I could feel my heart pounding out of my chest as I walked over to where I would perform my solo. My accompanist, Helen Griffin, nodded her head and smiled at me in assurance that we would sound great. I smiled back, and gained confidence that the solo would indeed be wonderful. The judge acknowledged me, and I stated my name and the title of the piece. After taking a few deep breaths, I raised the instrument to my mouth and began to play. On Friday afternoon, my Dad and I decided to change our plans from the past three years. Originally, we drove up to Emporia early Saturday morning for the State Solo Festival at the high school. After performing the solo and seeing the rating a couple of hours later, he and I ate at Montana Mike’s. Once …show more content…
I held the notable task of playing a solo and being part of the Woodwind Quintet for back-to-back performances. One of my quintet members insisted on spending equal amounts of time perfecting both my solo and the quintet’s piece. I ignored the statement because I wanted to ensure that the solo would get a one, and I was comfortable with the quintet number. When the time came for the recitals, we all headed to the same room. The clarinet quartet performed first at eight o’ clock with my time slot after them. After preparing myself mentally and spiritually, I was ready to perform my solo. A super important factor in my preparation was determination. Because it was my senior year, I was motivated to perform at a high level in order to guarantee that elusive one …show more content…
Nevertheless, I concentrated on making sure the notes and rhythms were played correctly. I had a great contrast of pitches and dynamics throughout the piece. One important aspect of my performance was regulating where I paused in order to breathe. I remembered my performance at Sacred Concert back in March where I played my solo but had to gasp for air once the solo was completed. Several of my friends playfully coined the nickname “Iron Lungs,” in reference to that specific performance. I also vividly remembered my solo’s performance at the Regional festival two weeks prior to the State festival. In that performance, everything sounded great except for the last note which I weakly played because I was simply out of air. That was the one moment where I felt terrible about the solo, and I was worried that I would not be able to compete at
What started out as a hobby transformed into a passion for an art form that allows me to use movements and expressions to tell a story. Whether I’m on stage in front of an audience of just friends and family, hundreds of strangers and a panel of judges, or the whole school, performing over thirty times, has helped me build lifelong
Then, with a punchy five-note line the sax player began his solo. After that phrase he stopped and waited-allowing a few bars to roll by as he felt the rhythm and absorbed the harmonies the piano player offered in response to his line. With his head bent down as if in prayer, he countered with a longer, smoother second phrase that elaborated on the first one but then confidently let his last unresolved note bang out over the audience. I felt my legs moving under me and my head bobbing slightly, and my jaw began to open and shut tightly as if to sing the next phrase. As the solo progressed, I felt I had to hold my breath, waiting for each of the horn player's thoughts to finish before I could take a full breath. The phrases began to get faster and closer together until he was rapidly firing notes out of his horn, and there was increasingly less space to breathe. The notes came in clusters and bursts of creative energy. His ideas seemed to flow from deep within the realms of the unconscious until he seemed no longer to be in control of his thoughts.
On Tuesday, October 17, 2017, I attended a musical concert. This was the first time I had ever been to a concert and did not play. The concert was not what I expected. I assumed I was going to a symphony that featured a soloist clarinet; however, upon arrival I quickly realized that my previous assumptions were false. My experience was sort of a rollercoaster. One minute I was down and almost asleep; next I was laughing; then I was up and intrigued.
Ever since I started talking this class, English 1301, with Dr. Piercy, I have been able to expand my writing and thinking skills. Not only was I able to make more better essays but I also learned important topics such as how education creates an impact in the world. In this essay I will be talking about three writings and how they are related to this course semester. The three writings are “On Bullshit” by Harry Frankfurt, “Why I Write Bad” by Milo Beckman,and “Statement of Teaching Philosophy” by Stephen Booth. How are these 3 writings related to this semester’s course work?
“We have a special song that Mr. Christy doesn’t know about – sorry Christy.” Nothing like Fishers light hearted humor and clumsy grin to help shake off my nervousness. He continued. “In honor of everything Mr. Christy has taught us the last four years, we want to play him this song. It is called “Songs My Mother Taught Me.” We changed the lyrics to Mr. Christy for obvious reasons.” The remaining crowd chuckled. “I will now give the mic over to Skyler to give a few words.” I was on the stage, flute in hand and a microphone in front of my face staring into a very familiar audience. Everyone else had left except for the proud students and parents of band. I spoke, now feeling warm and
A few weeks before the show it was time to display my talent. I was prepared, I had practiced, and I had boasted of how my horn solo would sound great by the time it was off paper and on the field. The one thing I wasn't counting on was my own attitude to mess me up. That my own pride and gloating would overshadow all the work I had put into my solo.
