Lately the debate between nature and nurture in terms of particular skills has again come to fore, at least to my own mind. Discussion of Lance Armstrong's alleged use of steroids by former teamates has produced a flurry of print material on the subject. One such editorial appeared in the local paper today, stating essentially that elite athletes are freaks of nature, and no amount of steroid use could ever take an average person and make them an athletic elite.
My reading of Dr. Tim Noakes, the author discussed in yesterday's post, reinforces this interpretation by highlighting the role that genetic endowment plays in elite performance. It is a concept I have struggled against for several years, holding out that a top-level time for whatever level I was competing at (high school, college, etc.) was simply a matter of motivation. "Just train a lot" was the mantra for many years, during which I stopped swimming competitively, ran more than I had ever run in my life, and took to reading the major interpretations of distance training. The results were mixed, with some improved times, especially in the longer events (8km and 10km).
The genetic endownment side of things is countered, to my knowledge, by the environmental-factors school, which suggests that one's environment and habits constitute the most important element of elite performance. Sociologists appear to advocate this position more or less, and well as such popular authors as Malcolm Gladwell and Larry Gluck (authors of Outliers and The Talent Myth respectively). The thought in the latter two works is that so-called "smart" and "talented" people are overrated, and that practice and environmental factors are more useful in explaining the performace of the greats than their genetic endowment. In Gladwell's book Outliers, he points to specific opportunities and outside help that so-called "talented" individuals had on their way to success, and how that help allowed them to acquire the roughly 10,000 hours of practice necessary to acquire expertise with a cetain skill. In short, it was the environment that made the individual successful, and not a favorable biological endowment.
Little is clear to me on this at present, though I have embraced each school of thinking at the expense of other off and on for several years. The point is that both schools provide important insight into a fundamental interest for many people, which is maximizing one's potential in such activities and fields which that person enjoys. Indeed, it is in the collective interest of all of us that this goal be achieved, as it is not only the individual who benefits from a maximized potential, but all of society as well. The necessity of bearing genetic limitations in mind while developing a craft through rigorous practice would seem to require a special balance, the distribution of which depends on the peculiar personalities and environment of the individual.
The improvement of society by the maximization of individual potential require a specific group of people who can provide this service for people with a regularity that defies the highly individual nature of human beings. These "coaches," if we may use the word, can be found through all facets of society, though their quality is not always good. Perhaps we should look for these "coaches" if we wish to study the process of talent cultivation in society.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Bill Bowerman and the Central Governor Theory
Today was the Champions' League Final between Barcelona and Manchester United. For those who don't know, the Champions' League is a competition among elite European Football (or soccer) clubs, which compete in a tournament style until the final game, which was today. It was the first Champions' League final I'd ever seen, as this was the first year I had become more fully aware of the wider world of soccer, both in the United States and abroad. At any rate, Barcelona won the game 3-1, and did so without resorting to diving and play-acting.
While watching the game, I remembered a line from Kenny Moore's biography on Bill Bowerman, in which Bowerman describes in a few words one of the goals of his training methods; in short, he meant to "callous" a runner so that he could race well. The line had been interesting when I read the book last year, but it proved especially interesting today, given the soccer match on television, as well as some reading I've been doing by a doctor named Tim Noakes. Dr. Noakes wrote a long book entitled "The Lore of Running," which is a fascinating and very erudite examination of much of the literature on all aspects of running from the last century. One of the unique things about Noakes' work, for me at least, is his rejection of the usual aerobic/anaerobic explanation of running performance.
The standard model upon which most every running program I've ever studied are based is that the single greatest inhibitor to endurance performace is the ability of the working muscles to take in sufficient oxygen to continue working. I am not a physiologist, nor do I have extensive instruction in the field, so please bear with my rather simplistic explanation, if you will.
