greek for "filled with theos" -- filled with God."

So if you hear a loud, then fading scream in the distance, you know I've taken the plunge ...