The Story of My Art 1

I spent the whole night tossing and turning because of all the mounting tension.  When I finally did,  sleep proved to be fitful and restless.  I was fully expecting to wake up filled with panic and anxiety. However, as I opened my eyes a few hours later, the sun was up and shining bright.  I surprisingly felt serene and composed.

A good omen, perhaps?

I assured myself, "Today is a good day to win."

-----

I spent the past five weeks preparing an ad hoc choir for their yearly competition.  It wasn't an easy task, let me tell you.  They are not singers to begin with.  It was just an organization in the school composed of students from one the hardest courses.  I already knew from the start that academics were their priority, and not the competition itself.  To compound the problem, the required piece was extremely difficult.  Even trained singers would blanch at the vocal requirements and the complex harmonies involved.

Friends and colleagues asked why I'd even do it.  It's just a relatively minor competition, after all.  And worse, it was practically pro bono work.  The school org most certainly could not afford professional rates.  All they could offer was food.

That's exactly my point, I said to those who were asking.  No one is forcing me to do it because of I'm being paid to do so.  I do it because I want to, not because I need to.  And I do it to remind myself why I went into music on the first place: simply because I love it, and that I am passionate about it. Through the years, this very essence of my art is something that has been diluted due to the monetary remuneration involved.  It's good that I was paid for something I loved to do, but when the moment came that I looked at the price tag instead of the music, I knew that my art had been sullied. 

That perhaps was my greatest sin: I prostituted my art to the siren call of money.

It was about time to go back to the basics.

The Story of My Art 2