The cells in a resting muscle produce energy aerobically, because the amount of oxygen reaching those muscles is sufficient for the cells' oxygen needs. When running easy, this continues to be the case, and it is consequently called "aerobic" running. As one runs faster, the oxygen demands of the muscle become greater, until a point is reached where the oxygen demands of the working muscle cells become too great for the body. It is at this point that running becomes "anaerobic," because the muscles begin producing energy without sufficient oxygen. In some types of cells, the consequence of anaerobic respiration is alcohol. Were human cells to function in this way, it may be that the person who runs too fast for his or her muscles to function aerobically could become progressively more and more drunk; no doubt such an adaption has long been purged from the human gene pool, if it was ever there, by the predators (can you imagine running away from a lion while rapidly becoming more and more drunk?). At any rate, human muscles have a limited capacity to produce energy anaerobically, which is very costly and not very efficient. The orthodox goal of a running program, so I have learned, was to improve both of these systems so that one could run faster over the desired race distance.
Then I read Arthur Lydiard, a famous New Zealand coach who is very important in discussions on distance running training. If you've never heard of him, you won't have trouble finding information (and misinformation) about him. At any rate, his big idea was essentially that of the two ways of producing energy in the human body, the aerobic was the true limiting factor to endurance performance, while the anaerobic was limited, relatively immutable, and only important during the peak races of the year. His training philosophy sought to build up the aerobic capacity as high as possible, then maximize the limited anaerobic capacity just before the big race. The direction of training through most of the year, therefore, became the development of the aerobic capacity to exercise.
Lydiard's system is very logical, though some of his explanations and training schedules can be confusing. He repeatedly writes that he does not like writing training schedules, since everyone is different and should figure out their own, but the schedules he does write are are sub-divided into a number of phases that can be hard to follow sometimes. At any rate, this particular paradigm serves a lot of people today, and has been tremendously influential in the running community and beyond.
Yet Dr. Noakes seems to have a slightly different idea in mind. I'm afraid my lack of physiology will do me even worse in describing it, but I will do my best. Essentially, Dr. Noakes believes that the aerobic/anaerobic model does not adequately explain how the body actually appears to respond to intense exercise. According to the evidence Dr. Noakes examines, it is not the amount of oxygen in the working muscles that determines performance, but rather the amount of oxygen in the heart (and picked up on by the brain), that determines performace. This idea forms one aspect of a complex theory called the Central Governor model, which holds that performance is determined by the brain desire to maintain a sufficiently safe homeostasis for the preserveration of life. In short, the sub-conscious brain governs how hard one is able to push the body in training and competition.
It's an interesting if complex theory, and it brings me back to the point made earlier about Bowerman's training philosophy of "callousing." Dr. Noakes speculates at times that part of the purpose of intense training before competiton is to attempt to "reset" the Central Governor to tolerate greater pain and physiological distress before forcing the body to ease up. These speculations seem similar to Bowerman's thought that certain types of training and racing could help "callous" a person physically and mentally, making them tougher during races, and able to push themselves closer to their true potential ability. To what extent the two ideas are congruent is not entirely clear, but it does seem possible that Bowerman's intuition had picked up on this function of training in a way that the usual aerobic/anaerobic paradigm of his day does not seem to have accounted. It is something to consider.
While watching the game, I remembered a line from Kenny Moore's biography on Bill Bowerman, in which Bowerman describes in a few words one of the goals of his training methods; in short, he meant to "callous" a runner so that he could race well. The line had been interesting when I read the book last year, but it proved especially interesting today, given the soccer match on television, as well as some reading I've been doing by a doctor named Tim Noakes. Dr. Noakes wrote a long book entitled "The Lore of Running," which is a fascinating and very erudite examination of much of the literature on all aspects of running from the last century. One of the unique things about Noakes' work, for me at least, is his rejection of the usual aerobic/anaerobic explanation of running performance.
The standard model upon which most every running program I've ever studied are based is that the single greatest inhibitor to endurance performace is the ability of the working muscles to take in sufficient oxygen to continue working. I am not a physiologist, nor do I have extensive instruction in the field, so please bear with my rather simplistic explanation, if you will.
