Select a creative work--- a novel, a film, a poem, a musical piece, a painting, or other work of art--- that has influenced the way you view the world and the way you view yourself. Discuss the work and its effect on you. I despise Bach. Playing Bach is my purgatory, a robotic, thousand-note punishment that every pianist endures before graduating to better composers. Still, three years ago, it was all I knew, and all I played. Then, at my weekly lesson, my teacher informed me that I would no longer play those torturous Bach minuets. He handed me an unimpressive yellow book entitled Chopin Waltzes. I carelessly thumbed through the pages. Suddenly, I paused. A deceivingly uncomplicated waltz caught my eye. As I placed the book on the stand and began my melodic endeavor, I had no idea that the Valse Brillante in A-minor would enhance my passion for music, and indeed, life itself. Before I played Chopin, my repertoire was a shrine to Baroque composers: insipid Clementi sonatinas, lifeless Kuhlau compositions, dreaded Bach inventions. Series of mathematical formulas transformed into sixteenth-note phrases; every equation computed to produce a flawless fugue. Every crescendo I attempted was suppressed, every accent silenced, every emotion substituted with stifling conformity. At competitions, I was penalized for playing "incorrectly"-- my fortissimos were too bold, my pianissimos barely audible. If I dared to diminuendo in the "wrong" place, my score plummeted, regardless of the intensity of my performance. My life was almost identical. Dissent from normalcy was punished with derision. Life was a concert; the world an ill-tempered critic. I aspired to both live and perform with impeccable technique, but devoid of any humanity which might bring criticism. I succeeded in doing neither. I was torn between self-betrayal and inability to conform, musically and socially. Then, as if on cue, the waltz entered my life. I caressed the keyboard, experiencing love at first sound. The enthralling melody made me want to lengthen each fermata. Still, I chided myself for not concentrating on precision. I strove to achieve my notion of musical excellence, flogging myself at every wrong chord. My teacher soon noticed my preoccupation. "Beverly," he sympathized. "Music is more than correct notes. Be daring; take liberty. Express the passion that I know you have. Remember, you are the soloist." He was right. I was the soloist, free to interpret the piece however I chose. I had no reason to subdue my self-expression just to cater to a critic. I drowned myself in the music, consumed with passion as I sustained the A-minor chord. My unexpressed zeal had taken flight. Honestly, I haven’t gotten out of the Bach mindset. I am still conscious about conformity and emotional display. Nevertheless, I try to perform every task as if I were playing the Valse Brillante, with all the fervor I used to execute those passages. When I thumb through that plain yellow book, I am reminded of the passion I possessed the day my soul was set free. Unlike the strict world of Baroque, the Lento of the waltz reminds me that no matter what the critics say, it is I who will bask in the applause. back to thoughts home