Reflecting on the third chapter of From the Stage to the Studio, I found the technique most intriguing to be the one that stumps me the most in an effort to teach. Relaxation is an issue that plagues my teaching, and I see its grip on every one of my students. From beautiful but nonfunctional bow holds, to locked knees, to unnecessary effort in behaving appropriately, to clutching left hands, an inability to relax is keeping my students from progressing into masterful artists.

In conducting an informal interview with Bei Bei Sheng, a doctoral violin performance candidate, on the way back from TMEA, he emphasized over and over again that musicianship must come from a state of peace. Tension will lead to tension he said, but relaxation will lead to artistry.

Familiar with this trend in my own studio, I am now left wondering how to cultivate relaxation. Much like the command “focus,” rarely inspires a student to direct attention to my intended goal, saying “relax” rarely causes a student to release a specific set of muscles. As you pointed out in “Physical Components of Technical Stability,” even well trained musicians are not always aware of tension in their playing. In an effort to play more accurately, more musically, and more soulfully, we employ entire muscle groups that are impeding rather than enabling our ability to play well. My theory is that first my young students must learn how to execute relaxation of small muscle groups independently of other technical skills. Then, as skills are introduced on the instruments, they are only mastered if a student is able to perform them in a completely relaxed state. Some skills (incidentally the ones I choses for my task analyses: vibrato and sight reading) require a state of relaxation without which the skill cannot be developed or performed in the first place.

I think the first step toward testing my theory of cultivating relaxation will be personally learning more about relaxed movement and flow. I have never taken an anatomy class and wasn’t involved in coordinated movement activities (other than playing violin) while growing up, so I feel this is an area in which I have much room to explore. I look forward to attending the Dalcroze workshop at UT next weeks, have put De Alcantar’s book on the Alexander technique on hold, and have been actively searching for opportunities to take a class on or join a club devoted to the art of Tai Chi.

The latter action stems from the wisdom I encountered in Josh Waitzkin’s fantastic book, The Art of Learning: An Inner Journey to Optimal Performance. In this book he outlines the path he took to become the youngest grandmaster chess champion, and then devote himself to Tai Chi and subsequently become a world champion in the Tai Chi push-hands competition. Waitzkin’s success is due to his attention to the repetition of a very small movement (chess or Tai Chi) until it becomes a part of him. He continues the repetition until he can perform the function with absolutely minimal physical effort or cognitive burden. Ultimately, by merely sensing the threat of an upcoming blow, his body automatically responds with an effortless and relaxed block. By engaging with this method away from the violin, I hope to unlock the potential of applying it to my students’ work. I hope to develop the difficult technique of relaxation in each of my students in order to facilitate the development of all other skills required to play masterfully.