The cells in a resting muscle produce energy aerobically, because the amount of oxygen reaching those muscles is sufficient for the cells' oxygen needs. When running easy, this continues to be the case, and it is consequently called "aerobic" running. As one runs faster, the oxygen demands of the muscle become greater, until a point is reached where the oxygen demands of the working muscle cells become too great for the body. It is at this point that running becomes "anaerobic," because the muscles begin producing energy without sufficient oxygen. In some types of cells, the consequence of anaerobic respiration is alcohol. Were human cells to function in this way, it may be that the person who runs too fast for his or her muscles to function aerobically could become progressively more and more drunk; no doubt such an adaption has long been purged from the human gene pool, if it was ever there, by the predators (can you imagine running away from a lion while rapidly becoming more and more drunk?). At any rate, human muscles have a limited capacity to produce energy anaerobically, which is very costly and not very efficient. The orthodox goal of a running program, so I have learned, was to improve both of these systems so that one could run faster over the desired race distance.
Then I read Arthur Lydiard, a famous New Zealand coach who is very important in discussions on distance running training. If you've never heard of him, you won't have trouble finding information (and misinformation) about him. At any rate, his big idea was essentially that of the two ways of producing energy in the human body, the aerobic was the true limiting factor to endurance performance, while the anaerobic was limited, relatively immutable, and only important during the peak races of the year. His training philosophy sought to build up the aerobic capacity as high as possible, then maximize the limited anaerobic capacity just before the big race. The direction of training through most of the year, therefore, became the development of the aerobic capacity to exercise.
Lydiard's system is very logical, though some of his explanations and training schedules can be confusing. He repeatedly writes that he does not like writing training schedules, since everyone is different and should figure out their own, but the schedules he does write are are sub-divided into a number of phases that can be hard to follow sometimes. At any rate, this particular paradigm serves a lot of people today, and has been tremendously influential in the running community and beyond.
Yet Dr. Noakes seems to have a slightly different idea in mind. I'm afraid my lack of physiology will do me even worse in describing it, but I will do my best. Essentially, Dr. Noakes believes that the aerobic/anaerobic model does not adequately explain how the body actually appears to respond to intense exercise. According to the evidence Dr. Noakes examines, it is not the amount of oxygen in the working muscles that determines performance, but rather the amount of oxygen in the heart (and picked up on by the brain), that determines performace. This idea forms one aspect of a complex theory called the Central Governor model, which holds that performance is determined by the brain desire to maintain a sufficiently safe homeostasis for the preserveration of life. In short, the sub-conscious brain governs how hard one is able to push the body in training and competition.
It's an interesting if complex theory, and it brings me back to the point made earlier about Bowerman's training philosophy of "callousing." Dr. Noakes speculates at times that part of the purpose of intense training before competiton is to attempt to "reset" the Central Governor to tolerate greater pain and physiological distress before forcing the body to ease up. These speculations seem similar to Bowerman's thought that certain types of training and racing could help "callous" a person physically and mentally, making them tougher during races, and able to push themselves closer to their true potential ability. To what extent the two ideas are congruent is not entirely clear, but it does seem possible that Bowerman's intuition had picked up on this function of training in a way that the usual aerobic/anaerobic paradigm of his day does not seem to have accounted. It is something to consider.
Friday, May 27, 2011
microcosm
Yesterday I walked over to the old air-base which the township converted into a park maybe seven years ago. It had been a while since last I was there, and though it was hot, I decided to brave the open sky for a little walk down the runway.
As usual, I was struck by how much life actually exists in the park. As the sky is so open there (a pre-requisite for an air base), I haven't run there as much in the spring/summer as I have during the winter because the sun can be considerable, and the heat equally so. Obviously during the colder months there are fewer signs of wild-life and vegetation. At any rate, just walking down the runway reminded me of a thought I have had on several occasions over the past few years. In short, there are a wide variety of habitats within the confines of the old base, resulting in a wide variety of organisms and plants that inhabit those habitats.
