artistry

My husband laughs at my love of The Joy of Painting with American painter Bob Ross, which is broadcast on BBC Four in the early evenings. The programmes were originally created and aired in the 1980s and early 90s, and they do look a little dated now (along with Bob’s permed hair!). Additionally, Bob’s paintings – rather cheesy landscapes and snowy scenes – are not the sort of art I’d hang on my walls, but that hardly matters in the context of this article.

Bob is clearly a highly skilled artist. He exudes a quiet self-assurance which comes from confidence in his own techniques, and he uses his materials with a remarkable yet modest dexterity. He knows exactly which brush or palette knife to use to create a specific effect – the silvery bark of a birch tree or reflections on water. Watching a painting emerge from Bob’s palette before your eyes is mesmerising and strangely calming, but that is not the primary reason why I am hooked on these programmes: I am fascinated by Bob’s technique.

Musicians, like artists, need well-developed, secure technique in order to navigate the score and create music. Technique should always serve the art, whether it is painting or performing music; one demonstrates how finely-honed one’s technique is when it is no longer visible – when one plays, or paints, in such a way that it appears fluent and effortless. Bob Ross has mastered his technique to such an extent that we almost forget there is any technique involved at all.

Technical skills like this require consistent nurturing, which is why regular practicing is so important. Mindless note-bashing achieves little; focused, deliberate, deep practice, on the other hand, fosters technical assuredness and artistic mastery.

Through a process of constant reflection and refining during practice, physical and creative obstacles are overcome and one has in place the firm foundations and confidence from which to develop greater artistry. Assured technique also gives us the tools to explore more complex repertoire, a greater sense of intuition when we practice and perform, and the ability to play with greater spontaneity and nuance. The control of nuance will determine the version the performer performs. Much of this nuance will be pre-planned, practiced, memorised and finessed to such a degree that it sounds totally spontaneous in performance, but the rest comes ‘in the moment’ of performance – a genuinely spontaneous, quasi-improvisatory response to interaction between performer and music, performer and audience, the responsiveness of the audience, the performer’s mood and sensibilities, the ambiance of the concert hall, the time of day….It is this kind of musical “sprezzatura” that creates those magical, “you had to be there” moments in live concerts. It cannot be planned in advance – and yet it comes from the performer’s meticulous preparation, their deep knowledge of the music, their technical facility and mastery of their art, and their experience.

No one wants to watch an artist labouring with their work – this is one of the reasons why The Joy of Painting is such a pleasure to watch because Bob makes it look so easy (and he never lets his ego get in the way of the creation of art). Watch a performer like Martha Argerich in performance (a pianist I’ve been lucky enough to hear live in concert on several occasions) and you will see this same effortlessness.

Defining Artistry

The miracle of an aristocratic performance lies in its capacity to vaporize everything that surrounds it….

Mark Mitchell, ‘Virtuosi’ (Indiana University Press, 2000)

Earlier this year I was privileged to hear two performers who are the living embodiment of superlatives like “world class” and “greatest living pianist”. In Schumann’s Piano Concerto, Martha Argerich did miraculous things with the pacing and rubato to create a performance which felt fresh, vivid and spontaneous, but when asked to describe exactly what she did, I was lost for words. Equally, in Evgeny Kissin’s solo performance, also at London’s Barbican Hall, there was a moment when, in just two chords of a Chopin Nocturne, it seemed as if every piano concert I’d ever attended coalesced into those two chords, such was the performer’s magic. There’s something ineffable in the way musicians like Argerich or Kissin, Pollini or Uchida play. These are performers whose artistry leaves one lost for words.

Artistry is not the same as virtuosity, which can be defined and discussed in terms which are commonly understood: accuracy, fluency, technical mastery, fidelity to the score, spontaneity in performance. It is far more difficult to differentiate between a technically masterful performance and a truly artistic one. There is no defined vocabulary to describe artistry, and so commentators, critics, reviewers et al may fall back on inadequate superlatives or clichéd metaphors. I’m listening to the pianist Keith Jarrett as I write – and I can’t explain why his playing is so good. As performances by Argerich and Kissin – and Jarrett – prove, true artistry cannot be described in words.

Some say that artistry is bestowed upon performers by listeners/audiences and critics, but I think true artistry comes from the musician and is something which remains unaffected by musical taste, the comments of critics etc and other extrinsic forces. It is intrinsic and unique to the individual musician.

Artistry is about getting to the essence of the music to such an extent that the performance takes the audience beyond itself, transcending the everyday and transporting it to another place where it can dream or imagine. In these instances, the performer allows their ego to step aside so that the music can speak. This ‘transparency’ in performance is quite rare, and not all performers seek nor desire it. Some prefer to draw attention to themselves or remind us of the difficulty involved in what they are doing.

To achieve transparency artists engage in a paradox which is familiar to all those who seek true personal expression: they must master the technique and craft of their art (music in this instance) to such a point that they are free to think about interpretation, and to put art ahead of ego. This requires performers to have a certain level of humility and an appreciation that while the mastery of their art is powerful, they do not hold all the power – that lies within the music.

I feel that special secret current between the public and me. I can hold them with one little note in the air, and they will not breathe. That is a great, great moment.

– Arthur Rubinstein

Once this state of interpretative freedom is reached, another facet of artistry comes into play – the control of fine details of musical nuance. Such details are not fixed by the composer/score, and though they may be implied within the text, the translation of such details into sound is reliant on the performer’s own understanding of the music. Performance is an act of producing “versions” of the music and no two performances will ever be alike. The control of nuance will determine the version the performer performs. Much of this nuance will be pre-planned, practiced, memorised, and finessed to such a degree that it sounds spontaneous in performance, but the rest comes ‘in the moment’ of performance – a genuinely spontaneous, quasi improvisatory response to interaction between performer and music, performer and audience, the responsiveness of the audience, the performer’s mood and sensibilities, the ambiance of the concert hall, the time of day….It is this kind of musical “sprezzatura” that creates those magical, “you had to be there” moments in live concerts. It cannot be planned in advance – and yet it comes from the performer’s meticulous preparation, their deep knowledge of the music, their experience and their mastery of their art.

If you are lucky enough to witness it – and you certainly won’t find it at every concert you attend – you will know it (but you might not be able to explain it), and it will stay with you and resonate for years to come. It will be the touchstone against which other performances are measured. It is there, too, for the performer, but it’s an elusive state, fervently to be desired and recreated.

At every concert I leave a lot to the moment. I must have the unexpected, the unforeseen. I want to risk, to dare. I want to be surprised by what comes out. I want to enjoy it more than the audience. That way the music can bloom anew.

– Arthur Rubinstein