As I was walking to my spot I looked around the stage, almost developing tears looking down at the markings on the stage. I was thrilled to show them what I’ve been working on, but also nervous for it to all go to waste. The parade was the last thing on my mind, so I just put something random together last minute hoping it would work out. As I was standing at attention I went through it in my head many times, but it still didn’t feel like it was enough. I heard the whistle blow and yelled, “one, two, kick up,” articulated and precise. I started marching down the stage with all the confidence I had. I nailed the first half of the routine and had to turn around due to the length of the stage being too small and it was like my mind erased the routine from my memory. My smile fell off my face, and tears started to form in my eyes, but I wouldn’t let the fall. I started to improvise and repeat the same move and different variations of it. I then yelled, “halt, one, two” and thought I ruined my chances. I got ready to perform my feature. I could see my reflection in the light booth windows and pictured myself in my room, the only other place I would practice. I would watch myself in the mirror and critique anything that didn’t look right or things that didn’t add up. When I heard the music, it was like I wasn’t even there. I could see my pink walls surrounding me and my tall, white mirror hanging on the wall in front of me, and my clothes surrounding me.
Once we arrived at the school, butterflies fluttered in my stomach. I paced back and forth, while waiting for our time to shine. My time's up, and I trembled up the stairs to the stage. As I walked out, I felt my heart pounding through my chest. My mind raced back and forth from I can to I can’t. While my head still spun, the sound of claps roared through. Anxiety blurred my vision to an illusion of a thousand people with lights shining through. Oddly, it appeared as a nightmare instead of a dream come true. My eyes watered up, and I ran off the stage with my hands trembling. I backstage, and my brother bowing before the crowd showed a new perspective of our bond. We looked up to each other so much as musicians. We never actually made one thing, we always remained as two different things that connected through envy of one another. My brother and I led each other along to the light at the end of every tunnel, still from that moment on everything
Playing the trumpet has been the most significant part of my high school career. The wide number of musical ensembles that I have participated in since I first started in the fourth grade have given way to new experiences that have not only been impactful on me as a musician, but on my character as a student and as a person. In Jazz Band, I learned to play solos, pieces of music of my own creation, bursting forth in a flurry of improvisation. Originally difficult for me in middle school, I struggled to find the confidence to play solos written out for me. As I progressed into high school, my perception changed. Solos were no longer just a source of insecurity – they were an opportunity for me to express myself and demonstrate my ability as a musician. By the end of the 2015-16 Jazz Band season, I was improvising my own solos with ease, even across fast and difficult chord changes, with hardly a care in the world as to how other would interpret
Waiting backstage with nerves tingling down my spine, hoping I perform well, as I watch the other performers casing weathering they’re competition or not for now most of them I have nothing to worry about. I hear the judges call out in the microphone , “ next up Kylee Murawski with a teen jazz solo” now i'm getting clammy hands But I know now it's time to focus and do well. I walk out on stage seeing all the people in the audience clapping. Finally the music starts and I start to dance i'm making sure everything’s perfect. Fast as light the music’s over and everyone’s cheering. I peer down to the Judges to see if their facial expression shows if they liked it or not. I walk off with a beaming smile knowing I did my best also that I gave an
On the week of 6/28/17 to 6/30/17, I conducted individual sessions. During my individual session, I did a check-in with the client who disclose suicidal ideation the previous week. The client stated he felt good. He talked about his experience at the facility he was admitted to. He discussed what he learned while he was there and we discussed how he can utilize the information he learned. One thing I am concern about is the client is missing schedule appointment to see his therapist. After reviewing his file, I learned he had an appointment schedule for that day. The client did not know he missed the appointment. I spoke with my field supervisor about the concerned I had my concerned and the importance of speaking with the father about the
As we all waited in line to go into the concert there was a thrill of excitement in the air. I was standing there with two of my friends. when we saw a few other people we knew. " Hey, come over here!" I bellowed.
The Intrapersonal Reflective therapist knows that there are many variables that play into a person’s level of distress and how it is shown in their behaviors and attitudes; people perceive things differently. Something that deeply affects one individual may not hold the same severity to another individual. How is it that something can seem so catastrophic to one person but be easily brushed off by the next? The filter that is used to process the events play a large role on how we feel about a certain event. These filters can be shaped by experiences/ consequences, genetic predispositions, or learned behaviors. One major component of human beings and their level of distress is whether or not they have accepted this existential anxiety of existence or if they have allowed the neurotic anxiety to take over their thoughts and their behaviors.
TEAMWORK The teamwork is usually defined as the process of working together in a group to achieve a common goal. These days, working in groups is inevitable. Whether it is a school assignment or working in a clinical setting, we have to work in groups to accomplish a task. We cannot expect to work in isolation all the time. As far as our team is concerned, they worked in an organised manner to accomplish the task within the deadline.
My parents arrived in the United States hoping for a better future not for themselves, but for the baby they carried in their arms. We would often move from relatives ' houses since my parents couldn’t afford renting an apartment themselves. We were fortunate enough to have caring relatives who didn 't mind us living with them since they knew the hardships we were going through. I grew up in a household where only Spanish was spoken given that both my parents didn’t speak any English at all. When I was in kindergarten, my teacher was afraid that I would be behind the rest of my classmates, given that I only spoke Spanish fluently. I was fortunate to receive free tutoring from my kindergarten teacher. We would often read books together until