There is the pond, where Geese often frequent, and where cattails grown in the warm months. There are short trees that the township planted along the perimeter path, where bluebird and barnswallows build their nests. The open fields which aren't regular cut are home to a whole host of seen and unseen creatures, some that I know and many others I do not. In the evening, it is not uncommon to see deer moving through the meadows, doing what deer do. There are some older trees among the grass, and there one can observe hawks and vultures. In the southeast corner of the base there is a forested section, where deer, squirrels, and the usual assortment of songbirds dwell. I've even seen a fox there once. Just to the north of the trees is a section of lowland swamps, where yesterday I saw half-a-dozen Red-winged Blackbirds, as well as some fast-walking brown birds whose name I do not know. The plant growth is extensive in the swamps, and many different plants can be found there.
In short, a park of only a few miles plays host to a wide variety of habitats and organisms. Walking the perimeter of the place is like taking a pilgrimage through several different lands. It is enjoyable :). And it is perhaps possible to discover such worlds in microcosm with one's own town. Go have a look.
As usual, I was struck by how much life actually exists in the park. As the sky is so open there (a pre-requisite for an air base), I haven't run there as much in the spring/summer as I have during the winter because the sun can be considerable, and the heat equally so. Obviously during the colder months there are fewer signs of wild-life and vegetation. At any rate, just walking down the runway reminded me of a thought I have had on several occasions over the past few years. In short, there are a wide variety of habitats within the confines of the old base, resulting in a wide variety of organisms and plants that inhabit those habitats.
There is the pond, where Geese often frequent, and where cattails grown in the warm months. There are short trees that the township planted along the perimeter path, where bluebird and barnswallows build their nests. The open fields which aren't regular cut are home to a whole host of seen and unseen creatures, some that I know and many others I do not. In the evening, it is not uncommon to see deer moving through the meadows, doing what deer do. There are some older trees among the grass, and there one can observe hawks and vultures. In the southeast corner of the base there is a forested section, where deer, squirrels, and the usual assortment of songbirds dwell. I've even seen a fox there once. Just to the north of the trees is a section of lowland swamps, where yesterday I saw half-a-dozen Red-winged Blackbirds, as well as some fast-walking brown birds whose name I do not know. The plant growth is extensive in the swamps, and many different plants can be found there.
In short, a park of only a few miles plays host to a wide variety of habitats and organisms. Walking the perimeter of the place is like taking a pilgrimage through several different lands. It is enjoyable :). And it is perhaps possible to discover such worlds in microcosm with one's own town. Go have a look.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
the robot attitude
A sunny day greets us today on the mountain, a soft wind brushing the trees like the breath of a loved one across one's cheek. I've yet to spot a cloud today, though the newspaper says it will be cloudy by nightfall. We shall see.
In yesterday's post, we talked about the mannerism of robots, and how such "mechanical" and strict-to-law behavior can sometimes provide a valuable example for humans. Today, I would like to expand to upon the idea by discussing a more human-oriented topic regarding attitude.
So to start, perhaps we should consider how one might define "attitude." A dictionary definition describes attitude as a disposition, manner, tendency, or orientation, especially regarding the mind. In this manner, we might think of attitude as the ways in which the mind is both organized and directed toward the appraisal of a particular situation, or the completion of a particular task.
The robots as described in the robot novels I'm reading posess something of an "attitude," in the sense that some robots are programmed to weigh certain priorities differently from their peers. See, the governing logic of robots (aside from the Three Laws) rests on the priority of efficiency. Under certain circumstances, however, maximum efficiency is achievable only by counter-intuitive means, the gains-to-trade idea of economics providing one possible example of this. At any rate, certain robots must be programmed with a certain "values" prioritized over pure logic in order to achieve an efficient result. We might call this a robot's "attitude," because it describes the robot's disposition and orientation on certain issues. Calling it as such, however, is problematic since a robot with "programmed" dispositions cannot in fact act otherwise, and is therefore without choice.
In humans, however, attitude doesn't seem programmed in so much as ingrained more or less into the mind as a collection of habits, beliefs, and experiences.While one's attitude may affect one's choice in a particular situation, a person is not bound by the attitude to choose one way or the other; rather, it would seem they are influenced more or less in one direction or the other. A person's attitude seems to allow for more choice than a robot, because the human is not bound, in most cases, to a fixed program in the mind to choose one way or the other. One might be conditioned to choose a particular course in most cases, but that is not the same thing as programming.
Importantly, both the "attitude" of a robot and the attitudes of people are adaptive and maladaptive depending on the circumstance. Sometimes a "programmed" response in people is quite adaptive for their purposes, such as with activities that must be performed very quickly and without any conscious thought. Musicians practice scales, arpeggios, various other patterns because they appear often in music, and having them well-engrained in the musical intellect allows them to do more as musicians. Law enforcement officers receive specific forms of training with their firearms and decision-making so that even under considerable stress and rapidity of circumstance a police officer can perform the task at hand properly. Percy Cerutty (1895-1975), a famous coach from Austrialia who coached Herb Eliott, spoke of training the body so that it could respond in competition without requiring the conscious mind to act as it should.
In short, people in various professions seek to train themselves in a skill so that they can perform the task without thinking, in effect becoming a "robot" for a moment. For actual robots, every moment would seem to be unconscious, since in every moment the robot operates according to programming. For humans, this would seem a temporary measure, borne out by the need to perform while greatly distracted by various things. As much as we may wish to deny it, the highly-trained individual would seem to be in the business of preparing him or herself to become a robot in the moments of most peril. Isn't that odd?
In yesterday's post, we talked about the mannerism of robots, and how such "mechanical" and strict-to-law behavior can sometimes provide a valuable example for humans. Today, I would like to expand to upon the idea by discussing a more human-oriented topic regarding attitude.
So to start, perhaps we should consider how one might define "attitude." A dictionary definition describes attitude as a disposition, manner, tendency, or orientation, especially regarding the mind. In this manner, we might think of attitude as the ways in which the mind is both organized and directed toward the appraisal of a particular situation, or the completion of a particular task.
The robots as described in the robot novels I'm reading posess something of an "attitude," in the sense that some robots are programmed to weigh certain priorities differently from their peers. See, the governing logic of robots (aside from the Three Laws) rests on the priority of efficiency. Under certain circumstances, however, maximum efficiency is achievable only by counter-intuitive means, the gains-to-trade idea of economics providing one possible example of this. At any rate, certain robots must be programmed with a certain "values" prioritized over pure logic in order to achieve an efficient result. We might call this a robot's "attitude," because it describes the robot's disposition and orientation on certain issues. Calling it as such, however, is problematic since a robot with "programmed" dispositions cannot in fact act otherwise, and is therefore without choice.
In humans, however, attitude doesn't seem programmed in so much as ingrained more or less into the mind as a collection of habits, beliefs, and experiences.While one's attitude may affect one's choice in a particular situation, a person is not bound by the attitude to choose one way or the other; rather, it would seem they are influenced more or less in one direction or the other. A person's attitude seems to allow for more choice than a robot, because the human is not bound, in most cases, to a fixed program in the mind to choose one way or the other. One might be conditioned to choose a particular course in most cases, but that is not the same thing as programming.
Importantly, both the "attitude" of a robot and the attitudes of people are adaptive and maladaptive depending on the circumstance. Sometimes a "programmed" response in people is quite adaptive for their purposes, such as with activities that must be performed very quickly and without any conscious thought. Musicians practice scales, arpeggios, various other patterns because they appear often in music, and having them well-engrained in the musical intellect allows them to do more as musicians. Law enforcement officers receive specific forms of training with their firearms and decision-making so that even under considerable stress and rapidity of circumstance a police officer can perform the task at hand properly. Percy Cerutty (1895-1975), a famous coach from Austrialia who coached Herb Eliott, spoke of training the body so that it could respond in competition without requiring the conscious mind to act as it should.
In short, people in various professions seek to train themselves in a skill so that they can perform the task without thinking, in effect becoming a "robot" for a moment. For actual robots, every moment would seem to be unconscious, since in every moment the robot operates according to programming. For humans, this would seem a temporary measure, borne out by the need to perform while greatly distracted by various things. As much as we may wish to deny it, the highly-trained individual would seem to be in the business of preparing him or herself to become a robot in the moments of most peril. Isn't that odd?
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
the polite robot
Humid day on the mountain, but at least it is sunny. Some northern parts of the county were placed under a tornado warning last night, which quite dangerous since it means the radar has detected either strong circulation within a storm, or has in fact detected a tornado. In either case, you probably don't want a tornado warning issued to your area.
I've been reading some robot novels I found in the Ursinus donation tent last year by some aspiring authors who wrote some stories based on Isaac Asimov's Three Laws of Robotics. I was a bit disappointed when I realized the stories weren't by Asimov, but after giving the first book a few chapters to warm-up I've been absolutely hooked. The stories are great, dealing with some big issues that arise as a result of the robotic laws.
A lot of minor things strike me about the situations that emerge as a result of these laws, but one most particularly is the type of behavior the robots exhibit while following these laws; in dealing with humans, the robots are incredibly polite. Consider the First Law, which states (and I'm not quoting directly) that a robot may not harm a human, or by neglect allow a human to come to harm. As a result, robots end up being protective, considerate, and gentle in the stories about them (the ones I have read anyway). In the last story, even, a robot even "died" in order to save the life of a human, which while perfectly compatibile with the three laws is nevertheless an interesting act for a robot to perform.
In short, perhaps people could learn something from the robots of these stories. They protect people and work diligently to do no harm to them. They harbor no ill-feelings toward people, and perform their work logically and with little complaint. They serve those around them, and even perform heroic deeds from time to time. They lack creativity, but they have a penchant for order and quality to service. There is something to be said for polite, well-meaning behavior from a machine. Pay attention now :)
I've been reading some robot novels I found in the Ursinus donation tent last year by some aspiring authors who wrote some stories based on Isaac Asimov's Three Laws of Robotics. I was a bit disappointed when I realized the stories weren't by Asimov, but after giving the first book a few chapters to warm-up I've been absolutely hooked. The stories are great, dealing with some big issues that arise as a result of the robotic laws.
A lot of minor things strike me about the situations that emerge as a result of these laws, but one most particularly is the type of behavior the robots exhibit while following these laws; in dealing with humans, the robots are incredibly polite. Consider the First Law, which states (and I'm not quoting directly) that a robot may not harm a human, or by neglect allow a human to come to harm. As a result, robots end up being protective, considerate, and gentle in the stories about them (the ones I have read anyway). In the last story, even, a robot even "died" in order to save the life of a human, which while perfectly compatibile with the three laws is nevertheless an interesting act for a robot to perform.
In short, perhaps people could learn something from the robots of these stories. They protect people and work diligently to do no harm to them. They harbor no ill-feelings toward people, and perform their work logically and with little complaint. They serve those around them, and even perform heroic deeds from time to time. They lack creativity, but they have a penchant for order and quality to service. There is something to be said for polite, well-meaning behavior from a machine. Pay attention now :)
Monday, May 23, 2011
Prodigy piano and care-free playing
Yesterday I went down to the city to hear my old roomate play at one might be called a "mass-recital" of about 30 different performers. For the most part the other performers seemed to range from ages 7 to 16, which left poor roomate as an old outlier. The way as I see it, anyone my old roomate's age who can play like he can play is either going to or graduated from music school, or has simply lost interest and motivation to play such difficult music. At any rate, it was an interesting experience.
The environment was interesting as well. Musical "prodigies," if the term might be used, are different from older musicians in more ways than just age. Their playing is pleasant to listen to, but it is also quite mechanical, which is not surprising given the usual way musical pieces are often learned. First one learns the sheer mechanics of playing the notes on the page as they are with accuracy, proper tempo, and correct articulation. Then one learns about phrasing, dynamics, and various other more advanced techniques which give the music some life character beyond the score, as it were.
After that, the subtlies become more intense to my experience, and each musician goes about developing an understanding of the music so as to play it all the better. And it is this type of playing that seems most to differentiate young musical stars from their older counterparts (aside from additional hours or playing). Young folks have a limited experience that makes it difficult for them to carry their playing into some of the more emotional depths. Sometimes a player begins to play with such feeling at an early age, but it seems quite rare, and it is likely such a feeling would only be enhanced with experience. The point is, piano prodigies such as I saw yesterday serve as good reminders that our talents, brilliant as they might be at a young age, have the potential to be improved with greater experience and age.
Which brings us back to a familar theme, namely that of maintaining a strong focus on one's practice and development rather than on other's appraisal of that practice. Our society makes a big deal about consistently judging its most talented and potentially successful individuals from almost as early as possible. This can place additional pressure on the individual who is trying to develop, and depending on that individual's personality, such pressure could either cook them or compel them to a new level, or so the usual understanding seems to go.
Watching those piano players yesterday, I wondered what it would be like for them if they could flip a switch and not care a damn what any of us in the room felt about their playing. Maybe some of them already felt this way, but maybe not. How would they feel their appraisal of the situation did not include the opinions of judgments of others? I can't answer for them, but in considering the question, I wonder if they might not feel liberated in a way. The matter becomes one of you and the piano, working together to make beautiful music. Beautiful to whom? Doesn't matter, it's the act of playing that makes the experience beautiful. Each encounter becomes a chance to improve one's craft, and gain that experience which makes music all the more touching. Everything else is just bull shit.
The environment was interesting as well. Musical "prodigies," if the term might be used, are different from older musicians in more ways than just age. Their playing is pleasant to listen to, but it is also quite mechanical, which is not surprising given the usual way musical pieces are often learned. First one learns the sheer mechanics of playing the notes on the page as they are with accuracy, proper tempo, and correct articulation. Then one learns about phrasing, dynamics, and various other more advanced techniques which give the music some life character beyond the score, as it were.
After that, the subtlies become more intense to my experience, and each musician goes about developing an understanding of the music so as to play it all the better. And it is this type of playing that seems most to differentiate young musical stars from their older counterparts (aside from additional hours or playing). Young folks have a limited experience that makes it difficult for them to carry their playing into some of the more emotional depths. Sometimes a player begins to play with such feeling at an early age, but it seems quite rare, and it is likely such a feeling would only be enhanced with experience. The point is, piano prodigies such as I saw yesterday serve as good reminders that our talents, brilliant as they might be at a young age, have the potential to be improved with greater experience and age.
Which brings us back to a familar theme, namely that of maintaining a strong focus on one's practice and development rather than on other's appraisal of that practice. Our society makes a big deal about consistently judging its most talented and potentially successful individuals from almost as early as possible. This can place additional pressure on the individual who is trying to develop, and depending on that individual's personality, such pressure could either cook them or compel them to a new level, or so the usual understanding seems to go.
Watching those piano players yesterday, I wondered what it would be like for them if they could flip a switch and not care a damn what any of us in the room felt about their playing. Maybe some of them already felt this way, but maybe not. How would they feel their appraisal of the situation did not include the opinions of judgments of others? I can't answer for them, but in considering the question, I wonder if they might not feel liberated in a way. The matter becomes one of you and the piano, working together to make beautiful music. Beautiful to whom? Doesn't matter, it's the act of playing that makes the experience beautiful. Each encounter becomes a chance to improve one's craft, and gain that experience which makes music all the more touching. Everything else is just bull shit.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
The New Marshall Plan
What strikingly beautiful weather we have today, with brilliant sunshine, some puffy clouds, and a moderate temperature without humidity. The trees and flowers seem delighted by the light, of which they have seen very little this past week. It is one week since graduation, and the sun appeared only occasionally in that time. What a beautiful day :).
An article in the Suddeutsche Zeitung talked about the development of a "Marshall Plan" for Greece and other debt-ridden countries in the European Union. I probably missed a lot in the article, but I did catch that many believe it will take upwards of 10 to 15 years to "rebuild" those countries especially damaged by the financial crisis. Given that, a long-term plan modelled on the Marshall Plan (named after then Secretary of State George Marshall (1880-1959)) of post-WWII, in which American moneMy (roughly $13 billion over 4 years) was transferred into Europe as a means of rebuilding devastated states while simultaneously stemming the spread of communism. The Plan was hailed as a tremendous success, boosting every economy which received aid above its pre-war levels, and paving the way for closer cooperations among European countries by easing trade barriers.
Given the 10-15 year window which current neo-Marshall Plan planners foresee for their own program, such sweeping success in four years is impressive. It may also highlight major differences between reconstruction in the late 1940s and reconstruction today. The details of such programs are rather beyond me, but the problem is very real. As the article this morning repeatedly mentioned, officials caution that, "It will take more than three years," for the program to realize success. It could be that, while the original Marshall Plan had to rebuild buildings, infrastructure, and the physical necessities of modern society, the new crisis requires, among other things, the rebuilding of financial institutions and the requisite confidence in those institutions to render them effective. High national debt and a failed financial sector mean that many people are crowded out from getting financial resources to start businesses, buy a home, or fund an education. A good economist could tell you more about these things than I can, but it seems clear that the issues a new Marshall Plan will have to confront are different and perhaps more difficult to repair than the perhaps more straightforward destructiveness wrought by the Second World War.
10-15 years could prove a long time to remain committed to fixing another country's economic and political problems. The United States managed to do it for four years in an environment in which the country had just won a huge victory, and stopping communism was a national priority. How will Germans and others remain committed to helping Greece and Portugual in an environment which appears increasingly hostile to the idea of bailing out such states which many believe are responsible in large part for their distress? We shall see.
Have a wonderful day :).
An article in the Suddeutsche Zeitung talked about the development of a "Marshall Plan" for Greece and other debt-ridden countries in the European Union. I probably missed a lot in the article, but I did catch that many believe it will take upwards of 10 to 15 years to "rebuild" those countries especially damaged by the financial crisis. Given that, a long-term plan modelled on the Marshall Plan (named after then Secretary of State George Marshall (1880-1959)) of post-WWII, in which American moneMy (roughly $13 billion over 4 years) was transferred into Europe as a means of rebuilding devastated states while simultaneously stemming the spread of communism. The Plan was hailed as a tremendous success, boosting every economy which received aid above its pre-war levels, and paving the way for closer cooperations among European countries by easing trade barriers.
Given the 10-15 year window which current neo-Marshall Plan planners foresee for their own program, such sweeping success in four years is impressive. It may also highlight major differences between reconstruction in the late 1940s and reconstruction today. The details of such programs are rather beyond me, but the problem is very real. As the article this morning repeatedly mentioned, officials caution that, "It will take more than three years," for the program to realize success. It could be that, while the original Marshall Plan had to rebuild buildings, infrastructure, and the physical necessities of modern society, the new crisis requires, among other things, the rebuilding of financial institutions and the requisite confidence in those institutions to render them effective. High national debt and a failed financial sector mean that many people are crowded out from getting financial resources to start businesses, buy a home, or fund an education. A good economist could tell you more about these things than I can, but it seems clear that the issues a new Marshall Plan will have to confront are different and perhaps more difficult to repair than the perhaps more straightforward destructiveness wrought by the Second World War.
10-15 years could prove a long time to remain committed to fixing another country's economic and political problems. The United States managed to do it for four years in an environment in which the country had just won a huge victory, and stopping communism was a national priority. How will Germans and others remain committed to helping Greece and Portugual in an environment which appears increasingly hostile to the idea of bailing out such states which many believe are responsible in large part for their distress? We shall see.
Have a wonderful day :).
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